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I thought quickly. “Um, I call this pieceTranscendental Incoherence.”
Patrick snorted, but Kelli nodded, tilting her head as if she might see some meaning in the lopsided mess, if she could find the right angle. “Mm-hmm. Are we taking a break from the Emotions series?”
“Yeah. I’ll get back to that next week.”
“I listedSuspicionyesterday on our website,” she told me. That one had started as an off-center cat but had ended up partially burned and cracked after firing.
Then she turned back to Patrick and touched his shoulder lightly. “You know, Patrick, our studio relies on donations to stay afloat. When people create pottery they choose not to take home, we list it on our website for people to bid on.” Patrick opened his mouth, but she held up her hand quickly. “Now, I’m sure you’ll want to keep your elf condo, but if you make anything in the future that you feel like leaving behind, your talent might raise some money for us. Just give it some thought.” She smiled hopefully at him, then left for another table.
He dropped his forehead onto the desk. “Elf condo,” he muttered.
“I’m almost jealous of your skill,” I said, “but your embarrassment evens it out.”
“Do they auction off your…er…art here, too?” he asked. “YourNonsense Incoherent?”
I jerked around to look at him. “Are you going to make me say it? She lists them out of pity, okay? I don’t think anyone bids. It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt my feelings. I hate that everyone thinks if you suck at something, you shouldn’t do it. Like singing. If you suck at singing but you love it, you should totally sing.”
“I agree with the sentiment, but if you suck at singing, please don’t.”
“Back in the day, when people had nothing to do except stare at each other, they painted and danced and sang even if they sucked. At least they do in Jane Austen. And while that sounds horrible in a lot of ways, it also sounds kinda nice.”
“I’d rather have the internet.”
I ignored him. “I suck at pottery, but I love it. Occasionally, I make pieces that are legitimately cool; I give those to my dad. I leave the others here. No one can say it’s not art if it has an inscrutable name. Even if it’s a melted lump. We aren’t all able to make beachfront bungalows for hobgoblins.”
“Sassy pants is going to be so jelly when my hobbit hole sells for a million dollars,” Patrick said.
I couldn’t help smiling. I sat back and looked at my duck critically. I had managed to smooth it out and elongate the wings a bit. I’d ended up with a sort of bad-ass robin. I was actually kind of proud of it. “I think I’ll give this one to my dad,” I announced.
“So this is one of yourbetterones?” Patrick said. “You know, you’re not twelve. He’s not going to love it just because his daughter made it for him. That stops when you leave elementary school.”
“Does not,” I said. “It doesn’t matter how old I get—he always loves my crap.”
“That’s fortunate, because you’re absolutely full of it.”
Chapter 3
Walking home alone, like so many things, had seemed like a good idea at the time. It wasn’t fully dark yet, and I listened to a lot of true-crime podcasts, so I knew to keep my guard up. Patrick had offered to drive me, but he had a late dinner date with his husband, so I’d waved him off and started the ten-block trek to my apartment. We’d left our creations so they could get fired in the kiln. Dad was going to love that stupid bird.
I’d gotten about two blocks when I heard someone yell, “Hey!” I slowed my steps and my body tensed, my eyes forward. I’d recently binge-watchedThe Walking Dead, so I was practically a lethal weapon. I walked a little faster until the voice called again, and I spun around with my fists up to find Jason jogging behind me. My body relaxed. Great. My favorite person. All I wanted was to go home and take a bath, watch Netflix, and eat a whole row of Oreos out of the package. I fluffed my hair to hide my fists and tried to look casual. “Oh, hey.”
He caught up to me. “Hey. How’s the new job going?”
“Fine,” I answered. “How’s it going being the favorite?”
He grinned. “It’s pretty great.”
“Ugh, you’re theworst,” I said. It slipped out before I could help myself.
His smile faltered. “If you want the truth, it’s not easy,” he said.
“It sure seems like it,” I answered and started walking again.
“Which way do you live?” Jason asked me.
“In the direction I’m walking,” I told him, pointing north.
“Me, too,” he said. “I’ll walk with you for a bit.”
