While passing by old-fashioned streetlamps decorated with autumnal wreaths across the street, I gaze up at the dusky sky, seeing the clouds fully masking the sun. In an instant, I lose my footing and slip on black ice while crossing the crosswalk.I can’t stand black ice. I use my hands to push myself up off the ground, andagain, I plummet. I glance around to make sure noone notices because I’m downright embarrassed at this point. I’m not typically this inept at simply walking, but getting lost in the clouds has hurt me yet again.
C’mon, Iris. Just. Stand. Up.
I attempt to stand on my own two feet again, and this time, I see a silver car approaching swiftly from around the corner. At this moment, I realize ifI’mhaving difficulty rising after slipping on black ice, cars may not be able to brake properly. My throat tightens. I panic. I need to get up, but the grip on my black flats is insufferable. I pause and focus, attempting to drown out the panic flooding my mind. I place my hands firmly on the crosswalk and use all my strength to push myself. Miraculously, I finally manage to lift myself off the ground and then walk as carefully but quickly as possible to the other side of the crosswalk. During my final attempt to rise, it wasn’t complicated at all to stand up for some odd reason, so I thanked my lucky stars and finished the journey home.
Four
Iris
Upon entering my apartment, Truman greets me at the door, rubbing against my shin as I slide off my heavy tote. Being the most dog-like cat I’ve ever had the pleasure of loving, Truman strolled into my life about three years ago on my way home from work.
On that rainy day, as I walked into the old parking lot of my apartment complex, I noticed an orange tabby cat with white mittens sipping leisurely from a puddle of water. Inching closer to him, unable to restrain myself, he took an interest in me. He looked me up and down, then slowly approached me, placing one foot in front of the other, careful not to step in puddles alongthe way. I crouched to meet him on his level, and he recoiled away instinctively.
“It’s okay, angel. I just want to be your friend,” I whispered, gently reaching out my hand, hoping he’d give me the benefit of the doubt. I’d always loved cats. My parents loathed them. He hesitated, then gazed directly into my eyes. I pointed at my green eyes and stared back into his. “Looks like we already have something in common.”
Recognizing his nervousness, I retreated my hand and slowly stood up. The poor thing was obviously malnourished, but I didn’t want to scare him further, so I decided to finish the walk home and bring back fresh water for him. As I walked away, I heard a faint whimper. I turned to see his eyes locked on me. He meowed again, then trotted to me, rubbing against my leg. I reached down to pet him, and he nestled his forehead into my hand. He had surprisingly soft fur for being a stray.
After gaining his trust, I carefully scooped him up and brought him to the local shelter to see if he was microchipped or reported missing, but alas, he seemed homeless. He wasn’t too skinny and was oddly friendly for a stray, so the veterinarian assumed he could have once lived with humans. Deciding to take him home was a no-brainer. I spent nearly a third of my savings on a vet exam and cat necessities, then snuck him into my apartment, promising to add him to my lease contract the next day. As I think back on that experience, I remember Kai being absolutely shocked I adopted a stray cat… this little guy sure loved Kai.
While I enjoy alone time, I ironically hadn’t particularly enjoyedlivingalone, so little Truman has been my saving grace. I can survive alone, but living with another being brings me comfort. At this point in my life, that someone happens to be an affectionate feline named Truman.
Dragging my feet to my bedroom lazily after giving Truman a sufficient amount of kitty love, I change into a cozy loungewearset and transition from my bedroom to my kitchen. As much as I love dressing up, I prioritize comfort, so immediately changing upon returning home daily is non-negotiable. I open my fridge and stare at all the options for tonight’s dinner: pre-cooked tacos, lasagna, or leftovers. This is what I call gourmet living as a 25-year-old woman. After deep consideration, I settle on the lasagna as I can guarantee it will require the least effort.
I turn on my oven and then begin scrolling through social media when the name Jasper crosses my mind. Right—Mr. Alcott.The new owner of Aged Emporium. I end up looking up the shop on Instagram to see if they announced the ownership change, and unsurprisingly, Aged Emporium doesn’t even have an active Instagram account. Of course, Aged Emporium has yet to announce the ownership change on social media.Wow, this really could be a great cause for our fundraiser.
Yikes. I forgot to clock out of work again mentally. I can’t be the only one who has a hard time leaving work at work. Recognizing I need to stop hyper-fixating on business, I slip my phone into my pocket, wander across the room to my leather sofa, turn on the TV, and remove my AirPods. I’ve found that reality TV is the perfect escape from my own reality. With today being Monday, a new episode of my current favorite dating show will be airing later tonight.
I don’t date much these days. After dabbling with online dating and striking out time and time again, I chose to take a brief dating hiatus. Well, that brief break ended up lasting several months. In fact, it’s been over two years since my last relationship and over a year since my last date. Between my forty-hour work weeks and the weekend events I often facilitate, dating hasn’t been a priority.
It’s difficult to comprehend how much I used to enjoy dating. I adored connecting with new people and exploring them both mentallyandphysically. I’ve grown tired of exploring, though.Once upon a time, I craved spontaneity and butterflies. I craved not knowing what would come next. I craved adventure. I wish I could say my cravings changed gradually over time. I wish I could say I grew dull because of age or dutiful obligations. But no, my zest for life changed in the blink of an eye on a winter day as I watched the moon claim the sky and my sun lose its light. Now, I crave the mundane.
Running my fingers through Truman’s velvet soft orange fur, tuning out his faint purr is nearly impossible. Cuddling with this little guy always centers me. As I wait for my dating show to start, I get a FaceTime notification.
At this point in my life, I have two friends—other than Truman, of course—Lena and Callie. Lena was my manager at Soi before accepting a greater opportunity across the country in Georgia, of all places. In her thirties, some of Lena’s best qualities include her assertiveness, honesty, and wit. Amongst all of these unnaturally superior traits, she also maintains a regal sort of beauty. She has a blunt, short black bob, dark brown eyes, and stunning deep bronze skin.
When I first met Lena, I felt immensely intimidated. I stuttered when simply sharing my name with her—pitiful, I know. That’s when I knew the interview would be disastrous. I was half-tempted to walk away right there, but Lena isn’t a fan of surface-level conversations. Taking note of my nerves, she sat upright and directly asked me why I was interested in an Event Planner position at Soi. I told her I’d always dreamed of becoming an event planner. She smiled politely and told me to “cut the fluff.” I realized she was testing me. She pressed for a deeper answer. She openly acknowledged that pursuing event planning in a small town like the Cove could be challenging, given the lack of growth opportunities available. At first, I told her I liked charming towns, and Lena saw right through that response. So, I folded.
I confessed I wanted to live closer to my family—specifically, my brother. I never would’ve admitted it to Kai, but he was the primary reason I chose the Cove. Lena considered me. After a moment of silence, she acknowledged the extensive event planning experience in my resume. She asked for the real reason behind my desire to work for Soi because, in her words, I was overqualified to work in a town as small as this one after interning with one of the most reputable event-planning agencies in the country. My jaw must have dropped because she smirked.
“You’re candid. I like it. Most people would have lied straight to my face, even after I pressed them more,” she said matter-of-factly. “Your willingness to swallow your pride and be honest attests to your character.”
One thing led to another, and I landed a position at Soi at the age of 22. I moved to Chrysocolla Cove with high hopes. Little did I know, my scary manager would ultimately become my best friend, the person I would turn to the most after Kai’s early departure. As cliché as it may sound, Lena has become the older sister I’ve always yearned for. I don’t have to mask my feelings in front of Lenaasoften as I do with everyone else. She relocated and promoted me a few months ago, just shy of three years after my initial onboarding date. Since then, we haven’t talked much, but that’s life—I still cherish our friendship.
I peek back at my phone to see it’snotLena calling—this should be fun. Where do I even begin with Callie? If Lena is my sophisticated, intimidating sister from another mister, Callie is my golden retriever hype girl.
We met at a baseball game at the high school where Kai worked and coached. She’s only a year older than me, and we clicked instantaneously. I was excited to learn she was an art teacher at Kai’s school. However, don’t let Callie’s teaching background fool you. Despite her innocent persona—her words,not mine—she is awild child. With her freshly dyed cowboy copper locks and curvy petite figure, she lives for socializing and going out in general, which is excellent for me. When we go to social events, I never have to worry about carrying on conversations in group situations. Callie takes care of it for both of us.
Her loyalty outshines all her other traits, though. She stands by my side and helps me step outside my comfort zone. She doesn’t take it personally when I reject invites to go out, too; she has been exceptionally patient over the last couple of years. Just last month, I opted out of celebrating my own birthday because I didn’t feel like leaving my apartment; she handled that with grace, too. I answer her call.
“What’s up?!” Callie shouts into the phone's speaker while sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, parked somewhere.
“Legitimately nothing, what about you?” I hear my oven beep upon replying to her.Finally.Why does preheating an oven take forever? I clearly don’t have enough patience to enjoy cooking. I walk to my oven as Callie begins telling me about her day. “So, I’m thinking we deserve Thai food.”
“Thai sounds so good my mouth is watering, but I’m putting a lasagna in my oven as we speak. You know my lasagnas are a labor of love.”
“STFU, Iris! If by ‘labor of love’ what you really mean is ‘test of patience,’ sure, but we both know pre-cooked lasagna is your low-maintenance go-to,” she cackles. Callie loves using acronyms like “LOL” and “WTF” aloud—wild child tendencies, I suppose.
“Ugh, okay, fair. But I just put it in the oven.” I’m usually always up for Thai food, especially with Callie, but I’m not sure I’m good company right now.
