We Loved Until We Couldn’t Novel – Chapter 6
“She said it was simple, that my father would have wanted me to do it. She told me all I had to do was walk up to the podium and say five great things about him.”
I pause, smirking faintly. “So… that’s exactly what I did.”
Adrian props himself up on his elbow, curiosity flickering in his eyes. He can already tell it’s not going to end well.
“Oh no, Iris. What did you do?”
“Here,” I say, standing up and circling around to the other side of my chair. “Let me just reenact it for you.”
I stand tall, pretending to look out over the same crowded room I faced this morning. I clear my throat.
“Hello. My name is Iris Hale, daughter of the late Thomas Hale. Thank you all for joining us today as we mourn his loss. I wanted to take a moment to honor his life by sharing with you five great things about my father. The first thing…”
I pause dramatically, then glance down at Adrian with a shrug. “That’s it.”
He sits up. “What do you mean, that’s it?”
I flop back onto my lounge chair and stretch out. “I stood there for two solid minutes without saying another word. There wasn’t one great thing I could say about that man, so I just stared silently at the crowd until my mother realized what I was doing and had my uncle remove me from the podium.”
Adrian tilts his head, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement.
“Are you kidding me? You gave the anti-eulogy at your own father’s funeral?”
I nod. “I’m not proud of it. Not really. I mean, if I’d had my way, he would’ve been a better man and I would’ve stood there for an hour telling stories. But… he wasn’t, so I didn’t.”
Adrian lies back down, shaking his head. “Wow,” he says with a grin. “You’re kind of my hero. You just roasted a dead guy.”
“That’s tacky,” I say, laughing despite myself.
“Yeah, well. Naked truth hurts.”
I roll my eyes. “Your turn.”
“I can’t top that,” he says, grinning.
“I’m sure you can come close.”
He smirks. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Yes, you can,” I tease. “Don’t make me feel like the worst person here. Tell me the most recent thought you’ve had that most people wouldn’t say out loud.”
He folds his hands behind his head, eyes locking on mine with unsettling calm. “I want to fuck you.”
My mouth falls open. Then I snap it shut again. I think I’ve officially forgotten how to breathe.
He gives me an innocent look. “You asked for the most recent thought, so I gave it to you. You’re beautiful. I’m a guy. If you were into one-night stands, I’d take you downstairs to my bedroom and I’d fuck you.”
I can’t even look at him. His bluntness makes me feel about seven different things at once — flustered, annoyed, intrigued, flattered… and something else I don’t want to name.
“Well,” I finally manage, “I’m not into one-night stands.”
“I figured as much,” he says easily. “Your turn.”
He’s so nonchalant, like he didn’t just drop a conversational grenade.
“I need a minute to regroup after that one,” I say with a nervous laugh.
I try to think of something equally shocking, but all I can focus on is the fact that he actually said that — out loud — with no shame whatsoever. Maybe it’s because he’s a neurosurgeon and I never imagined someone so disciplined casually using the word fuck like it’s punctuation.
I gather myself — somewhat — and say, “Okay. Since we’re on the subject… the first guy I ever had sex with was homeless.”
Adrian perks up, instantly intrigued. “Oh, I’m definitely going to need more of that story.”
I stretch out my arm and rest my head on it. “I grew up in Maine. We lived in a decent neighborhood, but the street behind ours wasn’t great. Our backyard bordered a condemned house and a couple of abandoned lots. I became friends with a guy named Julian — he was living in that house. No one knew he was there except me. I used to take him food and clothes and stuff. Until my father found out.”
Adrian’s expression darkens. “What did he do?”
My jaw tightens. I hate this part — the memory still burns when I touch it. “He beat him up,” I say quietly. That’s as naked as I want to get about that.
“Your turn,” I add, eager to redirect.
He studies me for a moment, as if trying to see through the pieces I’m not saying. Then he breaks eye contact and stares at the sky.
“The thought of marriage repulses me,” he says. “I’m almost thirty, and I have no desire for a wife.”