Page 39 of Sunrise & Serenity

Mia smiles at her daughter as we settle on the couch, then turns to me. “How has it been so far?”

“I got off to a bit of a rocky start, obviously. But the last couple of days have been nice. The McBrides are great. I had dinner with them last night, and Taryn took me into Silverford yesterday morning to buy some new clothes.”

Mia scans me. “You do look a little less put together than you used to, and I don’t mean that in a bad way.” She taps her lower lip with a finger. “You look more natural. More like yourself. Sometimes I wondered if Graham was dressing you up like a Barbie doll to make himself look better.”

I sigh. “I think that’s exactly what he was doing. And I was stupid enough to let him.”

Mia angles closer and touches my arm. “You weren’t stupid. You saw the best in him because that’s the way you look at the world. That’s a good thing. Your ex is just a narcissistic jerk who expects the world to revolve around him.”

I curl both hands around my mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers.

“Is he still calling?” she asks.

“Occasionally. I don’t answer, and he doesn’t leave a voicemail, so…” I shrug. “How about you? Has Rob been in touch recently?”

She wrinkles her nose. “The occasional phone call, which lasts all of five minutes. Just so he can say he’s doing his fatherly duty.”

I peek at Ruby and lower my voice. “How is she coping?”

Brow furrowed, Mia assesses her daughter. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse that she’s stopped asking about him.”

My heart aches for the little girl. Mia divorced Rob last year, and he hasn’t shown even a hint of interest in sharing custody of Ruby. It makes sense, I suppose, since even when they were married, Mia was mostly on her own, doing all the child-rearing herself from day one.

I know what it’s like to feel invisible to the people who are supposed to love you the most. Ruby probably gave up expecting attention from her father a long time ago. He always seemed more interested in the happy-family aesthetic than in reality.

“She has you,” I tell her. “And Greta. She’ll grow up being loved and seen, and that’s the most important thing.” I reach across the space between us and squeeze her hand. “You’re a really great mom.”

“Thank you.” She smiles softly, watching Ruby happily hum to herself over another drawing. “You’re right. Aunt Greta’s been incredible with her since we moved into the guest house. Between the two of us, she’ll always know she’s loved.”

I settle back against the couch and sip my tea. “It sounds like moving here’s been good for both of you.”

A smile spreads across her face. “It took a while to adjust, but yeah. Even when I’m busy, I’m less stressed. Just stepping outside in the mornings, seeing the mountains, and watching Ruby run around in the yard makes me happier than I’ve been in years.”

“It’s a different world out here, that’s for sure.”

Her eyebrows lift as her mouth tilts into a playful smile. “You could always move out here permanently. There’s no shortage of things to photograph.”

I laugh. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a shortage of people willing to pay me to photograph them. And from what I saw yesterday, Silverford doesn’t have much of a gallery scene.”

“The consignment store has a few secondhand paintings for sale. Does that count?”

An amused breath escapes me. “I must have missed that when I was there. But no, that probably doesn’t count.” I run my finger around the rim of my mug. “I’ve been thinking about what to do next.”

She hums. “That’s good. You need a plan.”

“I’ve been tossing around the idea of applying for a few art residencies. There are several in Europe I was considering years ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Frustration wells up, mostly directed at myself. “Graham talked me out of it. He said I’d lose the momentum I was building in New York.”

At the time it made sense. Leaving New York for twelve months meant leaving the gallery, the collectors he’d introduced me to, the exhibitions he’d lined up. I’d trusted him when he said I needed to stay where the opportunities were.

“Even more of a reason to apply, then.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “I have a decent portfolio, but I’m not sure I’m what they’re looking for. And artists from all over the world apply. Most of them are younger than I am too.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re twenty-six. That’s not exactly ancient.”