“How’s work? Are you still an intern?”
Josie’s knuckles tightened around the heavy fork in her hand.
“I was never an intern there, Mother.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “It’s been six years. I have my own accounts that I manage.”
“Hmm.” Pam gave a noncommittal noise as she lifted her water goblet, and even the click of her fingernails against the glass sounded disapproving.
There it was. Like clockwork, a low buzz had kicked up in her brain, the way it always did after any amount of time with her mother. Would it kill the woman to offer even a shred of support?
“I like my job,” Josie said. “It’s something different every day.”
Pam waved a hand through the air as if she could bat away her daughter’s words. “Anybody can order hors d’oeuvres for parties. But you could’ve had a different career if you’d just let me—”
“If I’d let you bully the Art Institute of Chicago into accepting me?” It was an old fight that neither one of them got tired of having.
“Bullyis a strong word.” Her mother’s flat eyes tracked Josie’s movements as she reached for a roll in the bread basket. Maybe the carbs would help her channel Erik’s eternal chill.
“It’s exactly what you would’ve done.” She forced the truth past tight lips. “My photos weren’t good enough to get me in on my own.”
“You’d have improved.” Her mother lifted her hand to smooth it over her immaculate chignon. “Who knows where you’d be by now if you’d have let me help you get in after high school. Such wasted potential.”
“That’s not how I wanted to get into college,” Josie said stiffly.
“So you didn’t go to college at all?” Her mother’s chunky gold bracelet clicked against the table, and Josie knew better than to bring up the one semester she’d completed before wanderlust carried her into the workplace. Not that it mattered; Pam raised one thin eyebrow, the action radiating more disapproval than a squadron ofProject Runwayjudges, and said, “I don’t know why you wanted to hurt me like that.”
“Believe it or not, my dropping out of college had nothing to do with you. And I’m good at my job, Mom.”
“Oh really? And they treat you well there?”
Thatshut her up. The buzzing got louder as she recalled the last half dozen interactions with Valerie, who never missed a chance to sneak in a dig about being “self-taught” or “operating on instinct.” Her mom and Valerie. Different women, same condescending attitude. Neither believed in her, although she’d spent years chasing their approval. And for what? She dropped her half-eaten sourdough roll to her plate, disappointed that it hadn’t magically produced any Erik vibes.
Naturally, Pam noticed her silence and pounced. “Have you considered going back to school, darling? You could make art for yourself instead of other people. Just think about it: two Ryan women at the same institution.”
For a second, Josie let herself picture it. Studying where her mother had studied, building on her photography skills. Producing work that would win the approval Pamela kept dangling just out of reach. Something in the photos Josie occasionally texted her must’ve finally hinted at a talent worth nurturing.
And then Pam overplayed her hand, leaning forward to say conspiratorially, “You’d be helping me too, darling. Sending my daughter to my alma mater might be the last thing I need to help me secure my residency.”
Josie’s runaway thoughts slammed to a halt. “Your what?”
Her mother gave a stilted chuckle and waved a hand. “Oh, just a few conversations I’ve had with the administration. They’re considering naming a new artist in residence, and I’d like it to be me. I’d be in Chicago full time then, and we could have these lunches regularly. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
No. God no. But Josie kept a polite smile on her face while her hands clenched in a death grip on her lap under the table. “What do I have to do with it?”
That fake laugh again. “Well, certainly there’s the matter of legacy and loyalty. And just imagine if you took a few seminars with me and I could turn your middling talent into something special.”
A bomb detonated in the middle of Josie’s chest.“Middling?”
Her sharp tone earned what passed for a sympathetic look from her mother. “Come now, Josephine. We both know you have some raw talent. You’ll never be a true photographer, but with my help, perhaps you could—”
“What about my wasted potential?”
“Don’t be a child.” Pam sighed the words, her patient tone in place but a tautness creeping around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. The cords in her slender neck tensed as she spoke the next words low and hard. “My overseas work opportunities are drying up, and I want to settle in one place. Chicago’s as good as anywhere else. Foolish me, I thought you’d be willing to help me look like a team player by bringing in some tuition dollars. Given your underwhelming work situation, I would’ve thought you’d be grateful for the opportunity to expand your horizons.”
She flinched at every word spilling from her mother’s mouth. It was one thing to believe something ugly about yourself and quite another to hear your mother casually voice the worst things your brain whispered to you at 3:00 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep.
Josie stood abruptly, the chair shooting backward from the force of her motion, and Pam tucked her chin to hiss, “Oh, stop making a scene. Apparently party planning’s where you belong after all. Now sit down and finish your meal.”
The buzzing was back, but this time it enveloped Josie’s whole body and made her vision go hazy at the edges. A sliver of hope had burned in the center of her chest her whole life. It was what compelled her to seek out her mother’s approval over and over, and in that moment, she felt it twist into something new, something so sharp it threatened to slice her insides to shreds.
