Four Of A Kind

The table went very quiet. Even Harlow stopped talking mid-sentence about the merits of strawberry versus blueberry compote.

Iris set her fork down carefully. “What about her?”

“She just showed up? After two years?”

“Twenty months,” Iris corrected automatically. “But yeah.”

Cassidy’s expression shifted into something Iris couldn’t quite read. Not quite angry. Not quite sympathetic. Something in between that felt dangerously close to understanding.

“That sucks.”

“Cass—” Vivienne started.

“What? It does.” Cassidy leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “My mom’s been gone basically my whole life too. I mean, she’s physically here sometimes, but she’s not actually here, you know?”

Iris did know. That was exactly how it had felt with Diana. Present but absent. Physically occupying space but emotionally checked out, focused on her next boyfriend or her next crisis or anything except her actual children.

“At least yours sends checks,” Cassidy continued, her voice going sharp. “Mine just threatens to cut my credit card every time I piss her off.”

“That’s different,” Vivienne said quietly.

“Is it though?”

Harlow reached over and squeezed Iris’s hand. “Are you okay? Like actually okay?”

Iris considered lying. Saying she was fine. She’d gotten so good at being fine over the past two years that it was basically her default setting.

But something about the way all four sisters were looking at her, identical purple eyes carrying four different flavors of concern, made her want to tell the truth instead.

“I don’t know,” Iris admitted. “She seems… different? Like maybe she actually means it this time?”

“But?” Sabrina prompted.

“But she seemed different last time too. And the time before that. And every time before she left for real.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and honest.

Vivienne set down her tablet. Actually set it down, which Iris had learned was basically a miracle. “What does Isaiah think?”

“He thinks she’s lying.” Iris picked at her french toast. “He thinks Jack’s gonna get bored and she’s gonna bail again.”

“Is he wrong?”

Iris wanted to say yes. Wanted to defend Diana and insist that her mom really was trying this time, really had changed, really did want to be a family again.

But Zay had been right about pretty much everything for her entire life. He’d been right about the landlord trying to cheat them on rent. He’d been right about her “friend” Kayla being fake and stealing lunch money. He’d been right about Mom’s boyfriends always leaving.

So he was probably right about this too.

“No,” Iris said quietly. “He’s probably not wrong.”

Harlow made a soft sound of sympathy and squeezed her hand tighter. Cassidy’s scowl deepened. Vivienne’s expression went carefully neutral in the way that meant she was feeling too much to show anything. Sabrina just watched, as always, cataloging and understanding without needing to speak.

“You know what?” Cassidy stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Fuck her.”

“Cass—”

“No, seriously. Fuck her.” Cassidy pointed at Iris with her fork like it was a weapon. “You’ve got Zay. You’ve got us now, apparently. You don’t need some flaky mom who only shows up when it’s convenient.”

“That’s not—” Iris started, but Cassidy was on a roll.

“And if she tries to take you to California, I’ll personally break her kneecaps. That’s a promise, not a threat.”

“Cassidy!” Vivienne’s voice cracked like a whip. “You cannot threaten physical violence against Iris’s mother!”

“Watch me.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things—”

“We have plenty of nice things! Look around! We’re drowning in nice things! That’s not the problem!”

Iris watched the bickering with something close to affection. They fought like sisters. Real sisters who actually cared about each other instead of just pretending for cameras.

“She’s not wrong though,” Sabrina said, her voice cutting through the argument. “About the first part. Not the kneecap part.”

Everyone turned to look at her.

Sabrina closed her book. “You do have us now. If you want us.”

Iris’s throat went tight. “Why would you want me? I’m just Zay’s sister.”

“That’s exactly why,” Vivienne said, and something in her expression softened in a way Iris had never seen before. “Because you’re important to him. Which makes you important to us.”

“Also you’re cool,” Harlow added. “You know all the good anime and you’re really good at Mario Kart and you don’t judge me for having thirty-four plushies!”

“Thirty-seven,” Sabrina corrected. “You bought three more yesterday.”

“Oh yeah! Mr. Sparkles, Princess Moonbeam, and Sir Fluffington the Third!”

Cassidy groaned. “The names are getting worse.”

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!”

Iris felt something warm bloom in her chest. Something dangerous and fragile that felt suspiciously like hope. These girls barely knew her. They had no reason to care about some random eighth grader whose brother happened to work for them.

But they did care. She could see it in Harlow’s smile, Cassidy’s protective anger, Vivienne’s quiet concern, and Sabrina’s knowing gaze.

They cared, and that was terrifying because Iris had learned not to trust when people cared. Caring always came with conditions. Caring always disappeared when things got hard.

Except Zay’s care never had. He’d stayed when Mom left. He’d stayed through the rough months when money was tight. He’d stayed when Iris was difficult and angry and scared.

Maybe these girls would stay too.

Or maybe Iris was being an idiot just like her brother.

“So,” Harlow said brightly, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Want to see my wig collection? I have like forty-seven of them!”

“That’s excessive,” Vivienne said.

“You have forty-seven blazers!”

“That’s different. Those are professional necessities—”

“Your wigs are professional necessities!” Cassidy cut in. “Remember when you pretended to be Harlow to get out of that boring dinner with the French ambassador?”

Vivienne’s cheeks flushed pink. “That was a strategic substitution.”

“That was FRAUD.”

“It was—”

Iris laughed, the sound bubbling up without permission. All four sisters stopped arguing and looked at her.

“Sorry,” Iris said, not sorry at all. “You guys are just really funny.”

Harlow beamed. “We know!”

“We’re not trying to be funny,” Vivienne protested.

“Which makes it funnier,” Sabrina observed.

“I hate all of you,” Vivienne muttered, but her lips twitched.

Iris’s phone buzzed with another message from Sarah, probably demanding more details about the mansion and the sisters and whether Iris had eaten anything with gold flakes on it yet. But Iris ignored it, focusing instead on the weird, chaotic breakfast happening around her.

This was nice. Really nice. The kind of nice that made her chest hurt because she knew it couldn’t last.

Nothing good ever lasted.

Mom had taught her that lesson thoroughly.