Iris: The American Dream Series Book One

When a Door Closes and No Windows Open

I stood behind Pim in front of Dad's apartment building the next day, pushing a loose pebble around with the toe of my boot. He'd convinced me that Operation Get Dad Back Home needed to start immediately, so we'd taken the bus across town right after school.

"Are we going up?" I asked, my head tipped back so I could see the top of the building. Dad and Britt lived on the fifth floor of the rectangular brick structure. Their windows looked out over a little pond with a bicycle path running around its edges. They also had a small section of a rooftop deck with just enough room for a little iron table and two chairs and a tiny garden.

Pim's hair was hidden under a navy blue baseball cap. From behind, all I could see was the nape of his long neck and his red ears.

"Yeah, let's go," he said.

A sign on the elevator told us it was out of order ("niet in orde"), so we trudged up the flights of stairs, hands in the pockets of our windbreakers. On the fifth floor we stopped to catch our breath in front of apartment 513. Behind the door was a white couch ("So impractical," Mom had sniffed when we'd described it to her), a stainless steel kitchen ("I've never seen your father cook!" she'd said to that), and an extra bedroom that had been set up as a yoga room for Britt (Mom had held her tongue on that one).

"What are you going to say?" I whispered, feeling nervous.

Instead of answering me, Pim hammered on the door with his knuckles. We heard footsteps from within.

Dad pulled the door open. A smile lit up his face. "You two!" he said. He had a pencil tucked behind one ear, and his scruffy cheeks looked like he hadn't shaved for days. This was how he'd always looked when he was writing a book and a final deadline was near. "Come in." He shut the door behind us, waving at the couch. "Sit."

Feeling like guests in our own father's home (which we were, technically), Pim and I perched on the edge of the white couch.

"What brings you here? Do you want tea?" Dad moved easily into the open kitchen and filled a shiny silver kettle with water from the sink.

"Sure, tea would be good," Pim said, clearing his throat. "We came to talk to you."

Before he spoke, Dad set the kettle on a burner and lit the gas flame beneath it. He opened a glass-fronted cabinet and pulled four heavy white mugs from the shelf.

"Are you making tea, love?" Britt asked, sweeping into the room. She had her blonde hair in a tight French braid, and a gray sweater tied around her body over a black bodysuit. She leaned in and kissed my dad on the lips.

"Yep—making tea. The kids dropped by for a visit," Dad said, nodding in our direction. We stayed put on the edge of the couch, still wearing our jackets and backpacks from school.

"Iris. Pim." Britt inhaled. "So good to see you."

"Hi," we said at the same time, and with just about the same amount of excitement we'd heard in Britt's voice.

"I suppose it's time for us to work out some details, huh?" Dad said, arching an eyebrow at us. He measured out the scoops of tea leaves with a spoon.

"So you know about the move?" Pim sounded surprised.

"Yes, I know. Your mother and I have had many discussions about this," he said, pulling the whistling kettle from the stove and turning off the burner. The blue flame disappeared.

"Oh-so-many discussions," Britt muttered—so quietly that we almost didn't hear her.

Dad paused in the middle of tea preparation to shoot her a look.

"And we just don't have room here for all of you to stay with us—I'm sorry," Britt said, shrugging.

"Honey, I've got this," Dad said, handing Britt a mug of tea and giving her a gentle shove towards the hallway.

"I'm just going to go back and finish what I was working on," Britt said. "I've got a yoga class I'm teaching tonight and I need to get mentally prepared," she explained. "Good to see you both."

"So," Dad said, bringing our tea over on a serving platter. "California, huh? Are you two excited?"

We stared at each other over the coffee table and I could see it in his eyes: regret. Or sadness. Maybe both.

I leaned back on the couch, my backpack getting in the way.

Pim shook his head, yanking off his baseball hat. "No, we're not excited! This is ridiculous," he said. "She can't just take us, can she, Dad? She has to have your permission, right?"

I looked over at my brother, at the pinkness of his cheeks underneath the freckles that matched the ones on my own face. His eyebrows were pulled tight in a deep, disapproving frown.

Dad set his tea down on the coffee table. "She and I have talked about this, Pim—"

"You mean you gave her permission?" he spat.

A loud rushing sound filled my ears, and the room got unbearably bright all around me.

"Iris? Are you okay?" Dad stood up and reached for me. "Pim, is she alright?" His voice was full of concern.

"She's fine," Pim assured him. He picked up the mug of tea and wrapped my hands around it. "Take a sip of this, Iris," he said, his tone more gentle. "She's been doing better recently, but all of this stuff about moving to America is messing her up a little. She couldn't breathe very well last night," he said, still helping me with my tea. He shot our dad an accusing look.

"Iris...honey," Dad said. There was so much concern in his voice that I wanted to cry. But I knew if I cried then I might not breathe, so I sipped my tea instead.

"The best thing for all of us is if you let us stay here." Pim glanced around the apartment. "Well, maybe not here, but in Laren. You could move home and take care of us at our house, and then Mom can go to California and just come home on school breaks. Or we can go visit her."

"That's not possible, Pim. Your mother is putting the house up for sale, and you all have to go with her—it would crush her not to have you guys there."

The house was for sale? She hadn't told us that. It couldn't be true. Our kitchen with its skylight over the island; the stained glass window above the front door; our bedrooms, and our memories...gone?

"So that's it? You aren't even going to try to make her stay?" Pim stood up next to me. The disappointment radiated from his body like heat.

Dad stood on the other side of the coffee table, looking helpless. "I can't. Your mother has her own life to live, and I have mine. We've talked about all the ways we're going to make this work, and I hope you kids can trust us that we're doing our best for all of you."

"Let's go, Iris," Pim said, readjusting his backpack and putting his hat back on. He walked to the door and yanked it open. I gave Dad a quick hug before I followed Pim out into the hallway. He was waiting at the top of the stairs for me. "Can you believe this?" he said. I couldn't tell if he was sad or angry. Probably both. "We have work to do."

"You mean packing?" I pulled the hood of my windbreaker up over my head. We stepped out of the lobby and into a light afternoon rain.

"Nope. I mean plotting. This break-up is going to happen whether we're here or in California, and once Britt is gone, Dad will make Mom bring us back home. He has to."

I wish I could say I believed my brother, but I wasn't so sure it would be that easy.

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