Chapter 9: What Lily Was Told
We told Lily on a Saturday morning.
Ryan and I had agreed on that much — that we would do it together, that we would use the words the counselor had suggested, that we would let her ask whatever she needed to ask and answer as honestly as we could.
We sat at the kitchen table.
Lily had a glass of orange juice in front of her.
She was wearing the green jumper she'd asked for specifically because, she had explained at the shop, it was "not too expected."
I started.
"You know the man who came to your birthday party," I said.
"The one who was very calm."
Lily nodded.
"The one who pushed Grandma Carol into the cake."
"Yes."
"I thought that was funny," she said.
"She did it to me first."
Ryan made a sound that was almost a laugh.
He turned it into a cough.
"His name is Daniel," I said.
"And we've found out something important that we want to tell you, because you deserve to know."
Lily looked at me with the particular attention of a child who already suspects the conversation is bigger than the adults are letting on.
"Daniel is your biological father," I said.
"That means he's the person whose — whose biology you share.
The way you share some things with me."
Lily was quiet for a moment.
"So Ryan isn't my dad?"
Ryan leaned forward.
"I'm your dad," he said.
"I've been your dad your whole life and that doesn't change.
But Daniel is also — he's also part of where you come from.
And he'd like to get to know you, if you'd like that too."
"Does he know I like horses?"
I felt something loosen in my chest.
"He does, actually."
Lily considered this with the seriousness of an eight-year-old processing something large.
"Can I think about it?" she asked.
"You can take as long as you need," I said.
She picked up her orange juice.
Drank half of it.
Set it down.
"Is Grandma Carol in trouble?" she asked.
Ryan and I looked at each other.
"She's been spoken to," I said carefully.
"By a judge."
Lily nodded, as if this confirmed something she had already suspected.
"She shouldn't have done that to me," she said.
"At my party."
"No," I said.
"She shouldn't have."
"I didn't think it was funny."
"I know, sweetheart.
It wasn't."
Lily was quiet again.
Then she looked at Ryan.
"Are you sad?" she asked him.
Ryan's eyes went bright at the edges.
"A little," he said honestly.
"But not because of you.
Never because of you."
She reached across the table and patted his hand twice, with the brisk efficiency of a child who has decided comfort has been administered and it's time to move on.
"Okay," she said.
"Can I have toast?"
I got up to make it.
May you like
Ryan stayed at the table.
I heard him exhale — long, slow, the breath of a man setting something down that had been very heavy.
