Page 11

Copper in Reduction

The Bronx, NY

Louisa

“When there’s loads of oxygen in the kiln, copper acts like one cool cucumber. She stays this fresh, minty green or sometimes turquoise, like the colors people usually associate with patinated copper,” I explained. “But in reduction, we’re choking that bitch. She can’t breathe, and suddenly Copper’s like, ‘Oh, we’re doing that now, puta?’” I rasped with my hands around my own throat, “and she turns red with rage. Deep brick reds, cranberry reds, she’s fucking pissed off and glorious.”

“How do you control the level of oxygen in the kiln?” Will asked. He was prepping his uniforms while I explained glaze chemistry. Has had heard it all before, many, many times, and was looking for an excuse to leave. Will barely looked at the camera at all, so focused on his task, but he’d asked me relevant questions along the way, so I knew he was listening.

“I use a damper on the kiln to close off the air. You have to time it just right. It’s both precise and imprecise, which is why I love it. When our house is ready, we need to pit-fire something. It’s sex for potters.” I could practically feel Has rolling his eyes.

“You want to have mad potter sex with me, Ford? I’m blushing,” Will said. He was, actually. Who wants to have potter sex with whom, William?

“I’m heading to the gym,” Has said to Will, “just close the laptop if you want her to shut up, or you can do what I do and put her on mute.”

Will grunted in acknowledgment and smiled lopsidedly with a needle held between his lips while he searched in this adorable little sewing kit for thread to match his dress uniform. The door closed behind Has, and we were alone. I eyed him for a moment, then started the inquisition.

“Okay, he’s gone, so you can tell me everything now,” I whispered. “How is it going with Nathalie?” It’d been a couple of weeks since they started hooking up, and I had gotten less than nothing from Will or Hasan. Ortiz had been similarly tight-lipped.

It was sheer boredom and loneliness, but I was a woman possessed by the demons of people not telling me shit. I followed Nathalie on Instagram like a psycho. Of course, she had this aristocratic aesthetic going on her profile. It was a whole Nantucket lifestyle vibe for the most part, but I didn’t scroll very far. One close-up of a horse’s haunch bunching as it ran kind of turned me on, and I clicked away before I said as much in the comments.

“It’s fine,” Will said predictably, threading the needle. I waited, unimpressed, but he didn’t elaborate. Everyone knows that “fine” is the most aggressive non-answer possible. I retaliated, as one does.

“It’s her teeth, right? They’re huge. I knew it.”

“What? No!” he replied, instantly defensive. “Did Hasan say that? Nothing is wrong with her teeth.” And reel it in.

“No one’s judging here, Will. I dated a guy with huge chompers once. He could open literally any packaging, even the clear plastic kind they put on scissors. I was into it until he went down on me and… you know those old-fashioned push mowers?”

Will snorted. He was grinning without looking up from whatever he was sewing, which gave me free rein to soak him in without making it weird. I loved his smile.

“I see what you did there. No. Things are good. It’s just casual, so there’s not much to say,” he said. “I can’t do a relationship right now, so I’m trying to keep it chill.”

“That’s surprising. I didn’t take you for a keep-it-chill guy.” I opened a sleeve of Thin Mints I’d had in the freezer since last winter. Will’s eyes flicked up at the sound and fixed on my cookies. I couldn’t offer him one through the screen, so I wrapped my fingers around the sleeve instead and slid my fist up and down slowly—just to subtly fuck with him. He breathed in, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh. I smothered a laugh.

“I’m not actually. I’m a boyfriend by nature and a fuckboy by circumstance.”

Hasan had said he thought the upcoming deployment was weighing heavily on Will, and I figured it was the reason he didn’t want to meet Rachel. Still, he sounded bummed about it.

“If you really like her, you could try it, you know? Christian and Marisol made it work.” My stomach turned a little at the thought of Will and Nathalie falling in love while he was overseas. Will deserved to have the relationship he wanted. As much as I wanted to give it to him, “it” was not a relationship.

“Ortiz’s a better man than I am, and he’s been in love with Marisol his whole life,” Will said. “Plus, I know you haven’t met her in person, and we give her a lot of shit, but she is an amazing woman with the biggest heart. There aren’t very many that I would say deserve Christian, but Mari is an exception.”

Will had absolutely no qualms about being open and effusive with his love for his friends, and it spoke to the core of who he was, softening something deep inside of me.

“And Nathalie’s no Marisol?”

“She’s someone’s Marisol, I’m sure. His name is probably ‘Tad,’” he said. The sentiment was surprisingly sweet, despite being meant to be derisive.

“How did you get the way that you are, Will?” I asked, smirking.

He huffed, tying off his stitches before answering. “Probably my dad.” His throat bobbed, and I waited for him to continue. I almost changed the subject when he spoke again. “He was my idol, and I think I was his. At least it always felt that way.”

His eyes met mine briefly. I hated that he let me see the soft parts so readily. What are you trying to pull, Will? He sniffed once and cleared his throat. “I think that about sums it up. If I talked about my dad as much as I want to, it would feel a bit like I was rubbing salt in a wound with you and Has, if I’m being honest.”

Even though it stung to hear, I tried not to let it show on my face. I understood what he was saying and appreciated the thought. “Someday, when you’re ready, I would love to hear about your dad.”

He nodded, folding his uniform pants over a hanger. Is this what grief looks like? The muscles in his biceps and back flexed beneath his undershirt. As he reached up into his closet to grab his shoes, his shirt lifted, and I caught sight of the tattoo I’d only glimpsed before. I took it as a sign and changed the subject.