Part 15:
She’ll dump him in 3 months when the novelty wears off. Feel sorry for that kid. She’s going to be collateral damage when this implodes. A CEO dating maintenance. This is why companies need fraternization policies. He’s obviously using her for money. Wake up, lady. But Slara made herself read them all, the good and the bad, forcing herself to face the reality of what she’d invited into her life, into Ryan and Emm
a’s lives. By 7:00 a.m., her phone started ringing. Her mother, her board members, news outlets requesting interviews, her lawyer concerned about liability issues. Everyone wanted something. an explanation, a retraction, a statement, a story. She ignored the mall and got dressed for soccer practice. At 8:15, Clara pulled up to a coffee shop three blocks from Ryan’s house, and ordered two large coffees and a box of assorted muffins.
The barista did a double take when she recognized her, phone already moving toward her pocket like she might sneak a photo. Clara met her eyes steadily. “Please don’t,” she said quietly. “I’m just getting coffee for some friends.” The barista hesitated, then nodded. For what it’s worth, that picture you posted was really sweet.
My mom died when I was little. I would have killed to have someone look at my dad the way you were looking at that guy. Clara felt her throat tighten. Thank you. That means a lot. She arrived at Ryan’s house at 8:30 exactly, balancing coffee and muffins, her stomach a knot of nerves. What if Emma had seen the comments? What if Ryan had changed his mind overnight? What if Clara’s post had made everything worse instead of better? But when Ryan opened the door, he was smiling.
He took the coffee carrier from her hands and kissed her cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like photographers weren’t probably lurking somewhere documenting this moment. You posted, he said simply. I posted. Was that okay? I should have asked you first. I should have. It was perfect. Come in.
Emma’s been bouncing off the walls since she woke up at 6:00 and found out you were coming to soccer. Emma came running from the kitchen wearing a bright blue jersey with the number seven on it, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that was already listing to one side. Clara, you came.
Did you bring muffins? Daddy said you might bring muffins. I love muffins. I brought muffins, Clara confirmed, following them into the kitchen. chocolate chip, blueberry, and something the barista called morning glory, which apparently has carrots in it. Emma made a face. Carrots in a muffin? That’s weird, but I’ll try it because trying new things is how we learn.
Ryan caught Clara’s eye over Emma’s head and mouthed, “Where did she come from?” Clara grinned. They ate breakfast standing around the kitchen counter. Emma talking a mile a minute about soccer strategy and her friend Olivia who was the best goalie in their league and how she hoped coach Martinez would let her play striker today.
Clara learned that Emma was surprisingly competitive for someone so small and that she took soccer almost as seriously as she took space exploration. “Do you play any sports?” Emma asked Clara through a mouthful of chocolate chip muffin. I used to play tennis at boarding school. What’s boarding school? Ryan coughed.
It’s a school where you live there instead of at home. Emma’s eyes went wide with horror. You didn’t live with your mommy and daddy. Why not? Were they mean to you? No, they just Clara struggled to explain the logic of her childhood to a six-year-old who’d clearly been raised in a house where love was the priority.
They thought it would give me a better education, more opportunities. That’s sad, Emma declared. I would never want to live away from daddy, even if the school had rocket ships. Clara felt something twist in her chest. She’d spent years convincing herself that her isolated childhood had made her stronger, more independent, better prepared for the ruthless business world.
But looking at Emma’s open, affectionate relationship with Ryan, Clara realized what she’d actually missed. connection, security, the knowledge that someone would always choose her, always want her close, always see her as more important than any opportunity. It was sad, Clara admitted, but it taught me a lot about being independent.
Ryan’s hand found hers under the counter and squeezed gently. He understood what she wasn’t saying, understood the cost of all that independence. They loaded into Ryan’s car, a 7-year-old Honda that was clean but worn with Emma’s booster seat in the back and a collection of soccer balls in the trunk.
Clara folded herself into the passenger seat and felt the strangeness of it, the ordinariness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a car that didn’t have a driver that smelled like French fries and kid shampoo instead of leather and air freshener. The soccer field was in a public park surrounded by other fields where other children’s teams were warming up.
Parents clustered on the sidelines with camping chairs and travel mugs, looking tired but present. Clara felt desperately out of place in her designer jeans and cashmere sweater, but Ryan grabbed her hand as they walked toward the field like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fair warning, he said. Soccer parents are intense and they’re definitely going to recognize you.
