Page 67 of Off the Beaten Path

“Is that so?” Mia asks June, but she’s looking at me now, and I can’t quite read the expression there. I’ve never been able to read her, not the way I can with Wren. After the last few months with Wren, I wonder how I ever thought Mia and I could have worked. We’re so different, but in all the ways that clash. We never brought out the best in one another. We’ve always been oil and water, unable to mix into something good.

“What brings you to town, Mia?” I interrupt before June can offer any more information.

From the look in her eyes, I know Mia sees my tactic for what it is, and I know this won’t be the end of her questioning about Wren. As June’s mother, she has a right to know about the people I’m bringing into June’s life. But considering her past involvement, I can’t understand why she would be concerned.

Squeezing June closer to her, Mia nuzzles her nose into the crook of June’s neck and says, “Well, I felt so bad about missing Junie’s musical last month that I decided to pay my girl a visit.”

“It’s okay, Mommy. Wren came.”

For a moment, I almost think I see hurt flash in Mia’s eyes, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. “I’m glad, honey. Think we can convince your daddy to bring my bags inside?”

“You’re staying with us?” June practically squeals.

Mia smiles wide. “Sure am.” Then turning to me, she says, “As long as it’s fine with your daddy.”

My jaw clenches, my teeth screaming in pain, because of course I can’t say no now that Mia has gotten June’s hopes up. “Of course,” I say through gritted teeth, and Mia’s smile stretches further.

“Perfect.”

“June Bug, it’s time to start getting ready for bed.” Actually it was time an hour ago, but Mia said it was fine for her to stay up a little longer. Of course, she’s not going to be the one to get up with her at sunrise, either. Mia has always been a night owl and a late riser, so even when she still lived here, I had early morning duty. I used to think it worked for us, because I could go to bed early and she could take the late-night shifts when June was a baby and not sleeping through the night, but now that June is older, that dynamic doesn’t work. I’m going to be dealing with a tired and cranky six-year-old in the morning while Mia is fast asleep in the guest room.

“But Daddy,” June whines.

I cut her off with a hand in the air. “June, it’s bedtime.”

Mia looks between us, no doubt noticing the tension in my body, and says, “Come on, June, let’s take a bath.”

June’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t take baths anymore. I take showers.”

A look of surprise flashes across Mia’s face, but she pushes up off the couch and reaches her hand out to June. “Okay, a shower, then.”

“Can you braid my hair after? Wren always does.”

This time I’m sure I haven’t mistaken the way Mia tenses. “I don’t know how to braid, hon.”

“Oh,” June says, not noticing the change in the atmosphere. “Well, that’s okay. Wren has been teaching Daddy. He can do it.”

I clear my throat. “Sure thing, June Bug. Just go hop in the shower.”

Mia looks between us. “Do you need help, Junie?”

“No, I’m good.” And with that, she scampers out of the room, closing the bathroom door with a bang. Silence stretches, filled only with the sound of the shower turning on, and I can feel the way the space between us charges with unspoken words.

Finally, I look at my ex-wife. She’s seated back on the couch we picked out together, staring down the hall where June disappeared, an expression I can’t read on her face.

“What are you doing here, Mia?” I don’t mean for the words to sound as harsh as they do, but my patience has worn thin.

Mia sighs loudly, her shoulders stiffening, and when she looks at me, that unreadable expression is gone, replaced with annoyance. “Do I need a reason to see my daughter?”

“When you haven’t taken many opportunities to see her in the past, yes.” Maybe it was too direct, but I’m sick of it. After seeing the way Wren constantly shows up for June and me when she doesn’t have to, I can’t stomach all the times Mia hasn’t been there for us when she should have been. The time June broke her arm at three years old when she fell in the backyard. When I got pneumonia last winter and Mom had to stay with us for a week to help take care of June. The late nights, the early mornings. All the little moments where it should have been three instead of two. She’s missedso much.

Mia stares at the ceiling, and I can see the exact moment the fight leaves her. “I miss her,” she says, her voice soft and quiet in a way I’ve so rarely heard before.

“You’re the one who left, Mia. We’ve always been right here.”

Her eyes meet mine, the exact same blue as June’s. “Your mom sent me the video of her musical. You know what she said?”

Probably something rude, but I don’t say that.

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