Page 13 of Crystal Iris
He laughs. “And did you? Have fun?”
“I did, actually.”
“Then I’m glad you went.”
There’s so much left unsaid, but I can tell neither of us is ready to confront it. Instead, we fill the silence with casual dinner plans, pretending everything is fine.
Six
“Color is my day-long obsession, joy, and torment.” – Claude Monet
It’s the last week of school before the holiday break, and I have a mountain of tasks to tackle—grading papers, buying last-minute gifts, and picking out a dress for Aaron’s party. At least this year, we’re going to his family’s place instead of hosting dinner ourselves. But before I do anything else, there’s an email I need to send.
Hi Elena,
Congrats on the baby! And thank you for the book suggestion; I did find a copy in the library, though unfortunately, it didn’t have what I’m looking for. I’ve narrowed my research down to necklaces, diamond pendants, geometric ones… anything along those lines. I was asked to write about European folklore, and I’ve found myself in a rabbit hole that’s worth pursuing. So, I’m letting myself stray a bit from the original theory. You know how it goes—we have to scratch the itch sometimes. I know this doesn’t give you much to work with, but any tips you can offer would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks again,
Iris.
I’m on my way to meet Akira. I’ve asked her to help me pick a dress; I knew she would say yes, even though our taste in clothes couldn’t be more different.
“How are you doing?” she asks as we enter the store.
“If you’re wondering if I’ve completely lost my mind yet, sorry to disappoint. Still sane.”
She smiles, raising an eyebrow. “Sane, my friend, you never were.”
I nudge her playfully.
“This store is so boring,” she mutters, running her fingers along every single dress on the rack.
“It’s a formal party, Akira. ‘Boring’ is the dress code.”
“How about this one?” the sales lady asks, holding up a dress.
I shake my head. “No thanks.” We keep searching.
I’m trying on the sixth dress when Akira asks, “You never told me—was the guy you saw with the candle hot?”
I cough. “What?”
“You never mentioned.”
“I didn’t think it mattered. He’s not real.”
“That hot then?”
I roll my eyes, my cheeks turning warm. “I’m getting married.”
“I know. I’m your maid of honor.”
I pause, eyeing her. “And have you decided who’s going to be your plus one?”
She grins. “I’ve got options.”
“You’ll have to settle down one day, you know,” I say, stepping out of the dressing room and eyeing myself in the mirror.
