I stared at her.
Then I turned and stared at Ryan.
“No,” I said.
Ryan closed his eyes for a second.
“She’s my biological mother,” he said.
I didn’t move.
Emma came across the floor and stood beside him. She took his hand.
“You knew?” I said to her.
She nodded.
“How long?”
“A couple of months.”
“And your father?”
Emma looked at David.
“I asked Dad to help,” she said.
I’ve known Ryan for four years. Emma brought him home for Thanksgiving the first year they dated, and he spent the whole afternoon in the kitchen helping me with the dishes and telling terrible jokes. I liked him immediately.
I knew his mother had left when he was little. I knew his father, Greg, had raised him alone. That was all. Ryan never talked about her. Not once in four years. When it came up, he’d just say, “She left,” and change the subject.
