Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

Tina’s future had once seemed so assured. She was intelligent and had had medical school firmly in her sights. She had just seemed to have it all: brains, beauty, and the sweetest personality. She had always been there to listen and offer advice. And Libby had considered herself so lucky to have her as a best friend.

But somewhere during Tina’s gap year after high school, the wheels had come off. Medical school had fallen by the wayside, and over the last ten years, she’d aimlessly drifted from job to job. Libby wasn’t sure what had happened, and maybe she should have delved a little deeper, but she had been abroad a lot and crazy busy with her own studies and career. She’d been confident Tina would work it out.

Especially since Tina had always seemed so happy and self-assured whenever Libby had spoken to her over the years. They had remained close, despite the physical distance between them. But now, despite that closeness, Libby inexplicably felt like an unwelcome intruder in Tina’s home.

It wasn’t anything overt, but Tina seemed so distant. She was always out late and left for work early. She barely looked at Clara, and that more than anything was what bothered Libby. She didn’t expect everybody to automatically love her baby, but damn it! Clara’s father had already rejected her, and now her de facto aunt, Tina, who had given up half of her living space for Libby and the baby, had barely even touched Clara.

Libby wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but she was sick of this weirdness coming from the people who were supposed to love and treasure Clara. Maybe Tina was feeling cramped in her own home . . . which was why it would be best if Libby left. Before things got too strained and started to really hurt her longest-standing female friendship.

“That’s why I’m here today, actually,” Libby said in response to her mother’s question. Her voice was hoarse. “Uh . . . remember Chris? My mentor in Paris?”

“You mentioned him a few times. The model?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“He owns a charming little café, and he has offered me a job as his second.”

“That’s lovely.” Her mother beamed happily. “We could look after Clara while you’re working, of course.”

“It’s not that simple,” Libby said before clearing her throat. “It’s on the Garden Route.”

Her parents both stared at her in silent dismay, and her mother’s rocking motion sped up slightly.

“That’s a six-hour drive,” her mother gasped, her voice strained.

“I know. But it’s, like, only an hour by plane,” Libby pointed out with forced cheer.

It had taken her a long time to decide that this was what she wanted. The distance would be hard, but she needed it. She needed that physical space between her and Greyson, even if he didn’t seem to care where in the hell she and Clara actually were. And she needed an entirely clean slate, a fresh start in a new town, where she could begin her life with her beautiful baby. Some place where she didn’t feel like she was encroaching on someone else’s space. Somewhere she could finally regain her independence after her ridiculous brain fart of a marriage.

“I need this, Mum,” she said, meeting her mother’s golden-brown gaze, so similar to her own. “I hate moving so far away. But I really need this.”

“Who will help you? With her?” her mother asked, her eyes dropping to the baby’s sleeping face, and Libby’s eyes flooded. She would miss her mother’s proximity, the immediacy of any counsel, solicited or otherwise. Constance, too, had opinions on what was best for Clara, how to hold her, burp her, feed her. Both grandmothers had their own ways of doing things, and while their advice wasn’t always welcome, they were doing what mothers did best, filtering their knowledge down to the next in their feminine tribe. It was invaluable, and Libby would find a way to maintain it, but for now, more than that . . . she needed to find herself again. Needed to find her own voice as a mother.

“We’ll be fine. And you’re just a phone call or a Skype session away.”

“Roland.” Her mother’s voice was imploring as she diverted her gaze to Libby’s father, obviously hoping he would find a way to talk his daughter out of her decision. But Libby’s father stared at his daughter for a long moment, his stern, attractive features searching as he assessed her face.

“She’ll be fine, Ma,” he said with a decisive nod. “Let the girl figure it out for herself.”

Three months later

“You don’t have to move out, you know?” Chris said, crunching into an apple as he watched Libby neatly fold Clara’s tiny clothes and pack them into the huge suitcase spread open on the unmade double bed.

Libby had really enjoyed reconnecting with her friend and mentor, Christién Roche. She would have been an idiot to pass up the chance to work with Chris again. So she had happily escaped to Chris’s beautiful forest cottage on the Garden Route three months ago. She had been even happier with the comfortable amount of physical distance the move had put between her and Greyson. A former model, Christién Roche had strutted his stuff on the catwalk and in magazines for years before going to culinary school. Libby had met him while doing an internship in Paris five years ago, where he’d been the pâtissier at a well-known Michelin-star restaurant.