“I know.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Every Father’s Day project, every school form, every ‘Ask your dad,’ I thought he chose not to be there.”
“I know.”
My voice shook. “I should have let you know him. I should have let you decide what hurt and what healed. I kept choosing you, but I was taking something from you.”
Iris wiped her cheek. “I don’t know how to forgive that.”
“You don’t have to today.”
“What if I want to see him again?”
“Then I won’t stand in your way.”
“You don’t have to today.”
Three weeks later, at graduation, Anthony sat to my left with Gina beside him.
When Iris’s name was called, all three of us stood.
Afterward, Anthony waited until Iris reached for him first. She hugged him, then came to me.
“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “But I don’t trust you the same way.”
“I’ll earn it back.”
“No more deciding what truth I can handle.”
“No more,” I promised.
“I don’t hate you.”
Ryan came up beside us.
Iris gave him a small smile. “Worst prom story ever.”
“Definitely top five,” he said.
Then Iris looked at all of us.
“One picture,” she said. “Everybody.”
“Worst prom story ever.”
