Black Iris

Case cracking.

Rose

The smell of meat on the grill mingled with the faint scent of wildfire smoke. Polite chatter filled the air, but I wasn't listening to any of it. We were at one of my parents' church friends' house for an Independence Day lunch. There were two other kids roughly my age inside playing Mario Kart with the younger kids, but I blew them off because I wasn't in the mood to socialise. So instead, I was sitting by the table out back, just staring blankly out at their garden. Picture perfect and perfectly trimmed.

I was thinking about Charlie.

Had I been too harsh on her? When all she wanted was a chance to forget? Couldn't I relate to that, at least a little? Why then had I shut her down so quickly? Or was what I did justified?

I didn't know, and I was tearing myself up turning the questions over and over again in my mind.

"Ophelia?"

I looked up. My mother was staring at me expectantly. The rest of the table seemed to pause to look at me too.

"Sorry, what was that?" I asked.

She shook her head, clearly disappointed. "I asked if you wanted anything to eat, love."

I glanced down at the empty plate in her hand, and the array of food spread on the table. I silently nodded and leant forward to grab a plate and serve some salad onto it. My mother watched me, and when I leant back into my plate she shook her head and gently squeezed my knee.

"More please, Ophelia," she commanded, quietly, but it seemed that the rest of the table were still looking at me.

I pursed my lips and leant forward again, glaring at her as I dropped a piece of grilled chicken alongside the leaves.

She gave me a pointed look, and looked as though she wanted to say something else, reprimand me for being rude, but before she could, my father cleared his throat, holding her arm and looking down the table.

"Johnathan, did I hear you were on the market for a new boat, you got an eye on any?"

From there, the conversation began to flow, the ice broken, and though my mother still seemed angry at me, she let it go.

I quickly tuned out, picking at my salad. And as my mind drifted, my thoughts once again turned to Charlene, and a twisting anxiousness settled in my stomach. Despite how I tried not to think about it, my mind kept coming back to her face as she'd whispered, "don't make me choose between you."

Because she already had. She'd already chosen. But she hadn't picked me.

The sting of that fact, the pain from her rejection reverberated through me, over and over again. As though it was drilling me, hitting me over and over again.

And I wondered if this was how Jordan had felt. When I told her we had to break up. That I couldn't be in a relationship. Couldn't drag her through the mud.

I thought I'd been protecting her. I didn't want her to get caught up in my shit. But if she felt half as bad as I did right now, there was no amount of justifying whether I had done the right thing.

I should have stayed with her. Told her the truth. Worked through the feelings I still held about her. I should have tried.

But then, I had another chance. Charlene was my chance to fix my mistakes. Be better.