10. Sage
SAGE
At the sound of tires crunching on the gravel in front of my cabin, I rush to the door and throw it open.
I don’t recognize Mia’s truck—it’s definitely not the kind of vehicle she would have driven in New York—but I do recognize her smile. As soon as she comes to a stop, she flings the door open and jumps out with a lot more finesse than I showed when I got out of Holden’s truck that first night.
I jog down the stairs and wrap her in a big hug. “I’m so happy to see you.”
She squeezes me back. “Me too.”
A knocking sound interrupts us, and I can’t help but laugh at the sight of Ruby’s little face pressed up against the truck’s window, her nose and cheeks squished.
“Oops, sorry.” I open her door. “Your mommy distracted me with hugs.”
“Aunty Sage!” She holds her arms out, brown eyes sparkling.
“Let me get you out of your car seat, bug, and I’ll give you the biggest hug ever.” I make quick work of unbuckling the straps, then sweep her up into my arms. “I’ve missed you,” I tell her.
“You didn’t come see us.” Her expression turns scolding.
I smother a smile. “I’m sorry. My car broke down, so the nice man who lives next door rescued me. But since my car is still broken, I have to stay here instead of with you.”
Her lower lip protrudes, but Mia intervenes.
“Do you want to see inside Aunty Sage’s cabin?”
Between one blink and the next, Ruby’s frown morphs into a grin, and she nods.
“Do you want me to carry you, or do you want to walk?” I ask her.
She wriggles in my arms. “I’m going to run.”
Laughing, I set her on the ground. “Off you go.”
“Hold on,” Mia says. “Don’t forget your things.” She reaches into the back seat and pulls out a little green backpack, holding it so her daughter can slip her arms through the straps. The moment it’s in place, Ruby darts up the stairs and through the front door.
“When did she get so fast?” I ask as we wander toward the cabin. “I swear the last time I saw her, she was still toddling.”
Mia shakes her head. “She’s growing so quickly. Can you believe she’ll be five in a few months?”
“I really can’t.”
She smiles, then scans our surroundings. “It’s a shame things didn’t turn out the way we planned, but I must admit, this place is gorgeous.”
I nod. “I didn’t think I’d like it, but it’s beautiful.”
Once we’re inside, we find Ruby in front of the fireplace, trailing her fingers over the stonework the way I did my first night.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “I’m not thirsty. What’s in there?” She points at my bedroom door.
“That’s my bedroom. The bathroom’s through there too.”
“Can I look?”
“You sure can. Just leave the door open, okay?”
With a nod, she runs off.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” I ask Mia. “I’d offer you coffee, but I don’t actually have any.”
She laughs. “I’m surprised you’re still upright. It takes me way too many cups to get through the day.”
“Holden brought me a thermos of coffee this morning.”
Her brows arch up. “That was nice of him.”
“Mmm.” The way she’s looking at me makes me squirm a little inside. “I guess it makes up for his general moodiness.”
“Do you think he was trying to make it up to you?”
The kettle whistles before I can respond, so I have time to consider my answer while I pour hot water over two tea bags.
“I think he was being practical. We were up early to go for a hike. He probably wanted to make sure I wouldn’t zombie-walk off a cliff and make his life harder by having to rescue me again.”
Griping about him doesn’t sit right. Not after our walk this morning, especially when he was nice enough to agree to give me riding lessons. But I also don’t want her to read too deeply into what was a completely innocent gesture on his part.
“Uh-huh.” She grins, her eyes sparkling.
Ignoring her reaction, I remove the tea bags, drop them in the trash, and head to the couch.
Ruby’s already returned from her investigation of my bedroom and set herself up at the coffee table with a coloring pad and pencils from her backpack.
She’s coloring a dinosaur, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth.
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.”
“In the art scene, that might as well be over-the-hill. They’re always looking for emerging talent. I’m not sure whether someone who’s had a taste of success but then stalled still has what it takes.”
She studies me for a moment, head tilted, and I try not to squirm. Then she sets her mug on the coffee table and turns her full attention back to me. At the seriousness of her expression, I brace myself.
“Sage, I say this with all the love in the world, but it’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself. And it’s time to stop blaming yourself. Graham took advantage of you. He knew exactly what you needed to hear and gave it to you in a way your parents never have.”
I remember when Graham visited my college.
Everyone knew who he was. Students talked about the photographers he discovered and the careers he helped launch.
After my portfolio review, he asked me to stay behind.
In a room full of talented students, he chose me.
It felt like someone had finally looked at me and seen something worth believing in.
Mia studies me. “But somewhere along the way, his opinion became the one that counted, and you stopped believing in yours.” She shoots a look at Ruby, who’s still coloring away, humming to herself, then lowers her voice. “I say screw that.”
I smother a laugh.
“I’m serious,” she chides. “You kicked Graham to the curb, and now you get to choose what comes next. Don’t let him or any other pretentious art-hole convince you that you aren’t good enough.”
This time, I do laugh. “Art-hole?”