He studied me for a beat longer than I liked.
“And does she know about me? About us?”
“A little. Not everything yet.”
“What’s her name?”
“Chloe,” I said.
“Chloe.” He turned the name over carefully. “Twenty-five,” he said again, almost to himself. “So she’s grown. Independent.”
“Yes.”
“Well.” He smiled, fully now. “That’s wonderful news. I would love to meet her.”
I poured myself more wine to keep my hands busy.
“How about Saturday? Coffee. Just the three of us.”
“Saturday is perfect.”
That Saturday, I sat in my car in the coffee shop parking lot for a full ten minutes before I could make myself get out. Through the window, I watched Richard walk in, scan the room, and pick a table near the back. He smoothed his collar twice.
Chloe’s car pulled in beside mine. She tapped on my window.
“You ready?”
I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway.
“Whatever happens in there,” I said quietly, “this is either going to save me or set me free.”
She squeezed my shoulder and waited for me to walk in first.
I sat for one more moment, gripping the steering wheel, and whispered to myself that I was about to find out exactly who I had almost married.
A few minutes later, Chloe walked through the door right on cue, her hair loose around her shoulders, a soft smile already in place. She crossed the coffee shop and leaned down to hug me.
“Hi, Mom,” she said warmly.
Richard stood so fast his chair scraped the floor. Something switched on behind his eyes, and a different version of him stepped forward.
“Richard, this is Chloe.”
“You must be the famous daughter,” he said, pulling out her chair himself. “Your mother didn’t tell me you were this lovely.”
Chloe gave a polite laugh and sat down. I tried to catch her eye, but Richard had already leaned toward her, elbows on the table, body angled away from me.
“What do you do, Chloe? Your mother’s been so secretive about you.”
“I work in marketing,” she said.
“Marketing. Smart girl. I bet you’re brilliant at it.”
