Twenty minutes later, headlights crossed my living room wall again.
Gina came in first, wearing the careful face of a woman dragged into a storm. She reached Ryan and held him tightly.
Anthony followed, looking much older. When he saw Iris by the fireplace, his face folded.
“Iris,” he said.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
He stopped immediately.
Gina came in first.
Gina looked at me. “I knew Anthony had a daughter. I didn’t know she was the girl my son was taking to prom.”
“I didn’t know Ryan was your son, either. I’m sorry.”
“But you knew Anthony was still out there,” she said. “Iris didn’t.”
Iris looked at Anthony. “Did you know about me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you want me?”
“Yes,” he said, too quickly to be anything but true.
Her face crumpled. “Then where were you?”
“Did you know about me?”
Anthony swallowed. “I missed visits. I took jobs too far away. I told myself I was paying bills, but I was tired and angry. Your mother made it hard, Iris, but I let hard become impossible.”
Iris looked between us.
“So both of you chose your pride over me?”
Neither of us answered.
We didn’t have to.
“I spent my whole life thinking one of you didn’t love me,” she said. “And the other one let me believe it.”
Iris looked between us.
Ryan stood beside Gina, quiet but protective.
Iris looked at Ryan. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“This is humiliating.”
“No,” he said. “Not for you.”
Then she turned to me. “I want to talk to him. Alone.”
Anthony looked at me, waiting.
Once, we had fought so hard to win that we forgot Iris was not a prize.
I stepped back. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
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