Chapter 10: I Can Manage Alone

Iris's POV

Lunch was already on the table when I came downstairs.

Chloe had made chicken and salad, which meant she wanted something and was softening the ground first. I'd known her long enough to read the pattern.

Rafael was at the head of the table in a dark shirt, sleeves rolled, one hand around a water glass, reading something on his phone.

I sat across from Chloe and did not look at him.

"Yeah and she called again last night," Chloe was saying, stabbing at her salad. "Like, not crying. But that voice. You know that voice she gets right before she cries?"

"I know that voice," Rafael said, setting his phone face down.

"It's been going on for weeks." Chloe shook her head. "She won't say what's wrong outright, she just..." She exhaled. "She does that thing where she asks about you and pretends she's not asking about you, and she sounds so..." She stopped. Looked at her plate. "I think she's lonely, Dad."

"Go see her," Rafael said.

"Really?" Chloe looked up. "You're not going to make this complicated?"

"Why would I make it complicated? She's your mother." He picked up his fork. "Go."

Something moved across Chloe's face, relief mixed with the particular guilt of a child who had spent years caught between two people she loved. She nodded once, then turned to me, and her expression shifted into something else entirely.

"Dad's going on a business trip too." She said. "I feel terrible leaving you alone,"

"Chloe it's okay," I gave small smile.

"You literally just broke up with Tristan..."

"I'm fine Chloe," I said quickly.

"No you're not." She pointed her fork at my face. "You're not sleeping, don't argue with me, I can see it."

"I've always had under-eye circles..."

"Iris, I've known your face since we were twelve. That's not your normal under-eye circles." She set her fork down. "Also you're not eating."

I looked down at my plate, pushed the chicken around.

"See?" she said.

"I'm eating right now."

"You're moving food." She looked at Rafael like he might back her up.

He looked between us with the calm expression of a man who knew better than to pick a side. "She said she's fine."

Chloe pointed at him. "You're not helping dad."

"I'm telling you to go see your mother, which is helpful." He said.

"What about Iris?" He asked.

"Iris is twenty years old." His voice was flat.

"So?"

"So she's been managing perfectly well before, during, and after your interventions." He picked up his water glass. "She'll manage a week."

"Fine." Chloe turned back to me and leaned forward slightly. "You'd tell me if something was actually wrong."

"Of course I will," I said.

"Okay, I don't want to find out anything six weeks later and...."

"Chloe." I cut her off. "Go be with your mom. I mean it."

She studied my face for a long moment with those warm eyes that had been reading me since we were twelve and I held the smile steady and did not look at the other end of the table where her father was sitting with his water glass.

"Okay," she said finally. "I'll go tomorrow morning."

"Okay, that's good." I said.

"I need to pack tonight." She picked up her fork. "Is my white blouse in the dryer? I need that blouse."

"I'll check after lunch," I said.

"You're my favourite person." She turned to Rafael. "Dad, you'll pack the good umbrella. The one above the fridge, not the broken disaster you've been carrying since January."

Rafael looked up from his plate. "It works fine."

"It works fine until it rains," She said. "then the left panel collapses and you stand there getting wetand refuse to admit it's broken."

"It's a minor.."

"Dad." Chloe voice was sharp.

He met her stare and held it for three full seconds. Then he stood, reached above the fridge, and set the good umbrella on the counter without a word.

Chloe beamed. "Thank you."

"You're exhausting," he said, sitting back down.

"You love me." She beamed.

"Jury's still out." He said

She laughed and leaned sideways and kissed his cheek, and I watched him let her. His hand came up briefly and touched the back of her head before she pulled away.

"Text me when you land," she told him.

"Text me when you get to your mother's," he said.

"Deal." She turned back to me. "Now eat your lunch."

I picked up my fork and ate my actual lunch and kept my eyes on my plate and tried not to think about the way he'd looked at her. The ease of them.

The guilt settled somewhere low in my chest and didn't move.

I finished my lunch and went upstairs, closed the door and dialed my doctor's number.

It went to voicemail, again.

"Hi, this is Iris Grimwald, I've called twice this week already." I kept my voice flat. "I need a callback about my suppressant prescription, the dosage isn't holding and I'm about four to five days into a pre-heat cycle. I need a refill sent to the Pharmacy as soon as possible."

I hung up and at on the edge of the bed and counted what was left in the packet.

Three days at full dose, maybe four if I was careful about spacing.

Through the wall I could hear Chloe two doors down, her music on, drawers opening and closing and downstairs the low murmur of Rafael on another call, that commanding, unhurried voice that my body had apparently decided to track from any distance in any room without being asked.

Chloe was leaving tomorrow morning.

Rafael was leaving Thursday night.

The heat window was three days, four at most. I'd managed it before on suppressants. I'd use cold showers, water, keeping busy, staying out of my own head. I could handle it.

He would be gone, I told myself. His trip was already booked. Chloe would be at her mother's. The pills would arrive, I'd manage the window alone the way I always had, and by the time they were both back it would be over and none of this would be a problem.