by Zoe Lee
Time to grow up, and be seen as a grown up.
A year later, Daisy was standing in the old, familiar ceramics classroom at the Arts Center. Maybelle moved slow; her teachers were still here and so was almost everyone she’d worked for in the office. They had all been so excited to work out a way for her to use a room and the kiln.
It was gratifying, but now, as she walked into the empty ceramics classroom, it only added to the pressure she had already put on herself. What if she’d lost what limited skills she had before? What if all of the anticipation she was feeling popped like a balloon once she was working?
Taking a deep breath, she picked up a brick of clay, filled a plastic cup with tepid water, and brought it to one of the stations.
She cut open the plastic and peeled it away from the clay. She stroked her fingertips along its damp surface, her eyes abruptly filling with tears at the sensation of its unique texture—wet and smooth and so dense, waiting. Her fingers tingled with rising elation as she took her ribbon cutter, which was a wire strung between two wooden handles, and used it to slice the brick apart.
She moaned as she began to knead. She’d forgotten how sensual it was.
She’d forgotten how powerful she felt, using the strength of her shoulders, arms and hands to warm and soften it, changing the dense clay into something malleable and soft.
She’d forgotten the soothing whir of the wheel as she turned it on. She’d forgotten how mesmerizing the clay looked as the wheel spun, misshapen from kneading it, water filling in the indentations from her fingertips and glistening in the bright afternoon sunlight.
She’d forgotten how deep into her imagination she sank as she placed her left hand along the base and cupped the top with her right, beginning gently to shape it, as she began to see what it could become.
Her mind cleared of everything but the sensations, joy bubbling up.
Without making any conscious choices, she shifted her hands, shifted the pressure she applied, and what began to take shape wasn’t anything she’d made before. It wasn’t a bowl or a shallow dish, a mug or a bud vase.
It was abstract, at first, a thick base rounding out like a lightbulb, then flowing outward, more like a powerful, crashing wave than a delicate flower unfurling. There were light grooves, but instead of horizontal bands like on a mug, they were more like a knotted tangle of yarn, stretched flat across the surface of what she was making. She slid her finger to the inside, stretching out the middle so that it widened, then carefully brought the top inward, so that it was barely large enough to fit two fingers within.
Then she turned off the wheel and slowly let go of the clay.
She exhaled hard, studying what had come out of her through her hands.
Now that the trance had broken, she could see it for what it was.
It was a heart, suspended somewhere between the clichéd Valentine’s Day symbol and an anatomically correct organ. Those light grooves detailed what looked like the leaves of the Catalpa tree, shaped like the spade in a card deck, also heart-like. But the foliage was dense, somehow, as if it were choking the organ, and the whole thing was off-kilter.
Not broken, but full to bursting.
Daisy let loose a loud, heaving sob and dug one elbow into her hip, that hand pressed into her clavicle, her other hand splayed over her face.
The outpouring of sadness lasted until she felt emptied out.
She got to her feet unsteadily and ripped a few paper towels from the dispensers near the sinks, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose noisily.
She loved Duncan McCoy, and she missed him.
And this time, the man she was trying to move on from wasn’t going anywhere because his family, his friends and the kids he coached were here. She had to figure out how to live in Maybelle with him—and that, eventually, he’d be with someone else. She would have to move on enough to try again, to be brave enough to give her love again, too.
She frantically dug her cell out of her bag and called Stephanie.
“Hey, Daisy,” Stephanie chirped.
“Stephanie?” she wailed.
“Daisy?” Stephanie’s voice was immediately worried. “What’s going on?”
“I—” She gulped down another wail and began to get the sculpture off the wheel and covered, so that it would be protected against drying out. “It just… hit me that I’m alone,” she managed to say finally. “Dunk’s… gone.”
Stephanie sighed and whispered, “Oh, honey. I know it hurts.”
“What was I thinking, dating someone who’s best friends with Chase and Leda and Jesse?” she babbled, the extent of her predicament finally sinking in. “We’re just starting to get close, but now I can never go to their birthday parties or Jesse’s New Year’s bashes or—”
“Daisy!” Stephanie interrupted. “What brought this on?”
Daisy tried to catch her breath, slumping against a table, and then mumbled, “I’m at the Arts Center. I was sculpting and I just…”
Stephanie let the sentiment breathe on the line between them for a little bit before she replied gently, “Making art makes you vulnerable. You let all your emotions out. That’s a good thing, honey. You’re starting to heal. I know that you don’t want to hear that, but you are. Your art is helping.”
“I don’t want it to help,” Daisy denied frantically. “I don’t want it to be like therapy or something! It’s my happy place, and I was so happy while I was just working. But when I was done, the sculpture I made, it’s like… this big, lopsided, morbid broken heart, Stephanie! What do I do with that?”
“You fire that badass up in the kiln and put it on your kitchen table,” Stephanie told her, her tone brooking no arguments. “You remember our favorite line in Center Stage? Take your feelings and use them. So what if your heartache fuels your sculpture? So what if your first new pieces in a while aren’t adorable soup bowls or potpourri dishes? We both know you’re not going to get over Dunk by dating someone new. So do this.”
Daisy’s instinct was to fight against that, too, to tear at it, rip it apart.
But Stephanie had known her since they were little girls and her advice and her opinions were worth listening to, especially when Daisy knew that she wasn’t capable of having any perspective on this.
“Okay,” she exhaled shakily.
“I’m texting Karen and we’re coming over tonight,” Stephanie said.
With a tiny laugh, Daisy nodded, carrying her covered heart sculpture to the storage cabinet and setting it inside carefully. “Okay,” she repeated.
“We got you, girl,” Stephanie reminded her firmly.
“Thank you,” Daisy said, starting to breathe a little easier between Stephanie’s unconditional support and putting away the heart sculpture.
“See you soon.”
Daisy finished cleaning up, tugged on her ponytail to tighten it, and put on her sunglasses as she jogged towards the exit.
That heart was badass, even if she couldn’t quite face it yet.
But she would learn from this just like she’d learned from everything else she’d gone through, and life would get better, even if it was slow going.
Chapter 17
Dunk
Dunk had taken up boxing since he had broken up with Daisy. There wasn’t a boxing gym in Maybelle, but the Rec had a Tuesday night class taught by Dax Steele, who was an E.R. doctor and former Army. It seemed weird, but they weren’t there to fight each other, they were there to learn how to safely and effectively beat the shit out of punching bags.
So Dunk was dripping sweat, his hands and wrists wrapped to keep them protected, throwing jabs and punches at his punching bag.
Dax’s Kick Ass Playlist kept him motivated, jumping from Rage Against the Machine and AC/DC to Nas and Run the Jewels.
When it was done, he was worn out. He gave credit where credit was due to Dax, because it was damn hard to physically wear him out.
He headed towards the locker room, only to stop short.
Conor Rhys was sitting up on a bench, his leg out of a cast and looking pale and noticeably less muscled than his other leg.
“And I’d been doing so well,” he muttered, tension re-filling his muscles and tendons as if he hadn’t just drained it all out boxing.
“What was that, McCoy?” Conor snapped.
Dunk strode closer to Conor. “You got something to say to me?”
Conor lifted one eyebrow, like he had all the patience in the world and the biggest upper hand. “I wasn’t planning on talking to your sorry ass, but I’m sure I could come up with a few choice words.”
Dunk’s mouth stretched in a terrible imitation of a smile.
He hadn’t been miserable… exactly… since the breakup with Daisy, but he hadn’t bounced back like he thought he would.
A part of him—an apparently masochistic part—was glad that it hadn’t been easy, that he hadn’t been able to snap out of it and move on yet. It proved that Daisy really meant something to him. The rest of him was tired of his thoughts running tired circles around his brain, which was why he’d started boxing. It was also why he was keeping up with the knitting circle, although he’d sworn he’d never set foot in the bookstore again.
“But I can see there’s no point,” Conor added.
Dunk’s eyebrows knitted, not sure if Conor was insulting him or implying that it was obvious that Dunk was still not over it.
“I gotta go,” Dunk said, and strode straight on out of the Rec.
Only he had to stop short for the second time that day.
This time, it was because there was Daisy Rhys perched on a bench. She was reading on her cell, sunglasses hiding her eyes, her hair in a big puff on top of her head, wearing a flowy dress he’d never seen.
Of course, she looked up when the door slammed shut behind him.
He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t seen her; he was frozen like a dumbass practically mid-step, his jaw hanging open and his eyes right on her. For the first time in his life, he considered running away, or being completely rude—even if it was for self-preservation—and turning away.
But instead, he waved, as if he were really the brainless jock everyone thought he was, and said, “Hey.”
So cool, so casual, he mocked himself.
“Hi, Dunk,” Daisy whispered.
It hurt him, worse than a real uppercut to the chin, to see her looking so… neutral, no signs of that exuberance or that cheeky sense of humor.
“Conor’s still in there,” he mumbled, figuring that had to be why she was here. “He’s not even sweating, so he’s still going to be a while.”
“I know,” she said. “I just got here early.”
They stared at each other, and it was awkward and painful even though her sunglasses shielded him from seeing those huge green eyes.
“How—how’s Lempicka?”
He almost hit himself on the back of the head.
“Good,” Daisy replied, with a ghost of a smile, “mostly ignoring me.”
“Cats are evil, Daisy Rhys,” he intoned, for a second forgetting that he shouldn’t tease her anymore, that she wasn’t his to tease. His growing smile shrunk down to nothing and he dropped his eyes to his running shoes. “Well, uh, I’m sorry I interrupted you when you’re reading.”
“Oh, no,” she denied hastily, just as polite as ever.
He wished she’d curse him out or something.
If she had, then he wouldn’t have said quietly, “It was nice seeing you.”
And then he did take off, too twisted up to keep this up.
“Damn it,” he hissed as he slammed into his truck.
While he wanted to take off, or show up at Jesse’s or Wild Harts to drink and bitch, he was a mature man, so he went home instead, to play with his dog and brood while ESPN ran in the background.
Chapter 18
Daisy
Daisy arched up her chest and wriggled on her inner tube until she could dip her head backwards into the lake, cooling her forehead that was sweating despite her butt and belly being in the lake. Her eyes were closed, the light so bright that the insides of her eyelids had dancing dots like blurry fireworks. It was about a thousand degrees and she could feel the last of her sunscreen melting off her skin. Around her was that peaceful quiet she only found on lakes, the little noises the water made lapping against her skin blending with the gentle noise of the nearby trees swishing in the barely-there, humid breeze.
She could faintly hear the other women near her. Stephanie, Karen, Jesse, Leda, Chase, and she had all met up earlier at the forest preserve for a walk. They’d marveled at Stephanie’s dog’s energy as she ran and tumbled, tongue lolling, big ribs heaving from the heat. Most of the group had decided to continue on to Tristan’s to use his beach, but Stephanie and Karen had headed out.
So now they were relaxing, enjoying each other’s companionship. Chase and Leda were on the beach, reading under an umbrella. Jesse was on a floating chair, her braid trailing in the water, a beer in the cupholder.
This wasn’t the first time they had all hung out recently; it seemed that, the closer Jesse’s move to Chicago drew, the more often they got together. Mostly Daisy was invited to the girls-only things, so that she wouldn’t have to decide whether seeing Dunk was worth spending time with Jesse. It worked out fine because she was busier now that she was getting back into her pottery, and even starting to date a little bit.
“Ugh,” she mumbled, thinking about the sweet, nerdy dentist she’d gone out with a few times, more because she was trying to be open, saying yes to anything remotely interesting, than because she was really into him.
“Hmm?” Jesse said drowsily.
“I need to tell Tim that I… I don’t even know what to say. It’s been three dates. It’s not breaking things off, since nothing really started,” she said, rolling her neck and cracking her eyes open enough to see Jesse. “But it’s not… I don’t know. I’m not feeling it. I can’t see it going anywhere.”
Jesse offered one of her trademarked shrugs. “He’s a dentist, Daisy. There’s no way dentists are crazy emotional. He’ll be fine.”
“I know,” she lamented.
Jesse grunted and muttered, “Yeah, you want to find someone and be stupid happy.”
“Definitely,” Daisy laughed, “don’t you?”
“We’re going to find out how Chicago lesbians feel about a country girl with a slow drawl,” Jesse said, her tone dry but her grin fast and sharky.
Daisy laughed again, then poked her bicep with one finger, watching critically as it changed colors around her faint freckles. “I think I’d better go huddle under Chase’s umbrella, or I’m going to look like a tomato.”
“Yeah, I’m getting hungry. Leda brought some sandwich shit and those cupcakes are probably nothing but gooey frosting.”
They went ashore and flopped down on their towels.
“So,” Leda said, putting aside her book, cocking an eyebrow at Chase. “What are you and my brother doing for your anniversary?”
“Didn’t that already happen?” Jesse asked.
“Work was too crazy for both of us to do it then. So next week we’re taking a long weekend on Emerald Isle,” Chase replied, glowing.
“Y’all are so calm about it, like you’ve been together forever,” Daisy sighed, as if that were her number one relationship goal.
Chase smiled. “That’s how we like it. We’re not twenty-two, we don’t want drama. But we’re not forty, we don’t need to rush.”
“You better think about making babies soon, if you’re going to have any,” Leda said, looking both disturbed by the idea of them making the baby while totally pleased by the idea of having a niece or nephew.
“I’m not talking about family planning with you, Leda,” Chase huffed, rolling her eyes dramatically as she shoved a cupcake in Leda’s face. “Eat this and then try to tell me you’re not asking because you want to have marathons of sex until Jamie knocks you up with, like, triplets.”
Le
da took a truly gigantic bite of the cupcake, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk’s, while she glared at Chase and then Jesse when Jesse couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter. When she swallowed it, she bragged, “I have the best stepkid on earth, why would I need to rush another kid?”
“… so you have an excuse for the sex marathon with Jamie?” Daisy suggested as if it were obvious.
“Yeah,” Leda sighed dreamily. “He’s so hot. And I love him.”
“I don’t know, man,” Jesse said slyly, leaning back on her hands, her eyebrows raising up, “Dunk’s been hitting the gym a lot lately.”
Chase laughed and scooped up some of the frosting puddled in the cupcake carrier before popping it into her mouth. “Lady’s got a point,” she agreed, her eyes glinting, just as sly as Jesse in her own way.
Daisy stuck her nose in the air. “So what?”
Leda’s jaw dropped open and she argued, “Who are you trying to fool, Daisy Rhys? Dunk is not our style—he’s just too… upbeat,” she shuddered, right along with Jesse and Chase. “But you two?” She mimed burning her fingers, shaking her hand and hissing. “I have no idea how two people so happy and well-adjusted as you could have that chemistry, but you do.”
Daisy stared at Leda blankly.
“Chemistry,” Leda repeated.
“Heat,” Chase supplied. “Like two sexy magnets drawing together.”
“But I’m… I’m not…”
Chase scowled and ordered, “Don’t you dare say you’re not sexy.”
Daisy froze, on the verge of saying exactly that, and then replied, “I don’t have self-esteem issues like that, I know I’m pretty. But—”
“Bap-bap-bap,” Chase interrupted. “Jesse, tell the woman she’s sexy.”
With a groan, Jesse dragged one hand up and pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head so Daisy could tell she was being studied. “I’m only saying this once, okay. When you feel sexy, you are sexy.”
“Nice pearl of wisdom there, Jesse,” Leda snarked.
