The door opened behind her, and Meg turned to see Margo entering, a cloth bag of fresh herbs from her garden in one hand. Her grandmother paused, noticing Meg on the phone.
“I’ll be quick,” Meg mouthed, pointing to the phone.
Margo nodded and moved to the kitchen, giving Meg privacy.
“I should be the one there,” Anna was saying, her voice caught between frustration and guilt. “Art is more flexible than corporate. I could have postponed.”
“Seven applications, Anna,” Meg repeated. “This is your chance. Margo understands that.”
“But your job?—”
“My job will survive a few weeks of remote work.” Meg wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but saying italoud felt like setting down a heavy weight she’d been carrying. “Tyler called me because he knew I could do this.”
“You haven’t been home in years.” The words weren’t accusatory so much as sad. “You barely know Margo anymore.”
Meg’s gaze drifted again to the shell ceiling, to the patterns she was only beginning to recognize. “Maybe that’s part of why I’m here.”
Silence stretched between them, filled with years of divergent paths, different choices, the subtle rivalry that had developed between Margo’s grandchildren—one who stayed close, one who built a life elsewhere.
“The fellowship runs another four weeks,” Anna said finally. “Then I’ll come help. Take over from you.”
“I can handle it until then.”
“Are you sure? Because I could?—”
Meg paused mid-slice, cheese knife in hand.
“Anna,” Meg interrupted, gentler than she might have a week ago. “Your art matters. Stay in Florence. Finish what you started. I’ve got this.”
From across the kitchen, Meg caught Margo watching her, something like approval in her grandmother’s eyes.
“I’ll call her today,” Anna said. “To wish her a belated happy birthday.”
“She’d like that.”
She leaned one hip against the counter, pressing the phone tighter against her ear.
“And maybe...” Anna hesitated. “Maybe we couldcall again soon? You could show me what you’ve done with the place. Next time I’ll make Bea say hi properly.”
Meg smiled. “I can wait. I’m playing the long game with that one. What makes you think I’m doing anything with the place?”
“Because you’re you,” Anna said, and this time the familiarity in her voice held affection rather than criticism. “You’ve probably reorganized the entire storage room already.”
“Only half of it,” Meg admitted, and heard her sister laugh—a rare, welcome sound.
“Tell Margo I love her. And...” Another pause. “Thanks, Meg. For being there.”
“Of course.” Meg wanted to say more, to bridge the distance that had grown between them—distance measured in more than just miles. “Your art—is it going well? The fellowship?”
Anna’s surprise was audible. “Actually, yes. It’s been a crazy year. Best decision I’ve ever made. And for Bea to spend a year in Europe, learning Italian—it’s been amazing. And I’m working with techniques I’ve never tried before. The light here is—it’s changing everything I thought I knew about color.”
“I’d like to see it sometime. What you’re working on.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Meg said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. “Really.”
They said their goodbyes with promises to talk again soon—promises that, for once, didn’t feel likemere formalities. Meg set her phone down and turned to find Margo arranging herbs in small jars along the kitchen windowsill.
