Page 23 of Fresh Canvas
Ryan made an absentminded hum as the faint click of a mouse told me he was reading them.
“Sheesh, Amantha. Do you really think I’m dumb enough to breach our custody agreement? I’m not going to kidnap my own kid. Do you really think so low of me?”
Did hereallywant me to answer that?
Ryan continued. “Despite your paranoia, the rest of these look decent enough. I’ll run them by my lawyer and sign them right now.”
Relief filled my veins, but anxiety sped my pulse.
Was I making the right choice?
Could Ryan even handle being a solo parent for an entire summer?
Would Anthony be okay?
All I could summon were two words. “Sounds good.”
Ryan hung up the call as I backtracked to the antiques vendor’s booth. Sure enough, Mom was still there.
“Ta daaa!” Mom rushed over, clutching a brown wrapped package to her chest. Her ecstatic summer blue eyes were as bright as the vintage plate she unwrapped.
I forced a smile and stepped closer as spring wind gusted through the tent’s opening. The rare treasure—which it must have been based on the octave of her voice—was stunning.
Ivory banks edged blue rivers, disrupted by a few jumping, fat-bellied fish. Delicate golden flourishes swirled the rim of the plate.
“It’s beautiful, Mom.”
“It’s part of the collection I saw onAntique Treasureslast week!” she said.
So that’s where I get it.
The passion. The fire.
In addition to the Victorian era, Mom had always been obsessed with china plates. She had even given me one as a wedding present when I married Ryan. It still hung, shiningbeside my hummingbird portrait above my dining room table. That plate inspired some complex emotions now, but I still couldn’t bear to take it down.
“Mom, that looks like a great find. I’m happy for you.”
She sighed, smiling down at the plate like a newborn baby she’d birthed herself.
“So much history. So much promise.” Her contented gaze swung to mine before she asked, “Oh, did you get a hold of Ryan?”
I nodded, his name a reminder enough for my stomach to drop. “Yes. He said he’d sign them.”
As if he’d heard me across the city, my phone pinged with an email. I scrolled the signed documents, noting each swirling signature beside my stipulations.
An unfeeling text followed.
RYAN: Consider the divorce final.
Tears stung my eyes, whether from relief or sadness, I didn’t know. I silently let them drip, too stunned to wipe them away.
It was over.
Our marriage was over.
All facts I already knew, but the finality of it all felt crushing. Mom’s soft arm around my waist brought me back to my senses. I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“Are you okay, honey?”
