The Writings of Iris Gray
To: Mortimer Anhingas, 1157 Gandalbrook Lane, Tennyson, Colorado
From: Iris Gray, North Anchorage, Alaska
December 18th
Dear Mor,
By the time you get this letter, it might already be after Christmas. In that case, you might already know the surprise. I cannot disclose much, but I am sending you something Christmas Eve. I paid extra for it to arrive on time. I am sorry that I haven’t been able to reach you; winter has been particularly bad out here, and the cold “freezes the signals in the air”, as my dad keeps saying.
Hope you’re having a good Christmas. I miss you.
Yours,
Iris Gray
The Mental Observations of Mortimer Anhingas
December 24th
I never did like parties.
I stand in the corner of the overly warm room, closing my eyes to ward off a headache and wishing I could shut my ears as well. The irony that I can be invisible within my family and anything but on occasions like these frustrates me to no end.
Too many people fill the house. Not that the building isn’t big enough– in fact, by my mother’s standards, we could fit a few more– but the noise and glare of lights is too much for my throbbing head. My good eye feels overworked and to wear my sunglasses on an occasion like this, regardless of whether it keeps me from a migraine, would be a scandal of unspeakable proportions to my mother. You’d think I’d asked her to change all the chandeliers.
Just a little bit longer. I talk to the researchers from A.S.H.E.S., rub some shoulders, and then I could slip out.
Laughter from the other side of the room makes me turn my head, slowly so I don’t exacerbate my headache. Phineas, wearing a suit against his will but not seeming to mind that much in the moment, was standing next to the fire regaling some of his choice invited friends with some tale about… well, I’m not exactly sure what, but they are thoroughly captivated by it.
I’m glad my brother has friends to hang out with. Besides the food, things like this when I was his age were particularly abysmal.
But then again, I didn’t have friends growing up.
I look around the room for any sign of my father, hoping to get an idea of how long it will be until I can slip away into the quiet night. My gaze first draws to the flickers of snowfall outside the window, and then I spot him, standing in a group with three other men. One is dark-haired and wiry, towering over the rest but speaking in a soft tone. Then there’s a shorter, fatter man, hair silver with age and with glasses so thick his eyes looked rodentian behind them. The third man is more pleasant looking than the others, with brown-blond hair and gentle gray-green eyes.
Dad turns to me and my breath sticks in my throat as he waves. “Mortimer!”
Swallowing, I fold my hands behind my back, striding over to stand next to him. “Yes, sir?”
“Dwight, Keith, Shimon, this is my son Mortimer.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, which startles me a bit. “Mortimer, meet Dr. Dwight Hallenbard, Dr. Keith Glazer, and Dr. Shimon Annenberg.”
“Your father tells us you’re interested in studying Altered genetics?” Dr. Glazer’s voice even sounds like one a rat might use, and I don’t miss his unsubtle attempts to not stare at my bad eye. I clear my throat.
“I have been dual enrolling at a boarding school in England for my high school years and plan on pursuing a full pHD in genetics. When the Altered virus came about… well, I wanted to help people.” I stand up a little straighter. Don’t talk their ear off. “I think your mission at A.S.H.E.S. sounds very noble.”
“That it is!” Dr. Hallenbard agrees heartily. “I’ve heard excellent things about the education level of the school you go to… very hard to get into, isn’t it?”
Not for the right price.
I merely shrug.
“Do you have any personal connection to Altereds?” Dr. Glazer asks.
I think of Ollie and Phineas, but still shake my head no. “Not really, sir.”
“Probably for the best.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen such a volatile and strange illness.”
Dr. Annenberg still has spoken yet, but I notice his quiet examination. I glance over at him, surprised to find neither judgement nor disgust at his gaze.
When he notices me, he smiles, almost shyly.
“Why do you want to help Altereds, Mortimer?”
Was that even a question? I release a breath.
“Parents shouldn’t have to worry about losing their children to something like this, sir. Nor should kids fear bearing such a burden they weren’t meant to carry. The Altered virus is dangerous not just to the user, but those around them.” I tilt my chin up so I can look him in the eyes. “I want to help people, sir. This is a way I feel like I could do it.”
The two other scientists nod. Dr. Annenberg beams.
“Well if my colleagues don’t object, I’d be happy to welcome you on the team after you graduate.”
“No objection here!” Dr. Glazer says. “A mind like yours would be deeply valued at A.S.H.E.S.”
I can hardly breath. “Sir… I don’t know what to say…”
“You still have to file a formal application, of course.” Dr. Hallenbard says primly.
“Merely a formality.” Dr. Annenberg grins. “I look forward to it.”
“Likewise.” I barely know what to do now. What should I say? Should I leave? Stay around?
Dr. Annenberg acts first, taking my hand and shaking it heartily.
“I would love to talk to you more about this tonight. If half of what your father told us is true, then you’re just the sort of candidate we’ve been looking for.” He looks up at my father. “You must be very proud, Charles.”
Dad turns to me, and I’m hit with the realization that I’m eye level with him. He smiles, and for once, I don’t think there’s contempt in it.
“I am proud of him.”
The world blurs, almost like I’m dreaming. Maybe I am. Maybe all of this is a cruel dream.
In all eighteen years of my life, never once has my father said that.
Emotion makes my throat close and I barely manage to smile back at him.
He’s… proud of me?
The son he barely acknowledges to exist?
The conversation turns, but I barely hear Dr. Hallenbard’s question to my father. I mutter out a pardon to leave and quietly as I can, slip away to the back door outside.
Cold slams into my overheated body, and my lungs constrict on snowy air. My breath steams in furious puffs as I wheeze, slumping on the back step. I feel like crying and shouting for joy and laughing and crumpling into a panic attack all at once.
An internship at the A.S.H.E.S. facility. Helping find a cure. Making a real difference.
My father, saying he’s proud of me.
I bite the base of my thumb to keep the tears back. Crying felt inappropriate for such a moment of maturity, but the overwhelm pressed so hard that I couldn’t hold back a shaky sniffle.
In the quiet, I’m suddenly aware of the deep grief pressing on my heart.
And the girl now in my mind.
Iris.
All of this goodness, all of this joy…
But no one to share it with.
Only Iris would understand, and she is miles and miles away.
I bury my face in my hands, not knowing what to feel anymore.
A shoe scuff startles me from my thoughts. I look up, but the snow-covered yard stretching to the trees is empty. All that I hear is the tic, tic, tic, tic, of fat snowflakes falling on frozen tree branches.
And then a word that’s half question, half plea for help.
“Mortimer?”
The very familiar voice comes from above me and now I know I’m dreaming. Because right above me, currently sitting on the roof slant just below my old bedroom window, is a shaky Iris, looking very much like a wet cat that climbed up a tree and forgot how to get down.
“Iris!” I scramble over to below where she’s standing, bewildered. “What… how… what are you— why?!”
“Well I wanted to surprise you which is going swimmingly as you see!” She clings tighter to the edge, closing her eyes. “Oh help… why did I think this was a good idea…”
“How are you here?!” I sputter.
She glances over her shoulder and despite the bizarre circumstances, still glares at me.
“Can I tell you after you help me get down?”
“How did you get up?”
“Well it was easy to get up and I might have kept going if I hadn’t been reminded of my old fear of heights.” She looks down at me. “If I let go, can you catch me?”
“What?” My dreams have gone from bizarre to pure insanity. “You can’t be serious! That doesn’t work in real—“
I cannot finish my sentence because Iris suddenly slips, and all at once, my girlfriend falls on top of me, squishing me into the deep snow. My lungs seize from the impact and cold and I’m left choking as Iris rolls off, gasping, then tugs my hand. “Mor?”
“Alive,” I choke. “Barely.” I slowly prop myself up, astounded to find nothing broken.
But the ache in my body makes it very clear: this is not a dream.
I stare at Iris incredulously. “You’re real.”
“Of course I’m real, silly.” She brushes snow off her shoulders. “Didn’t you get my letter?”
“No.”
“I was gonna surprise you with something for Christmas.” She leans in, so close her breath warms my face. “Me.”
I stare at her for several seconds, speechless.
You.
The one thing I wanted for Christmas most…
And here she is.
I duck forward and kiss her, harder than I ever have and harder still. Iris squeaks in surprise, giggling when we break apart.
“Is that your way of saying “merry Christmas”?”
“I love you,” I gasp, unable to think of anything else besides those three words.
She grins, pressing her forehead against mine. Her hair smells like pine needles… and pumpkin spice.
You and your pumpkin spice, Iris.
She trembles a bit next to me, and all of a sudden I realize we’re probably both soaked through and we’re sitting out here in the freezing cold.
“Oh!” I sit up, brushing snow off myself. “Oh, good grief, you’ve got to be freezing…”
“I’m freezing?” She laughs, and my face flushes as I realize that she is wearing a thick coat while all I have on is a suit.
“Oh.”
Iris grins and kisses my cheek. “I love you too, Mortimer Anhingas.”
For a brief second my mind freezes and all I can think about is her smile and the smell of pumpkin spice.
Then, realizing we’re still sitting in the snow, I scramble to my feet, and offer her a hand up.
“Would you like to come inside? There’s a big party going on, so no one will notice if we just stay in the back rooms for a bit.”
She glances at the door, then back at me.
“You still don’t want me to meet your family, do you?”
The slightly hurt tone is a deflation to my cloud nine elation.
“They’re not…” I shake my head. “They’re not great people, Iris.”
And I have no idea how they would react to you. As soon as Dad found out, there was no reclaiming safety. Iris and her family would be scrutinized as far as his powers could reach.
All for the sake of keeping control.
“Someday,” I murmur. “Someday, I promise. I am glad you’re here though. And I like being sneaky with you.”
Iris pursed her lips, eyes sparkling.
“All right. For now. On one condition.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“When we’re dry, and if there’s an opening… could you dance with me in the back halls to the music in the main room? Like Jo and Laurie in Little Women?”
It takes a second for what she’s asking to register in my head, and when it does, I laugh, harder than I’ve laughed in a long, long time.
“I’ll see what I can do. The cook likes me, so I can pull a few strings to let us have the back rooms unseen.” I offer my arm. I’m almost frozen and soaked to the bone, but looking at her makes me feel warmer than all the sunshine in the world could. “Shall we?”
She wraps her arm through mine, leaning her head on my shoulder. “We shall.”
I lead her through the back door, into the kitchen. Like I predicted, Kelsey, our housekeeper for as long as I could remember and the closest thing I’d known to the concept of a “cozy aunt”, welcomes Iris’s presence.
When I explain my concerns to her in a whisper, she nods, smiling as she tapped her nose.
“Never told one secret in my life, Morti. I’ll keep yours.”
And, like the soft auntie she was, she bundles Iris and I in towels and sits us both down by the heater in the laundry room off the kitchen, leaving us with hot chocolate while she left to reorganize the caterers.
The snow in Iris’s hair is melting, and it glitters against her dark waves as she sits criss-cross, puffy jacket shed and towel wrapped around her shoulders. It’s no firelight moment, but as she closes her eyes, soaking up the warmth, I find myself smiling.
How on earth did I, the albino nerdy outcast of both his family and society, end up dating the prettiest girl in the world?
And how on earth did she make it to me on Christmas after all?
She opens her eyes and catches me staring, and she blushes. “What?”
“Nothing.” My gaze drops to my mug. “Nothing. I’m just…” My tongue fumbles over the words for several seconds before I finally choke out, “Merry Christmas, Iris.”
Iris smiles, and scoots a little closer, leaning her head against my shoulder in a way that couldn’t feel more perfect.
“Merry Christmas, Mor.”