Iris
Five Years Later…
“Fifty years of marriage, and they still make each other laugh like that,” Arthur says, appearing at my side with two glasses of champagne. He hands me one and clinks his against it, and we watch as my parents twirl on the lawn, my mom throwing her head back at something my father has said. Her silver hair catches the light—she let it go gray last year, and it suits her.
“Cheers to fifty more years for them,” he continues.
“Only if I get fifty more with you,” I reply, taking a sip.
Arthur grins. “Deal.”
My gaze drifts across the garden to where Miles is showing his little cousin Henry how to properly skip rocks across the small pond. At eleven, Miles is already tall and lanky like his father, all elbows and knees, with the same stubborn curl tha
