One tray of brownies and five Kahlúa and vodkas later, Iris and I have watched The Hangover (1,2, and 3), Bridesmaids, and Wedding Crashers. When we realized the unfortunate wedding based theme running through our DVD selections, we moved on to a TV rerun of Die Hard. Not that it helped.
When Bruce kisses his wife at the end of the movie, Iris throws a chip at the TV.
“God,” snarls Iris from her sprawl on the couch, “is there any movie that does not have a romantic element in it?” She flops a pillow over her head and groans.
I’m not feeling much better, having consumed my weight in sugar. I ease to a sitting position, the room spinning slightly. “’Fraid not, butter bean.”
She lifts the corner of her pillow and her dark eyes narrows. “Butter bean?”
We stare at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.
“He wasn’t even that great in bed,” Iris says between snorts.
I don’t want to know. But Iris is in a sharing mood. “Had like one mode. Fast, jerky, and oblivious. I swear to God, there were times my teeth would rattle.”
“Iris!”
She glances at me with an evil grin. “It’s true! He was like a wind up fuck toy, you know? All...” Sticking her lip under her teeth, she bobbles her head as she thrusts her hips in rapid fashion.
We both laugh then, giddy giggles that are designed to drive out Iris’s pain. But it only makes the room spin faster. Our laughter dies down on a gurgle, Iris’s or mine, I can’t tell.
“You know what the worst thing is?” Iris says to the ceiling. Her voice is suddenly somber, strained.
“What?”
“I knew he was cheating. I swear, I knew.” Her nose reddens. “I just turned a blind eye to it all. Shit, I am such an idiot.”
I turn to my side to fully face her. “You just wanted it to be okay. And he’s the idiot, not you.”
Her attention remains on the ceiling as she expels a long sigh. “I can’t blame him entirely.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” I lurch up. Not a good idea.
She glances at me, her dark eyes glistening. “Just that he isn’t exactly in an easy position.”
“I’m not getting you, 'Ris.”
Iris shrugs, then hugs the throw pillow to her chest. “He’s hot. He’s the captain of the lacrosse team. A lot of girls throw themselves at him. And I don’t know…” Another shrug. “How would I react to the same temptation?”
My mouth opens and closes as I try to speak. Is she serious? “Iris, unless they’re naked and landing on his dick when they throw themselves at him, Henry has no excuse screwing them when he’s supposed to be committed to you.”
The couch creaks as she turns to look at me. Her mouth is a flat line of protest. “Are you saying that if you constantly had guys hitting on you, you’d ignore them for Drew?”
Again, is she serious? Has she seen Drew? Nothing compares.
“Yeah, I’d ignore them.”
Dark eyes bore into me. “And you think he’d do the same? That he isn’t tempted on a constant basis?”
An afternoon’s worth of junk food threatens to rise up my throat. I want to say that Drew would never do that. My whole soul cries it. But my jaw seems to have locked.
Iris’s voice is low yet clear. “I mean, he’s a star, way more than Henry ever could be. He’s got his own Wiki page. Tumblers devoted to him, for crying out loud. He’s met the freaking President. Of the United States. Did you know that?”
Dully, I shake my head.
“His last girlfriend was like a beauty queen.”