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‘Not specifically. But Josie is a good judge of character, so she’ll be able to tell me if anything seems weird about him.’ Finn’s expression is inscrutable and I sigh. ‘When did we both get so busy? I used to have plans, like, once a week.’
My phone buzzes with a text, and from the sheer bulk of it, I know the kind of message it’s going to be before I read a single word.
Hi Ava, thought I’d send you a text explaining what’s going on in my head at the moment. I won’t be able to make the class tonight. It’s not really my thing and I just don’t think I’d enjoy it. I also think weshould stop seeing each other. I’ve found your constant texts pretty overwhelming and, sorry if this is bigheaded to say, but I think we’re looking for different things. I should’ve called it off the moment I found out you’d made so much effort to get a date with me. Sorry it’s not better news. PS stay rad, sweetheart.
Finn notices the drop of my jaw and I wordlessly hand him my phone. I watch the emotions roll across his face until he murmurs, ‘Stay rad?’
‘Really, that’s what you got from all that?’
‘He’s an idiot,’ he says simply, giving my phone back.
‘Aren’t you going to say “I told you so”?’ I pour milk into a jug and steam it angrily. Which is to say, I scowl while I do it and hit the jug five times on the counter when I’m done. ‘You told me not to pretend to be someone else, and here I am. Rejected by a man who told me to “stay rad, sweetheart”.’
‘Well, before I decide, are you upset about it?’
I pour milk into the mug as I take stock of my feelings. Kind of embarrassed about being dumped, slightly ashamed for putting on an act, and more than a little annoyed, because what did he mean by “constant texts”? I sent two one-line messages in a row. And maybe, just maybe, part of me is relieved. But upset?
‘No, not really.’
‘Then yes, I told you so.’ I get the urge to ruin his latte art in response. His fingers tap the edge of the counter and he says, ‘You deserve someone who pays attention, Ava. It’s not difficult. You were playing a part, which was stupid,as I said, but if he was really paying attention he would’ve noticed. Because, no offence, butyou’re not as good an actor as you think.’
‘Excuse me? I am a woman of mystery.’
‘Don’t even try that.’ His fingers stop tapping and his warm eyes hold me captive, suspended in time for just a moment. ‘I can read you like a fucking book.’
What’s that supposed to mean? My heart pounds in my ears but I’m saved from any further confusion by another customer coming to the till. As soon as she’s gone, my shoulders sag. Despite everything, I was actually looking forward to this evening. I scroll through my emails and groan when I see those fateful words:non-refundable ticket.
At my groan a quizzical expression crosses Finn’s face, so I explain my predicament. ‘I booked the non-refundable option for the class because I’m a cheapskate, so now I’m going to lose money.’
He looks me square in the eyes and says. ‘Only if you don’t go. So I’ll come with you instead.’
‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘You were really excited five minutes ago. Do you or do you not want to try pottery painting?’
I shrug, and he waits for a verbal response. Eventually, I say, ‘Yes. I do.’
‘Then it’s settled. Besides,’ he takes his phone out and his fingers fly across the keyboard, ‘it’s on my bucket list.’
He turns the screen to face me, and at the bottom of the list I read:
Go pottery painting with Ava when a man who wearsbendy shoes is a prick.
We make it to the converted warehouse with moments to spare, after I’d got distracted trying to do eyeliner in City Roast’s bathroom and Finn’s restless phone-checking informed me he was getting antsy about being late. Somewhere along a labyrinthine corridor is our classroom, and there are two tables available; one right at the front, the other at the back. We head to the back because while I’m keen, I’m notthatkeen.
Just as we fold onto the plastic chairs, our instructor shakes a tambourine. I assume this is to get our attention, but she also strikes me as the kind of person who spontaneously plays the tambourine, so I’m not sure.
‘Welcome, artists. My name is Rosetta and I’ll be overseeing you today.’ Her voice is almost hypnotic, and the quiet murmurs around us dull as everyone turns to listen to her. She looks exactly how you’d expect a pottery painting teacher to look; bedecked in jewellery that glints and chimes with every movement and wearing more layers than I’d imagine is comfortable in this August heat. ‘In this class you’ll be painting two items; a coaster, along with either a plant pot or trinket dish. Your coasters are on the table already, and I’ll come around soon to find out what second item you’d like. You have an array of paints and utensils to choose from, so dive into the very recesses of your imagination and find out what your soul wants to share.’
‘What does your soul want to share?’ Finn whispers, nudging his knee against mine under the table.
I peer at the paints on our table to see what we’ve got. ‘Some kind of retro pattern, probably?’
Rosetta finishes her explanation and with one last sweep of a supersized chiffon sleeve, she leaves us to it.
On our table we have a pile of paints, brushes and sponges, along with two ceramic coasters and two aprons. Finn rolls up hissleeves, one of which falls down almost immediately.
‘If I’d known I was gonna be painting today I would’ve worn short sleeves.’
