Iris: The American Dream Series Book One

Reminders of Home

The first day of school wasn't a total disaster for any of us, but from the storm brewing on Pim's face when he slammed into the house that afternoon, you wouldn't know it. He threw his backpack—hard—against the wall. Oma jumped up from her chair in the front room.

"What happened?" she asked, hand on her heart.

"I HATE IT HERE." Pim left his bag where it landed and stomped through the house to his new bedroom.

"School was okay," I said in response to Oma's questioning face. "I met a couple of people. No big deal."

Oma had poffertjes waiting on the kitchen counter. Poffertjes were made from yeast and flour, and they were like little puffy pancakes covered in butter and powdered sugar. They'd always been a favorite snack of ours, and I knew that Oma had made them as a celebration and as a consolation on the first day of school. She had to know that they'd remind us of home, but I blocked out the images of us eating them in our light-filled kitchen in Laren, and popped them into my mouth without thinking.

The phone on the counter rang. Oma answered it with a "Hello?" that had almost no trace of a Dutch accent.

"Yes, they're home. Yes. She is." Oma handed me the phone. "It's your mother."

I licked white powder from my fingertips before taking the phone from her. "Mama?" I said into the receiver, relieved to hear her voice.

"How was school today?" she asked.

"It was fine. I didn't hate it as much as Pim did."

"Oh. Good. Okay." She sounded distracted, like she was reading something as we talked. "Can I speak with him?"

"He went to his room," I said, stuffing another poffertjes into my mouth and talking around it.

"Again? I was hoping he'd start spending more time with us." She didn't speak for a moment. "Well, I have an afternoon lecture to give, so can you mind your sisters when they get home—wait, they aren't home yet, are they?" There were voices and laughter on her end.

"No, not yet. Hey, Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck at your lecture."

"Thank you, mijn lief," she said gently, and I could tell she was now giving me her full attention. Whenever she called me "my love" like that, she looked at me with a soft gaze in her eyes. I could picture her doing that now, and my eyes teared up.

"Okay, gotta run. Here's Oma." I thrust the phone across the counter, grabbed another of the poffertjes and went to my bedroom. The twins would be home soon, and I wanted to think about the day in peace without Romy begging me to chase her around the yard, or Esmee trying to braid my hair into the kind of tangled twists that would end up in big hairy knots of dark brown hair on my bathroom counter when I had to comb them out.

Abby had been the highlight of my day, but also the most puzzling part. Her friendliness had surprised me; in Holland, people were more reserved. It might come across as rude, but then this bubbly American attitude would seem strange in the Netherlands as well.

I tapped on Pim's bedroom door. Nothing. I knocked again. "Hello?" I called into the crack of the door, hoping he could hear me.

I was thinking of what to say to him when he yanked the door open. The breeze from the force of the moving door blew my hair back like I'd entered a wind tunnel.

"WHAT?" Pim demanded, giant red headphones hanging around his neck, the sound of thumping music blaring from the earpieces.

"Dad wanted to Skype with us at three. I'm about to call him."