The day they left, I stood in their driveway blowing kisses at the back of their SUV, waving and shouting, “I love you.” Then I sat on their porch and cried.

   When I heard my cell phone ping, I picked it up from the passenger seat and saw an alert that, at first, didn’t make any sense. I saw the word “Nate,” flash across my screen. Then, all at once, I remembered. I found the nearest exit, pulled into a parking lot, and then stared at my phone.

   His name kept flashing, over and over again, and it came with an alert that sounded a lot like a hurricane siren. That was fitting, actually.

   When that alert comes up on your phone, decide then. And I promise, whatever you decide, I’ll be okay with, as long as it’s your first choice.

   I closed my eyes and tried to listen. I tried to hear that inner voice that would guide me, tell me the right thing to do. I sighed, and then, dragged my finger across the screen, dismissing the alarm. I gently tossed my phone on to the passenger seat again, and then rested my head against the headrest. I took in a few deep breaths, and then gripped the steering wheel. I checked my mirrors, making sure I could see all the way to the end of the U-Haul trailer I was pulling behind me, and then I pulled back onto the freeway and left my old life behind.

   I did not call Nate.

   I’d done exactly as he’d told me.

   He wasn’t my first choice.

 

Chapter Twenty

Two Years Later

   “Sylvia,” I called out, trying not to sound as completely flustered and nervous as I felt. “Can I get the lighting on this one taken down a bit and the print lowered just a smidge? It’s being washed out entirely.”

   “Absolutely. No problem,” she replied with confidence, even though I knew I was handing her a task she was going to pass off to someone else.

   I flipped my wrist over looking for a watch I never wore then cursed myself for never wearing a watch. “What time is it?” I asked impatiently.

   “We’ve got plenty of time,” she said with a genuine smile, placing a friendly hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me.

   I breathed out heavily, attempting to expel all the butterflies taking up residence in my belly. They didn’t go anywhere. Bastards.

   “Okay, let’s get this one fixed then everything looks great.”

   “No problem,” she replied, again with confidence.

   “You know,” I said, an easy smile coming over my face for the first time that evening, “I almost believe you’re not just as nervous as I am.”

   “That’s my job. To de-stress you. But trust me, I’m nervous as hell. But it’s a good nervous, more excitement. I just know this is going to be your night.” Her eyes lit up with contagious excitement, and I smiled back at her, this time my smile stretching my cheeks and raising my eyebrows.

   “Thanks.”

   She winked and then walked away faster than anyone should have been able to walk in her death-trap heels. I walked back to my office, a room I’d neglected until about three weeks ago when the idea of my gallery filled with patrons and clients made me organize the mess I’d made there in the last year and a half.

   Sitting atop my desk was a crystal vase filled with all different pastel colors of peonies. I smiled as soon as I saw them, remembering the happiness I’d been overwhelmed with when they’d arrived. I picked up the card leaning against the vase, and allowed the words written on it to calm me a little.

   We’re so excited for you, Auntie Evie. Good luck with your show!

   The card was signed with an XOXO, and then names signed by little hands, Ruby and Jax.

   I held the card close to my heart, trying to let their love wash over me. I missed them terribly. I hadn’t actually seen them, face to face, since they moved to Florida, but we Skyped weekly. Devon had never denied me them and, in fact, had bent over backward to make sure I was still a part of their lives. I loved those two kids so much, it sometimes hurt to be away from them. But, I knew the space for Devon and me was important.

   We’d had civil correspondence in the last two years, but nothing in depth and nothing meaningful. We were both moving on, trying to build new lives. He had spent a few months after moving focused on being with his children, and in those months I saw the kids respond well to having their father back. Then, he’d gotten a new job, and only a few months ago, he’d purchased another house, making Florida their permanent residence.

   Still, it was very thoughtful of him to send the flowers. He knew how much it would mean to me. In moments like that I couldn’t regret the way my life had played out. Devon was a good man. He just wasn’t it for me.

   I sighed and put the card back, then bent and smelled the flowers. It had worked. I was slightly less frantic than I had been five minutes ago. Mission accomplished. My eyes flitted to the hanger on the back of the door, which held my dress for the show. This show, my very own gallery show, was what I’d been working toward since I left my life behind two years ago. In my mind there’d been only two places I could go to make my dream a reality: New York City or Los Angeles. I’d done my research and decided LA was a safer choice. Plus, the weather was warmer.

   So, I’d packed up my whole life, selling everything I couldn’t take with me, and left for California. I’d spent the last two years focused on my craft, working tirelessly to make it as a photographer in one of the toughest cities in the country.

   About eight months before, I had submitted a few photos to the Kontinent Awards. It was a fine arts series of four photos, all of which I’d taken on a hazy summer morning. Wildfires were running rampant through southern California. One morning, instead of evacuating as I’d been told, I grabbed a model, put her in a red gauzy dress, and placed her precariously close to smoke and flames.

   When I was taking the photos, I knew they were special, but I had no idea they would launch my career. I’d won the award for my category and the images had become, in the world of photography, famous. Suddenly, I was selling photographs for more than I was used to making in a month. I invested in myself and started looking for a place to open my own gallery. Tonight was my inaugural show. I was beyond nervous. I wanted the show to go well, but more than that, I wanted to be taken seriously. I wanted to be recognized as an artist.

   I slipped the red dress out of the garment bag, freshly steamed from the tailor, and it looked magnificent. I wanted to look professional, yet still young and fresh. I’d just turned thirty, and I was trying to embrace the ‘Thirty and Flirty’ mantra. My twenties were definitely something I wanted to leave behind, so I was looking forward to the next decade with exuberance. I locked my door and undressed, then slipped the silk dress over my head, loving the feeling of the material sliding down my skin, which I’d had buffed, primed, and polished in anticipation of this event.

   I was, possibly, in the best shape of my life. I’d never taken such good care of my body than I had since I moved there. I was stronger in many ways, but my body was reaping the benefits of the gym I’d joined and all the hiking I did to get my shots. I also did small things to take care of myself. My nails were polished, my hair was highlighted, and I’d developed a habit of waxing. I was smooth everywhere and something about that always exhilarated me. And it was, indeed, just for me. I’d not been with a man since I had moved there.

   I’d barely slipped on my black stiletto heeled shoes when I heard a small knock at my door.

   “Come in,” I called out, smoothing the fabric of my dress down my thighs, pulling on the hem where it lay only a few inches above my knees.