The photograph in Emily Carter’s hand should have been harmless—a smiling woman standing beside a Christmas tree with one arm around her daughter—but the moment I saw it, every word disappeared from my mouth. I knew that woman. More importantly, I knew her in a way no man dating her daughter would ever want to explain.
Chapter 3
Catherine opened the door.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Five years had changed her less than I expected. Her hair had more silver in it, and there were faint lines around her eyes, but she still had the same composed expression that once made nervous employees rehearse presentations before entering her office.
“Hello, Ryan.”
“Catherine.”
“This is strange.”
“That’s one word for it.”
She stepped aside.
Emily was sitting in the living room.
The resemblance between them felt almost cruel now.
Emily motioned toward a chair.
“Sit.”
I sat.
Catherine took the sofa opposite me.
For a moment, we looked like people waiting for a lawyer to read a will.
Emily broke the silence.
“I asked both of you here because I am tired of imagining conversations that happened before I even knew Ryan.”
Neither of us interrupted.
“I need to understand what this actually was.”
Catherine looked at me.
I nodded.
She said, “Your father and I had been divorced for about a year. I was lonely. Ryan had just been dumped. We were attracted to each other.”
Emily winced slightly.
Catherine noticed.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. I asked.”
Catherine continued.
“It should not have happened.”
I looked at her.
She turned toward me.
“I’m not saying that because of what’s happening now. I was his boss. I was much older. Whatever we told ourselves at the time, that power difference existed.”
It was the first time I had ever heard her acknowledge it so directly.
Emily crossed her arms.
“Did you take advantage of him?”
“No,” I said.
Catherine answered at the same time.
“Possibly.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She held my gaze.
“You were twenty-three.”
“I was an adult.”
“Yes. And I controlled your performance reviews.”
“You never threatened me.”
“That isn’t the only kind of power.”
Emily looked between us.
I felt suddenly defensive.
“Catherine, whatever mistakes we made, I chose it too.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t rewrite it.”
“I’m not. I’m saying I should have known better.”
Emily whispered, “Wonderful.”
Her mother reached toward her.
Emily pulled her hand away.
“Not yet.”
Catherine nodded.
Emily turned to me.
“Did being with her help your career?”
“No.”
“Did you get promotions because of her?”
“No. If anything, we were paranoid about that.”
Catherine confirmed it.
“He earned his work. I never altered reviews or compensation because of our relationship.”
Emily stared at the carpet.
Then she asked the question I had feared most.
“If I stay with him, can you handle it?”
Catherine’s face tightened.
“That’s not my decision.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her mother took a long breath.
“I would be uncomfortable.”
“So would I.”
“Yes.”
“Would you try to stop me?”
“No.”
“Would you make comments?”
“No.”
“Would you treat him like some mistake from your past every time we were all together?”
Catherine looked at me.
“I would try not to.”
“Try?”
“I’m being honest, Emily.”
Emily nodded slowly.
Then she looked at me.
“What about you?”
“I would be uncomfortable too.”
“With seeing her?”
“Yes.”
“With me knowing?”
“Yes.”
“Would you compare us?”
“No.”
Her face hardened.
“That answer came fast.”
“Because it’s true.”
“How can I know that?”
“You can’t.”
The room went still.
I leaned forward.
“You can’t know what happens inside someone else’s mind. All I can tell you is that you are not your mother to me.”
Emily looked away.
“You have the same eyes. You laugh the same way. There are things about you that are similar because you’re family. But I didn’t date you because you reminded me of Catherine. I didn’t even know you were related.”
Her eyes filled again.
“That doesn’t make the images in my head disappear.”
“I know.”
“I keep imagining you two together.”
Catherine closed her eyes.
“I hate that,” Emily continued. “And then I feel guilty because both of you had lives before me. But this isn’t some random ex-girlfriend. She’s my mother.”
“No one expects you to be comfortable with it.”
“I don’t even know what comfortable would look like.”
Catherine said quietly, “Maybe it never becomes comfortable.”
Emily looked at her.
Her mother continued.
“Maybe the question isn’t whether this stops being strange. Maybe the question is whether Ryan matters enough to you that the strangeness becomes something you can live with.”
I was surprised Catherine said it.
Emily was too.
“Are you telling me to stay with him?”
“No. I’m telling you not to make your decision based on protecting me.”
Catherine’s voice softened.
“I made my choices. Ryan made his. You are not responsible for making my past easier to live with.”
Emily looked down.
The conversation continued for almost three hours.
It was awkward, painful, occasionally absurd.
At one point, Emily asked whether Catherine and I had ever traveled together.
Catherine said no.
I reminded her about a conference in San Diego.
Emily put her head in her hands.
“Please never help her remember things again.”
Even Catherine laughed.
For a few seconds, the tension broke.
Then reality returned.
When the conversation ended, Emily asked to speak with me outside.
We walked to a small park near her apartment.
The late afternoon was cool, and children were playing around a fountain.
Emily sat on a bench.
I sat beside her, leaving space between us.
“She’s leaving Monday,” Emily said.
“Okay.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“I should have told you at the restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“I believe you didn’t know.”
Relief moved through me.
Then came the word I knew was coming.
“But.”
I waited.
“But I don’t know if I can do this.”
I nodded.
Her eyes filled.
“I hate that I might lose something good because of something neither of us did to each other.”
“I hate it too.”
“It feels ridiculous.”
“It isn’t.”
She wiped her cheek.
“What if we get married someday?”
I swallowed.
“What if we have kids? My mom comes for Thanksgiving. You two sit at the same table. I’m carving a turkey while trying not to think about the fact that my husband used to sleep with my mother.”
I stared at the fountain.
“When you say it that way, Thanksgiving sounds terrible.”
She laughed through tears.
“That wasn’t supposed to be funny.”
“I know.”
Then she became serious.
“You deserve someone whose family you can be around without this hanging over everything.”
“So do you.”
“That’s the problem.”
I turned toward her.
“Emily, I’m not going to convince you to stay. If you can’t live with this, I’ll understand.”
She nodded.
“But don’t leave me because you think you’re doing me a favor.”
She looked surprised.
“I haven’t decided anything.”
“Good. Make your decision for yourself.”
We sat in silence.
Finally, she took my hand.
For the first time in a week, I allowed myself to hope.
