Chapter 17
Not because I wanted Ryan back.
Because familiarity is dangerous.
It can make old roads look newly paved.
I began seeing someone around that time.
His name was Daniel Harper.
He was not a billionaire.
He owned two architecture studios and considered a three-hour meeting an act of violence.
We had gone on several dates before New York.
Nothing serious.
After Ryan entered the children’s lives, I told Daniel everything.
He listened.
Then he asked, “Do you still love him?”
I hated the question.
Not because the answer was yes.
Because the answer required more honesty than a simple no.
“I love who I thought we were,” I said. “Sometimes.”
Daniel nodded.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Do you want him back?”
“No.”
That answer came easier.
Daniel stayed.
He did not compete with Ryan.
He did not try to become the children’s father.
He simply existed kindly in our lives.
Ryan noticed.
Of course he did.
One Saturday afternoon, he arrived to pick up the children for the zoo while Daniel was helping me assemble a bookshelf.
Ryan looked at him.
Then at me.
Then at the bookshelf.
“Do you need help?”
Daniel smiled.
“We’re good.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
Ethan ran downstairs wearing binoculars.
“Dad!”
The word stopped everyone.
It was the first time any of the children had called him that naturally.
Ryan looked at Ethan.
All jealousy disappeared from his face.
“What did you say?”
Ethan frowned.
“I said Dad. We’re going to be late.”
Ryan looked at me.
His eyes filled instantly.
I looked away.
Some moments belonged to him.
Later that night, after he brought them home, he stayed on the porch.
“They called me Dad.”
“Ethan did.”
“Lily did later.”
I smiled.
“Alex will when he’s ready.”
Ryan nodded.
Then his eyes moved through the window.
Daniel’s coat was still hanging inside.
“You’re seeing him.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“That’s not really your business.”
“I know.”
He looked out toward the street.
Then said, “I hate that.”
“I assumed.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“That would be healthy.”
He gave me a look.
I almost smiled.
Then he became serious.
“Did you ever think about telling me?”
“Many times.”
“When?”
“Birthdays.”
He looked down.
“Every birthday?”
“Most.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I thought about it.
“Because after enough time passed, telling you became harder. The secret developed weight. Every year I waited made the previous year harder to explain.”