I don’t tell her Tamsin is not my daughter, because frankly, it feels like she is. I move my hand along Tamsin’s ponytail, brushing flyaways behind her ear and smile down at her. I’ve found bringing her when I take pictures brings brighter smiles to everyone’s faces, and my photos have never been better.

“We’ll see you at the wedding, then? Next month?”

“You bet!” the soon-to-be-husband says. “Hopefully she’ll like us more when there are snacks and drinks around, aye?”

Tamsin and I walk hand in hand down Drury Street and toward the growing crowd in front of Mal.

It doesn’t matter that Mal is a millionaire. He will always busk, and I will always love him for that just a little more than I did the day before, because his passion and integrity for his art inspire me.

It also doesn’t matter that we are in the midst of refurbishing the cottage completely, gutting it from within, and are currently staying with Elaine, Lara, and Father Doherty while we’re waiting for our home to be ready.

It took a while, but Elaine and Lara warmed up to me. Father Doherty did his best to bridge the gap, but I think what did it was my relationship with Tam. They could hate me all they wanted, but the truth of the matter was—is—I am the one who fixes her hair every morning, does 2,000-piece puzzles with her, helps her with her homework, and binge-watch vintage Sabrina the Teenage Witch. It was also helpful that I turned out to be just as frugal and unaffected by money as Mal is, so they can see I’m not here for an inheritance or some other sort of free ride.

“May I have chocolate milk? And apple candy? And this dress? And these boots? Rory, can I? Oh, and can you do my hair tomorrow for school? Brantley McCay likes me. Mia thinks so, anyway.” Tamsin stops by a little boutique shop for kids, pointing at a mannequin of a girl her age.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” Laughter rolls out of my mouth, bouncing on the ground ahead of us. “But yes, I’ll French braid your hair on Monday. And you can have one thing out of the three, preferably the boots, because they are super cute, and also because your grandmothers will maim me if I feed you junk before dinner.” I answer all of her questions at once, and we make a stop at the little store and get her glittery, leopard boots I’m sure she will flaunt for my mother during their next weekly Skype session.