Iris
I watch Miles from the wrought–iron patio table where my mother, Arthur, and I are having Saturday afternoon tea. He’s running around the lawn, giggling as he chases butterflies, his dark hair catching the sunlight. Every now and then, he squeals with delight when one lands on his outstretched finger.
“He’s got so much energy,” my mother notes, sipping her tea. “Caleb was the same way at that age. Couldn’t keep still for more than five seconds.”
I smile, watching as my father emerges from the greenhouse to show Miles a particularly colorful butterfly perched on a potted plant. Miles‘ eyes go wide, and he listens attentively as my father explains something to him.
“It’s nice to see them bonding,” I say softly. “I always wanted him to have loving grandparents.”
My mother beams. “And we’ve always wanted a grandchild
I can’t help but feel tears misting over my eyes, although I quickly blink them away. Miles is getting to experience the childhood I never had. And while there’s a small part of me that feels a twinge of jealousy, it’s overshadowed by the gratitude I feel that Miles gets to experience this.
“Daddy!” Miles suddenly calls out, beckoning Arthur over. Daddy, come look!”
Arthur chuckles fondly and wanders over to Miles and my father. My mother turns to me once he’s gone. “Iris, do you like chess?” I nod, and she quickly gets up, retreating into the house for a minute before returning with a beautiful marble chess set. I help her set it up on the patio table.
“So,” she begins, moving her pawn forward two spaces to open the game. “Tell me what’s been troubling you.
I look up, startled. “What makes you think something’s troubling me?”
“Please.” She gives me a pointed look. “I may not have known you for long, but I’m still your mother. Mothers can tell.”
I sigh, moving one of my pawns to counter hers. “Is it that obvious?”
“You’re doing a good job of hiding it, if it’s any consolation.”
I hesitate, watching her make her next move. “It’s just… everything with the charity initiative, the backlash about Miles going to school, and then there’s Veronica…”
My mother listens intently as I fill her in on everything–the disaster at the children’s day event, the falling approval ratings, the “feud” with Veronica that the tabloids are picking at like roadkill. My mother is blissfully disconnected from the news outlets, so she wasn’t aware of a lot of this. I wish I had her strength in refusing to look at the internet, but it’s not so easy for a young person.
“I just feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water,” I admit, capturing one of her pawns with mine. “ Veronica is so… perfect. Always poised, always saying the right thing, never a hair out of place. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m constantly one step away from completely screwing up. And the media is absolutely loving it.”
My mother considers this, her fingers hovering over a bishop before moving it diagonally across the board. ” You’re putting too much pressure on yourself, Iris. In our world, you can’t do everything perfectly. It’s always a balancing act.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as I study the board for my next move.
“I mean that being wealthy comes with its own unique challenges,” she explains. “You’re constantly having to choose between pleasing the public and caring for your family. The less fortunate will always judge the more
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fortunate. It’s in our nature–resentment is a powerful emotion.”
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I nod slowly, moving my knight to threaten her bishop. “I’ve been on both sides now. I know what it feels like to struggle, to look at someone who has everything and think Why them and not me?“”
“Exactly,” my mother says. “And that’s what makes you special, Iris. You have a perspective that most wealthy people lack. You’re doing a splendid job of balancing what best for Miles while showing genuine care for those less fortunate. Your humble upbringing has given you insight that someone like Veronica could never have.”
I frown, watching as she counters my move by repositioning her queen. “But Veronica runs a charity. She clearly cares about helping others too.”
“Perhaps,” my mother concedes. “But ask yourself–does she do it because she genuinely cares, or because it’s expected of someone in her position? Is it passion or obligation?”
I hadn’t considered that. My chess game falters as I ponder her words, making a careless move that leaves my bishop vulnerable.
“You’re distracted,” my mother notes, taking advantage of my mistake to capture my piece. “Check.”
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I quickly reposition my king out of danger. “I just feel so out of my league.”
My mother sighs softly. “Iris, you have to think of this world of wealth, status, and influence as one big chess match. And remember that everyone plays differently.”
She gestures to the board between us. “Some play with outwardly aggressive tactics, using their queen right off the bat.” She taps her queen piece. “That was Selina’s approach–bold, obvious, easy to anticipate orice you understand her pattern.”
Inod, chewing the inside of my cheek.
“But others,” my mother continues, moving one of her pawns up a space, positioning it so that if I move my knight to get out of danger, another pawn will take it, “strategically use their pawns to get what they want. Don’t be so certain that someone like Veronica is completely innocent all of the time.”
My eyes widen slightly at the implication. “You think she’s deliberately trying to undermine me?”
“I’m not saying that,” my mother says carefully. “I’m saying you should keep your eyes open and your wits about you. Not everyone who smiles at you wishes you well. And sometimes it’s alright to trust your gut–if someone seems too sweet to be savory, then maybe they really are.”
I consider her words as I study the board.
“You’re right,” I finally say, moving my knight to capture her nearby bishop. Her pawn immediately takes my knight, but I think it was a fair trade. “I’ll try to keep my head screwed on tight.”
“Precisely.” My mother beams at me. “And remember, you have one thing that people like Veronica don’t have: genuine support in the form of a mate and a close family.”
She picks up her castle piece, holding it up for me to see. “The castle, which represents home and strength, is one of the most powerful pieces on the board, although often overlooked. It’s humble–it doesn’t draw attention like the queen–but it’s essential to winning.”
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“Arthur is my castle,” I muse, glancing across the lawn where he’s helping Miles climb a tree, my father spotting them from below.
“Yes, and so are we,” my mother says. “Let me show you something.
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She demonstrates a move I’ve never seen before, sliding her king two spaces toward her castle, then moving the castle to the other side of the king.
“It’s called ‘castling,“” she explains. “A special move that protects your king by bringing your castle into play. It’s the only time in chess where you can move two pieces at once.”
I watch, fascinated, as she explains the rules of castling–how neither piece can have moved previously, spaces between them must be empty, how the king can’t be in check or move through check.
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“The message is clear,” she says. “Your king–your heart, your core self–is strongest when it’s protected by its castle. By home and family.”
The game continues, and I find myself thinking more strategically, anticipating her moves instead of just reacting to them. When I finally manage to execute a perfect castling maneuver, it shifts the entire dynamic of the board in my favor.
Five moves later, I’ve trapped her king. “Checkmate,” I announce, surprised at my own victory. I’ve never been very good at chess.
As we clean up the board, iny mother suddenly claps her hands together. “Oh! I almost forgot! I have something for you two.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out an cnvelope, handing it to me. “I was saving these for a special occasion, but I think you could use them now.”
Inside are two tickets to the Ordan Botanical Gardens. “They’re having a special exhibition of night–blooming flowers this weekend,” she explains. “It’s supposed to be quite romantic. You two should go tonight.”
“But what about Miles?” I ask.
“Oh, we’ll keep him for the day,” my mother says, waving her hand. “Francis has been dying to spend some quality time with him, and I’ve got a whole baking lesson planned.”
Considering this, I look over at Arthur, who is crossing the lawn back toward me. Miles is laying in the grass, his little chest heaving from exertion. He’s laughing.
My mother touches my hand. “Don’t get so wrapped up in politics that you forget what’s truly important, Iris. Remember, your castle is your saving grace.”
She’s right, as usual. Without a second thought, I rise and meet Arthur halfway, holding up the tickets. “Want to go on a date with me to see some flowers?”
