Iris


    I step into the living room as Arthur moves to the home bar to pour me a drink. "What''s your drink of choice?" he calls from the dining room, which is adjacent to where I''m standing. "Still red wine?"


    "Yeah," I reply, ncing around before I tentatively take a seat in one of the soft armchairs by the firece. There''s no fire flickering now, the room instead lit by a couple of smallmps and the city lights outside.


    I hear Arthur banging around for a moment, his movements clumsy and slow. A few momentster, he returns with my wine and his ss refilled with whiskey.


    "For thedy," he says, handing me my ss.


    I take it, sipping slowly as I watch him flop into the chair across from me. He looks messier than usual, his typical polished appearance reced by something foreign. But even then, he doesn''t look rxed like he once did five years ago. And that damn curl is still nowhere to be found.


    After a few moments of silence, he looks up at me, "Are you okay?" he asks. "You''re staring."


    My cheeks warm, and I look away, shaking my head. "I''m fine."


    "How was your day at the gallery?"


    I take a deep breath, considering how much to tell him, but finally decide to tell him everything-excluding the residency, only because I still don''t know much about it. Arthur sips his whiskey as he listens, and when I''m finished, he nods and leans back in his chair.


    "That all sounds promising," he says, his words ever so slightly slurred. "I''d like to attend your lecture."


    "It''s open to the public," I reply simply.


    Arthur nods, and we fall into another silence. I watch as he polishes off his whiskey, then reaches for the nearby bottle, which he brought with him when he poured my wine. My brow furrows as he refills his ss.


    "How much have you had tonight?" I ask.


    He shrugs. "Three sses? Four? Not sure. Why?"


    "It''s not like you to drink this much," I reply. "Especially not alone. You always said that a man shouldn''t drink withoutpany."


    "Well, up until this moment, I didn''t havepany to drink with for the past five years,” he says, ncing at me. "Believe it or not, but I did miss our nightcaps and dancing


    Despite myself, my heart warms slightly at the memory of our old routine. We used to share a drink a few nights out of the week, and dance to music on the record yer. I recall Augustine mentioning how much she misses the sound of our music andughter, and it makes me soften even more.


    "There''s no music ying," I point out.


    "I can fix that."


    To my surprise, Arthur gets up from his chair, striding over to the old record yer


    in the corner. He picks out a record and ces it on the tter, then gently lowers the needle.


    And the moment I hear the soft strains, I feel as if I''ve beenunched into the past.


    Years ago...


    The rain pattered against the windows, turning the parking lot outside into a kaleidoscope of reds and blues reflecting from the neon lights. The mint green booths were empty, the jukebox in the corner ying an old love song that I hated. And yet for some reason, I kept whistling along to it anyway as I wiped down the counter.


    My shift was still a few hours from being over even though it was nearly midnight, and it was dragging on. In this rain, hardly anyone aside from a few truckers hade in all night. If it were up to me, I would have closed the diner already, but my boss insisted on keeping it open 24/7.


    Just as I was about to sneak into the pantry to read a book until my shift was up, the door opened.


    "Wee," I said without looking up, pulling my notepad out of my apron pocket. "Can I get you started with anything?"


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