Maybe today will be the day she finally calls.
Just maybe.
8
SYDNEY
Fucking pottery.Of all the hobbies I could have chosen to distractmyself, I picked pottery, which I’m quickly realizing I am completely inept at. It’s very possible I have zero talent in any visual arts. I look over to Jade, who has already thrown a perfect vase in the time it took me to shape my glob of clay into…a different-shaped glob of clay. Fuck.
Justin has—somewhat surprisingly—been an amazing addition to the shop. Since he has no friends in the area, and no more university work to take up his attention, he’s been more than happy to pick up whatever shifts we throw at him. Which is the reason I’m able to be here with Jade right now, creating monstrosities.
But it is helping. Spending time with my best friend, learning something new. It’s helping me feel less alone. Less broken.
I don’t need a man to feel whole. Hell, I don’t even needfourmen to feel whole. I need this. I need my best friend. I need clay caked so deeply under my fingernails I’ll have something to pick at for the next four days.
“Do you think mice have souls?” Jade asks suddenly. Leaning back on her stool, she stares calculatingly at the sculpture in front of her as if there were anything left to perfect. Ourclass instructor, Mr. Beck, is busying himself walking between students, offering gentle instruction and critique.
I tap my finger against my glob, considering the question.
“Give me more context,” I say. “I want a full understanding of the question before I give my answer.”
“Okay, let’s say souls are real,” Jade continues, placing her vase to the side and starting again with fresh clay. “And if you have a soul, you get into some kind of afterlife, right?”
“Like a heaven?” I ask.
Jade nods enthusiastically. “Right, like heaven. If you have a soul and live a good life, you get to go there. But what happens with things like mice? Do they have a soul? And if they do, are there just millions of mice running around heaven?”
“Hang on, back up a bit. How does a mouse live a good life?”
“I don’t know.” Jade sighs, exasperated. “Let’s say our mouse doesn’t fight with the other mice. Not ever. And she only steals food from the trash, right? Not from anyone who needs it. Plus, she never covets another mouse’s wife or anything like that.”
“An upstanding, moral mouse,” I agree, nodding.
“Obviously, our mouse goes to heaven,” Jade continues. “Which begs the question, is there amouse-specific heaven? Because I’m pretty sure my idea of heaven doesn’t include stampeding hordes of mice all over the place.”
“Naturally,” I agree.
“But then, where does it stop?” Jade leans forward, her attention somehow focused both on the mouse-heaven quandary and her quickly developing vase. “Are there insect heavens? Plant heavens? Do all species get their own heavens, separated but infinite worlds where all the good creatures can be happy forever?”
“There’d have to be some overlap, right?” I point out, jabbing my finger at what looks like…a bowl? Maybe? “Like, human heaven and dog heaven, those two could be the same thing.”
“Right,” Jade agrees. “Or like, cat heaven is probably bird hell, you know? There’s obvious synergy there.”
Jade finishes another amazing vase and holds it out for me to take.
“You have no faith in me,” I complain, pouting. “You don’t think I can finish and sell this…ashtray to a brilliant art collector?”
“I have so much faith in you! But part of that is the faith that you’ll realize that you’re shit at this, and you’ll take this vase and quickly place it on your wheel before the instructor tries to help you and wastes everyone’s time,” Jade says, once again thrusting her vase at me.
“All right, class,” Mr. Beck calls from the front of the classroom, clapping his hands together. “Bring your final vases up to the front next to the kiln to be fired!”
I abandon the clay frisbee I created and take Jade up on her offer of a fully fledged vase so I don’t have to embarrass myself. “Thanks for helping me avoid a walk of ceramic shame. Next activity, let’s pick something easier.”
Mr. Beck gives our vases a nod of approval as we drop them off, and when we get back to our station, I add my misshapen lump of horrors back to the pile of unused clay. Jade walks over to the sink to wash the clay from her hands.
“Let’s make you some hot cocoa when we get back to the shop,” she offers. “Chocolate will help distance us from the memories of this failed experiment.”
“Thanks.” I smile at her and make my way to the sinks, staring out the window at the sunny afternoon. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jade, you?—”
