Page 123 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

Better than she remembered, with the distance in time.

“Two of these three aren’t mine. Not entirely,” was what Luce supplied, swiping through the imagery. Her gaze dragged—scrutiny in almost torturously long segments, her brow lines deep. Small ‘hms’ or laughs didn’t garnish her gallery exploration anymore; this was a review. An analysis of a perfectly excellent set of art compared to its updated,irreversibleversion.

Skye flexed her legs in gentle, alternating bends. Fitful, uncontrollable fidgets of someone unaccustomed to judgment on her babies. On one lift, a knee pop that’d be unheard any other day cracked into the silence like a branch snapping beneath her.

“So,this…it changes my interpretation,” Luce said, Skye’s stomach clenching harshly at the professional voice she’d known from years under her wing. It was impersonal, too aware. The automatic code switch Luce used whenever a corporate type tried to undercut her business.

Disconcerting, actually, to be on the receiving end.

Skye puckered like Phish a Swindle for half a minute, absorbing the sting. She’d daydreamed of appropriately negative reactions—speechlessness, betrayal, sobbing, an artist’srighteous fury—but had somehow missed this dry, formal reality.

She’d earned this: her consequences. Thalia’s soft ‘and isn’t that life?’touched her ear, as clear as when they shared the checkout counter at the collective.

“I know this puts you in an awkward place,” Skye creaked out, brushing fingers through her bangs. She sought a more solid voice, and, gratefully, her low cough brought it out. “My choices were unauthorized. They threaten your reputation. And they alter the overall composition...but I didn’t want to delay one of Granddad’s dreams because I messed up. And—maybe it’s ego, pride, grief, some combination—it feels nice to contribute something to him. Like a dedication from both of us.”

Skye wished the TV were on;Vengeance: Retired’s theme song could’ve cut some of the tension.

Because Luce stared at her for a long while. Like a stranger.

With nothing to lose, Skye added, “That car outside is mine. I bought it today.”

It’d been the right nudge to her matriarch, her mentor. Luce’s voice—thank goodness—eased to the one she used around the house. A recognizable, everyday voice. “Sometimes I look at you and I still see that knock-kneed seven-year-old trampling off into the woods without any sense or bug spray. But you’re a grown woman with something to prove. What are you telling me?”

Luce Florentine inspired Skye. Supported her. Guided and taught her without trying.

But there was a limit until it got stifling.

“I’m saying...”

Skye’s phone buzzed in her pocket. A gut feeling—or perhaps the spaciness that got her reputation—made her open the message app, revealing a text from Celene. Scanning what awaited her there, she chewed her bottom lip.

Parents on their way. Lots of explaining about her art and the secret studio.

Still, Skye announced to Luce, “I’m heading to New York tonight. I’ll tell Mama and Dad I’m sorry, but I’ll see them when I return.”

“Skye.” Luce bobbed her hairless brows. “You were saying?”

“Do you like what you see?” Non-specific to whether she meant her line of mosaics or the images of the relief changed without Luce’s permission. She’d take anything.

Luce lowered the tablet next to the fuchsia. Her lips turned up at one corner. “Breaking the rules. Showing off a bunch of incomplete pieces. That’s gutsy.”

Was that...good?

Skye waited until Luce shook her head, her smile ambiguous but unmistakable.

“Yes, child. I think you’re talented. Let me wrap my head around everything.” Luce stepped back to wiggle the witch hazel branch in the air, casting a shadow on her face. “I thought you were saying you’re moving out.”

“Oh, right.” Skye went breathless; her brain had left the building. “I am.”

Luce’s small smirk twitched. Not in the anger she’d feared, but something a little worse. Sadness. This day had come, and who knew if Luce believed it would’ve. “Adjust the schedule for the shop and get on the road. Gael and Aisha are gonna love seeing all this.”

Tentatively, Skye moved in for a hug. When Luce nodded, she wrapped her arms around the person who’d always given her stability, who wouldn’t scold Skye for her bug friends, instead gifting her insect ID kits and field guides to findmore.

Misty-eyed, Skye jogged backward, intent on packing.

But not before cradling the living fuchsia under one arm and gesturing to the glassy witch hazel Luce held. “You can keep that.”

Not an olive branch, but a peace offering nonetheless.