I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“Don’t touch me!”
For once, my daughter had explained me better than I could explain myself.
“Call Anthony.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“You had twelve years,” she said. “I get tonight.”
Ryan pulled out his phone. “I can call my mom.”
Iris wiped her face. “Do it. Please.”
“I can call my mom.”
***
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?”
