And just like that, the worst thing I had ever done as a mother walked into my house wearing a black tuxedo.
Earlier that afternoon, Iris had sat in front of my vanity mirror while I pinned the last curl into her hair.
« Ow, Mom. »
« Stop moving, then, or I might curl your ear. »
« Excuse me, Ryan? »
She narrowed her eyes. « Please don’t joke with a curling iron near my head. »
I smiled and fixed the curl anyway.
Iris had pretended for months not to care whenever Ryan texted.
Ryan was the boy every girl wanted: football captain, honor student, and polite enough to lower mothers’ guards.
***
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