Speaker 1: Thursday nights have a hush all their own in our apartment.
Speaker 1: I'll play Sits three stories above the clamor of Vine Street,
Speaker 1: a row of industrial windows cracked open for whatever late
Speaker 1: spring breeze might climb the fire escape. Jazz from the
Speaker 1: record Bard, dance to air seeps in, sometimes as slow bass,
Speaker 1: sometimes chatter and laughter, never enough to drawn out the city,
Speaker 1: but enough to distract me from the clock. It's ten
Speaker 1: seven p m. The pottery class at the studio, and
Speaker 1: Grant wrapped by nine. Officially, she texted at eight fifty
Speaker 1: to say packing up now, But that was almost an
Speaker 1: hour and a half ago. I wonder if I should
Speaker 1: have called, But that never goes over. Well, I replay
Speaker 1: my last message, take your time. I'll start on the dishes,
Speaker 1: neutral support of what I've always wanted to be. Still,
Speaker 1: I catch my own reflection in the glass, clutching my
Speaker 1: phone as if waiting for a test result. I set
Speaker 1: it down with the quiet half, forced myself to rinse
Speaker 1: plates and dry my hands twice, all for something to do.
Speaker 1: There's the familiar metallic clatter of her keys. The apartment
Speaker 1: door swings open, and I see her solo, wet outlined
Speaker 1: by the whole light, messy top knot sleeves marched with
Speaker 1: dark lagd a reusable canvas back hanging off her arm.
Speaker 1: She doesn't speak right away. She's balancing something in her hands,
Speaker 1: wrapped in newspaper. Hay, she says, voice oft and distracted.
Speaker 1: She smells faintly of kiln, smoking strangely, something crisp, sweet
Speaker 1: and unfamiliar, not perfume, not her shampoo, almost like a Colonne.
Speaker 1: I can't quite place, hey, I answer, Watching her unwrap
Speaker 1: the package. She holds out a mugger deep, even matgray, symmetrical,
Speaker 1: the hand a perfectly formed. It's more stovrant than her
Speaker 1: usual ride of colors and extras. Free you, she says,
Speaker 1: pressing it into my hands. It's dishwasher safe, promise. I
Speaker 1: turn it round in the light. It's beautiful, sure, almost austere.
Speaker 1: Looks different than your other stuff. I try to smile
Speaker 1: as I say it. She shrugs, already moving past me
Speaker 1: to drop her bag by the kitchen. Did Joe may
Speaker 1: help with the glaze This time? Her tone is casual,
Speaker 1: even as she slips out of her shoes, flicking her
Speaker 1: phone screen, tossing keys on to the counter. Jana. I
Speaker 1: don't mean to sound wory, just curious. I think she
Speaker 1: doesn't meet my eyes. Busying herself a folding the newspaper.
Speaker 1: He's in the advanced class. He knows all these tricks
Speaker 1: for firing in reduction, says it gives better texture. She
Speaker 1: glances at the mug, then at me, quick as a
Speaker 1: camera flash. I don't worry. I still like my ridiculous colors.
Speaker 1: I gnaw, tasting metal on the back of my tongue.
Speaker 1: What time did class end? The kiln was slow, she says,
Speaker 1: almost a fan had to wait and help clean up.
Speaker 1: I texted you, it's just the edge of defensiveness there,
Speaker 1: or maybe I'm imagining it. Of course, she texted, I
Speaker 1: want to ask about the cologne, but stifle it. Feeling
Speaker 1: suddenly silly. I set the mug on our shelf between
Speaker 1: a lopsided Teka's face and a small sculpture of a
Speaker 1: frog holding a coffee bean. All her pieces all bright
Speaker 1: and imperfect, except for the new mug. That one feels
Speaker 1: like a rental, a stand in, as if it belongs
Speaker 1: in some one else's kitchen. She has for the bathroom
Speaker 1: to shower the clay from her wrists, leaving the faintest
Speaker 1: whiff of that same smoky sweet scent lingering in the air,
Speaker 1: the kind of moment i'd normally brush past, but to
Speaker 1: night I fix you. I almost want to sniff my
Speaker 1: own sleeve evidence, but laugh at myself instead, finding the
Speaker 1: thought both absurd and quietly humiliating. Our apartment never felt
Speaker 1: so big as it does when the stile and stretches
Speaker 1: after her footsteps in the water runs. I watch her
Speaker 1: through the reflection on the oven's glass door, bler, distorted,
Speaker 1: rinsing away the night. I try not to second guess
Speaker 1: at ten year ritual. She's always been like this after
Speaker 1: our class, radiant, distracted, brimming with some new idea, or
Speaker 1: sometimes tangled up in her own head. Once. I loved
Speaker 1: that about her. But to night, alone in the kitchen
Speaker 1: with that perfect mug, I realize for the first time,
Speaker 1: I don't know what story I am holding. It's strange
Speaker 1: how quickly the mind skips back to origin points, as
Speaker 1: if confirmation is nestled and some half forgotten scene. I
Speaker 1: must have replayed the night we met a hundred times,
Speaker 1: but tonight the memory comes onbidden, vivid as a photograph.
Speaker 1: I'm sitting at a sticky bar table at the Greenhouse,
Speaker 1: so I laughed her tumbling out of the crowd. It
Speaker 1: was open Mike night, and she stood up with a
Speaker 1: guitar that had too many stickers and absolutely no fear
Speaker 1: of missing a chord. Her voice was terrible, her lyrics worse,
Speaker 1: but she drew the whole room in with sheer nerve.
Speaker 1: I sat there a little in all I Afterward she
Speaker 1: sat across from me, blunt, wild, a little bit tipsy,
Speaker 1: eyes shining as she riffed about why the word ceramics
Speaker 1: should always be plural. I verily said three sentences all night,
Speaker 1: but I listened, and she seemed to love that In
Speaker 1: the years since. Thus how we fit. She the hurricane
Speaker 1: of color and noise, me the quiet space to return to.
Speaker 1: We moved into our light filled apartment two years later.
Speaker 1: She filled it slowly but inevitably with her work. Each
Speaker 1: piece had her finger prints literally, sometimes warped balls, giraffe
Speaker 1: print platters, a little dancer with the chipney. My own
Speaker 1: contributions were mostly hung on walls, black and white photographs
Speaker 1: from around the city, geometric studies of light and abandoned buildings.
Speaker 1: Her pieces always made the place Field lived in never staged.
Speaker 1: Our friends made up a gallery all their own artists
Speaker 1: and writers, a cook with more tattoos than recipes, a
Speaker 1: couple of local actors. Marcy, who ran the Cliffs Eye Gallery,
Speaker 1: was always first to r VP for our late dinners. Luca's,
Speaker 1: a sculptor whose hands were big enough to break cinder blocks,
Speaker 1: usually arrived with two bottles of malbock and a tail
Speaker 1: about someone's muror being painted over again. We'd build our
Speaker 1: little collective out of bad wine, shared inspiration, honest critique.
Speaker 1: Almost every weekend there was something ashore, to attend, an event,
Speaker 1: to host another friend's opening night. We went everwhere together.
Speaker 1: Hans laced our arms, thrown over shoulders, the two constants
Speaker 1: in any fot if we had boundaries, they were gentle.
Speaker 1: Sometimes she'd disappear into her studio for hours, chasing a
Speaker 1: new technique. I'd lose myself in the dock room, growing
Speaker 1: photos grain by grain. We trusted the distance. She always
Speaker 1: returned clay in her hair, stories tumbling out about what
Speaker 1: rhean and tried to make explode this time. But subtle
Speaker 1: things shift. I can't pinpoint when we stopped occupying the
Speaker 1: same orbit, only that lately I sometimes hear her through
Speaker 1: a closed door, her voice lower, laughter, a little too private.
Speaker 1: My own work's grown heavier, more routine, Thie managing web
Speaker 1: content for a design agency. Deadlines and feedback loops, less
Speaker 1: time to wander with my camera. We still share news
Speaker 1: at dinner, but the conversations are more logistical. Who was
Speaker 1: running to the grocery? Whether someone can make the clean
Speaker 1: up crew for the next event. She claimed, she's stretching herself,
Speaker 1: seeking out new mediums. It fits who she's always been,
Speaker 1: or so I tell myself. But as I run my
Speaker 1: finger along the flawless mug, I realize our freedom, the
Speaker 1: thing I always admire, now feels more like parallel tracks.
Speaker 1: On Friday, she's out of bed before seven, rummaging through
Speaker 1: the kitchen for the travel mugs, even though she knows
Speaker 1: I hate drinking coffee from metal class Again, I ask, stretching,
Speaker 1: She nods, hunting for something in the pantry I'm heading
Speaker 1: in early. Jonah wants to try a new blend for
Speaker 1: the slip. Thinks it'll dry quicker, Joan again. I clock it,
Speaker 1: say nothing. Instead, I offer mind if I swing by
Speaker 1: after work, I'd love to see the new pieces. She
Speaker 1: hesitates only for a heartbeat, then shoots me a breezy smile. Honestly,
Speaker 1: it's just basic forms to day, super repetitive. You be
Speaker 1: bored out of your mind. I want to object, but
Speaker 1: the moment passes as she heads for the door. Don't
Speaker 1: forget the portfolio review. On Sunday, she calls. I wave,
Speaker 1: but she's already gone, and our apartment is once more
Speaker 1: filled with the kind of silence that only feels heavy
Speaker 1: after goodbyes. The day drafts lower than usual. In the past,
Speaker 1: I'd get tech snapshots of disasters, funny pottery mishaps, the
Speaker 1: occasional selfie with a friend's close blotted face. Lately, all
Speaker 1: I get our neutral updates. Still at studio late night,
Speaker 1: do wait up? No emojis, no punctuation. Sometimes I convince
Speaker 1: myself it's nothing complain to myself about my own schedule.
Speaker 1: I should be grateful she is something that excites her.
Speaker 1: I wouldn't want to be the partner who can't manage
Speaker 1: a little freedom. Saturday afternoon, she returns with a plastic
Speaker 1: tub of four newbale sleek, faceted, glazed and washed out
Speaker 1: earth tones. The old pieces have bright, swelling lines or
Speaker 1: creance gold monster face hidden underneath, or the occasional mistake
Speaker 1: glazed over with some private joke. These are objectively beautiful,
Speaker 1: but looking at them, I feel like a stranger in
Speaker 1: my own home. She notices my stare and grins. Joon
Speaker 1: is obsessed with minimalism. It's catching. I feign enthusiasm, but
Speaker 1: it dies in my mouth. I'm reminded, for some reason,
Speaker 1: of when my sisters started dating a guitarist in high
Speaker 1: school and came back from visits talking about tone colors
Speaker 1: and major keys. Maybe that's normal, the way people influence
Speaker 1: each other through proximity. I put the balls up on
Speaker 1: a new shelf. Later, after she showers and disappears into
Speaker 1: a sketch book, I find myself standing at the threshold,
Speaker 1: watching her pencil move. She smiles softly, but the drawing
Speaker 1: is just a quick gesture, a bottle, a cup, nothing revealing.
Speaker 1: That night, I score through my own photos, trying to
Speaker 1: recapture something from the city outside. The images look stale,
Speaker 1: suddenly irrelevant. I close the folder and try not to
Speaker 1: wish she'd ask for my opinion. Weeks pass. She's out
Speaker 1: late twice, sometimes three times a week. Now, the line
Speaker 1: between class open studio and a just hanging out begins
Speaker 1: to blur one night. As she enters, I immediately notice
Speaker 1: the same unfamiliar scent on her shirt, smoky mixed with
Speaker 1: whatever colonne that is just strong enough to feel exidental.
Speaker 1: She talks quickly, her voice animated. Joonas convinced that the
Speaker 1: older wheels work better for centering clay. That messes with
Speaker 1: your whole rhythm. But he's kind of a genius when
Speaker 1: it comes to hand building. I nod, searching for the
Speaker 1: comfortable space between interested and intrusive. You spend a lot
Speaker 1: of time with him lately, she laughs, a little too loud.
Speaker 1: He's the only one willing to get his hands dirty
Speaker 1: after class. Most people just bail. I don't say what
Speaker 1: I'm thinking at It's convenient how everyone else vanishes, leaving
Speaker 1: only the two of them. On Tuesday evening, I head
Speaker 1: home early with the half formed plan to swing by
Speaker 1: the studio. I want to surprise her, bring her take
Speaker 1: up her favorite spicy noodles. I check the time as
Speaker 1: I walk six forty. The sign on the door confirms
Speaker 1: the studios open until eight. I'm half way to the door,
Speaker 1: where my phone buzz is running late all night are
Speaker 1: with a new kiln load. Love you. I pause in
Speaker 1: the middle of the sidewalk. The paper bagsweaty in my hand.
Speaker 1: Love you. I try to press that toward my heart,
Speaker 1: but even the words feel like they've changed currency. Instead,
Speaker 1: I eat in a park and walk home. The apartment
Speaker 1: is empty until nearly midnight. She wakes me tipto and
Speaker 1: past the bedroom, a shadow moving with deliberate care. The
Speaker 1: pattern repeats enough times that my mind starts to race
Speaker 1: ahead of itself. It's not just the hours of the cologne,
Speaker 1: or even Jonah's names stitch through every story. It's the
Speaker 1: way her lofty sounds rehearsed when she tells me about
Speaker 1: her day, sharp and abbreviated, like some one pulling off
Speaker 1: a mask. I tell myself the classes are good for her,
Speaker 1: that I've always loved her independence. I remind myself that
Speaker 1: jealousy is an ugly word, and that suspicion is the
Speaker 1: last refuge of the insecure. And yet each time she
Speaker 1: comes home late and presents another fowllless, soulless bowl, something
Speaker 1: inside me eaches beneath mine own skin. One rainy Thursday,
Speaker 1: I try once more, any chance I could tag a
Speaker 1: long and watch the class. I'd love to see how
Speaker 1: you work that new wheel. She freezes for half a second,
Speaker 1: then breezes on. We're just hand building tonight. It's all
Speaker 1: clay and pinched thumbs. Really not thrilling to watch. Plus,
Speaker 1: the studio is super strict about non members just hanging
Speaker 1: around insurance stuff. I nod, running a finger along my
Speaker 1: coffee mug. Maybe when you have your neck show. There's
Speaker 1: nothing on the calendar for months. She shoots back, too fast.
Speaker 1: Right now, it's just practice. I'm not sure who I'm
Speaker 1: trying to convince her or myself cross the room. Her
Speaker 1: phone lights up with a new notification, and she flips
Speaker 1: it over without a glance. Friday, I meet Chloe at
Speaker 1: the River Cafe. We're both there by accident, her and
Speaker 1: paintsplatted jenes Me fresh from a deadline conversation drive, and
Speaker 1: she suddenly nods toward the street. Soul Cassie at Groucher's
Speaker 1: last night. He must have gotten out of their earlier.
Speaker 1: I hesitate, not wanting to admit I wasn't invited. Haven't
Speaker 1: been to Groutger's in months? What was the occasion? She
Speaker 1: SIPs her tea eyeing me lightly. Her pottery friends came
Speaker 1: after class, big crew, seemed like I only recognize her
Speaker 1: in one or two others. There was a tall guy,
Speaker 1: kind of intense, curly hair, lots of bracelets he was holding.
Speaker 1: Caught on something about firing schedules. She smiles, then pauses
Speaker 1: as I don't return it. I figured you whither too.
Speaker 1: I force a laugh. Long week at work, missed all
Speaker 1: the fun. I leave it at that, but my mind
Speaker 1: trips over the details. A dinner after class, when she
Speaker 1: said she was up late cleaning kilns, a tall man bracelets,
Speaker 1: passionate about firing times. My stomach knots with the sickly curiosity.
Speaker 1: That evening, when she comes home, I look at her pieces,
Speaker 1: crowded on the new shelf. Some now bear j m
Speaker 1: eshnately at the bottom. I wait until dinner to ask
Speaker 1: Foice is steady as I can manage. Some of your
Speaker 1: pieces have someone else's initials. J Am Is that Jonah?
Speaker 1: She glances at the shelf, smile tight. He's helping me
Speaker 1: with the technical stuff right now. We're collaborating a bit.
Speaker 1: He's way more precise with glazes. I think it's good
Speaker 1: for me to try new things you know. There's a
Speaker 1: practice quality to her answer, but nothing aggressive. I want
Speaker 1: to push further, but let a drop. Later. I sneak
Speaker 1: into the bedroom while she's finishing a podcast in the
Speaker 1: bath and dig through her closet. I'm not sure what
Speaker 1: I'm looking for. At the back, between sweaters, I find
Speaker 1: a small, half finished sculpture, rough, almost grotesque, just a
Speaker 1: massive twist of forms. It's not like her at all.
Speaker 1: I turn it over in my palm and see the
Speaker 1: faintest ce jade, her initials scratched and evenly into the clay.
Speaker 1: When she emerges, I slide the sculpture onto the dresser.
Speaker 1: She barely glanced at it. All, project, she says, almost dismissively,
Speaker 1: didn't work out. I almost believe her. Saturday, she's out again,
Speaker 1: this time for its studio lock in. Even as I
Speaker 1: accept her explanations, I notice the distance. At gallery events,
Speaker 1: she flitten late, already dressed, hay pulled back with the
Speaker 1: new beaded necklace I've never seen before. I'm oping a
Speaker 1: bottle of wine at Massi's when there's bought her wearing it. Later,
Speaker 1: scrolling through Instagram, I see the same beat around jonas
Speaker 1: wrist his arm around some one unown two drinks on
Speaker 1: the bar of caption great company, wild inspiration. Our friends
Speaker 1: begin to act differently. The group texts, which once pined
Speaker 1: all day with jokes and memes, is quite over. Every
Speaker 1: mention of a party or show now feels like an
Speaker 1: inside reference. I missed. Chloe is still warm. If a
Speaker 1: bit more careful, Lucas texts one evening you two okay,
Speaker 1: misseeing you around. I tipe out a reply and delete it.
Speaker 1: Our routines crumble. If I suggest in her, she claims
Speaker 1: Jonah's staying late to tweak the schedule. If I plan
Speaker 1: a weekend walk across the river, she is committed to
Speaker 1: helping organize the studio. The gap between our lives widens,
Speaker 1: failed by excuses, she delivers with practice efficiency. Some nights
Speaker 1: I consider following her. I don't. Instead, I start collecting
Speaker 1: tiny observations, like puzzle pieces, collaborations that don't match her voice,
Speaker 1: private events I am not invited to new friends whose
Speaker 1: name she drops without contexts. I flip between believing her
Speaker 1: and wondering if I'm losing my mind. Sunday morning, there
Speaker 1: is an e mail invitation from the ALM Studio gallery
Speaker 1: it's for an opening. Potter is after midnight select works
Speaker 1: of the Downtown Collective R s v P guest lists
Speaker 1: opened to the public. Cassie never mentioned to show yet.
Speaker 1: Three of her new bowls are on the flier. I
Speaker 1: ask her about it over eggs. That's only for studio members,
Speaker 1: she says, quickly, looking past me as she speaks. I'm
Speaker 1: not actually showing anything finished. It's invitation only anyway. I
Speaker 1: pick up my food, remembering Lucas saying he'd be there,
Speaker 1: and Marcy forwarding me the invitation. If I press, I
Speaker 1: worry the lie will become too obvious. I let it slide,
Speaker 1: loathing my own cowardice, adding it to a growing stack
Speaker 1: of Quie betrayals. One evening, the wind rattling the windows
Speaker 1: a scroll. Jona's public Instagram again few personal photos, mostly
Speaker 1: ceramics and studio shots, but buried among them from last month,
Speaker 1: a blurry photo of what might be the bond near
Speaker 1: the studio. Cassi is there, head tipped back in laughter.
Speaker 1: What looks like her hand near Joan is a matching
Speaker 1: necklace on her chest. I try to comfort myself. Maybe
Speaker 1: I am reading too much into it. Maybe everything is
Speaker 1: still within the safe boundaries of friendship and artistic collaboration.
Speaker 1: I almost manage to believe it until late one night
Speaker 1: she stumbles in, smelling of whiskey and clay, ignoring my
Speaker 1: questions entirely. The next morning she's short, brisk. I need
Speaker 1: to focus, the police, just space, okay. She spends the
Speaker 1: next hours in the spare room, music up, door closed.
Speaker 1: I pour coffee into the gray mug and sit on
Speaker 1: the fire escape, watching people with places to go, lives
Speaker 1: outside the double glaze glass. I envy them their certainty,
Speaker 1: their lack of questions. A month after the first mug appeared,
Speaker 1: I wandered the apartment alone on the night she is
Speaker 1: at the studio. Late. I count six new pieces, mugsipules,
Speaker 1: three more faceted neutral vases, all stamped to J m
Speaker 1: Orgsy JY and careful matching letters. I pulled down her
Speaker 1: old pieces, wild, uneven, playful, and arrange them side by side.
Speaker 1: The difference is unmistakable. Her old work pulses with imperfections, stories,
Speaker 1: wounds healed and reopened by glaze. The new ones could
Speaker 1: be any one's. My mind races with theories, most of
Speaker 1: them unkind. I try to imagine alternatives. Maybe she's chasing
Speaker 1: technical mastery. Maybe Jonah is nothing more than amuse. Maybe
Speaker 1: I'm simply not a part of this new phase. I
Speaker 1: resist the urge to check her phone. I know the
Speaker 1: pass code, but I can't bring myself to break that
Speaker 1: barrier yet. One evening, while she's showering, I stare at
Speaker 1: the freshly thrown mug on the counter and ask myself,
Speaker 1: out loud, am I losing her? Or am I just
Speaker 1: jealous of something she needed all along? Her laughter now
Speaker 1: rare enough to be precious, floats from the bathroom, and
Speaker 1: for a second I see a version of us from
Speaker 1: before shared take out late night talks about the absurdity
Speaker 1: of art, her head on my shoulder, our mutual certainty.
Speaker 1: It's gone again, just as quickly. I sit up in bed, restless,
Speaker 1: listening to water Trip in the kitchen, the record bar below,
Speaker 1: winding down for the night. The next day, I try
Speaker 1: to reclaim something ordinary. I ask about plans for an
Speaker 1: upcoming arts festival, one we've always attended together, something of
Speaker 1: a tradition. She feigns enthusiasm, promises, of course, I want
Speaker 1: to go with you. We haven't done that in ages.
Speaker 1: Let's make a day of it, just us for a
Speaker 1: few nights, our routine softens. We eat dinner together, even
Speaker 1: laugh over a burned loaf of bread. We sit on
Speaker 1: the couch, half watching an old film, her hand finding
Speaker 1: mine in the dark. She lets me read part of
Speaker 1: her notebook, sketches for sculptures that seen half finished but
Speaker 1: finally undeniably house. I catch glimpses of the cassi I
Speaker 1: know best, the wild, unfiltered, generous spirit. I fell in
Speaker 1: love with my doubt's dim if only for a moment.
Speaker 1: I start to believe again, to hope that whatever distance
Speaker 1: grew between us was nothing more than a phase, a
Speaker 1: creative fever that would burn itself out. But then Treville,
Speaker 1: perhaps but undeniable. A text lights up her phone one morning,
Speaker 1: as were prepping for the festival. Donah, no last name,
Speaker 1: but unmistakable. The message is a fragment, but loaded last
Speaker 1: night was everything. Next week. I don't say anything. The
Speaker 1: words feel like a stone in my chest. I tell
Speaker 1: myself that I am being paranoid. Could be about studio work,
Speaker 1: some new pottery effort. But the certainty I longed for evaporates,
Speaker 1: replaced by chasm of doubt. I start searching quietly at first.
Speaker 1: When she leaves her bag unattended, I check the pockets.
Speaker 1: When she leaves for the studio, I open her closet again,
Speaker 1: taking back the stacks of new insipid balls. I find
Speaker 1: a sketch book I've never seen before, then tapped between
Speaker 1: pairs of jeenes inside a page after page sketches, all
Speaker 1: variations on one theme. A man, tall, curly hair, sometimes
Speaker 1: with a beard, always in some corner of the pottery studio,
Speaker 1: sometimes at a wheel, sometimes just a profile, a hand
Speaker 1: called amid motion, a pair of hands on a muck.
Speaker 1: None a labeled Jonah, but the resemblance to his photos
Speaker 1: is clear. My heart pounds cold and wild. Each image
Speaker 1: feels more intimate than the last. Not pornographic, nothing overtly sexual,
Speaker 1: but there's an attention to him I never saw when
Speaker 1: any sketch of me. He is in her hand, at home,
Speaker 1: in a clay, at home, in her gaze. For days,
Speaker 1: I oscillate between confrontation and paralysis. I consider asking Lucas
Speaker 1: for advice, but the thought of voicing it aloud makes
Speaker 1: my chest height. I try asking Marcy, almost as in
Speaker 1: a side, if she knows Joana well She hesitates as
Speaker 1: flicking away and just says he's intense. People talk. She
Speaker 1: waves it off, but I can see the unease in
Speaker 1: her mouth, the suggestion that she knows more than she
Speaker 1: is willing to share. The next gallery event, I watch
Speaker 1: Cassie from across the room. She's buoyant, flying between groups,
Speaker 1: laughing easily, wearing a new pair of clay rings. Her
Speaker 1: phone keeps buzzing. Tucked into her pocket. I see her
Speaker 1: texting through the night, always with her body angled away
Speaker 1: from me. We miss each other more often than not.
Speaker 1: When I suggest to walk home together, she claims a
Speaker 1: headache and leaves early with studio friends. I wander the
Speaker 1: city alone, trying to recall the feeling of belonging somewhere
Speaker 1: to some one at home. I try to start a conversation.
Speaker 1: Is everything okay? She stiffens, you are acting weird. There's
Speaker 1: a wall now high and quietly fortified, between everything I
Speaker 1: want to know and everything she refuses to say. I
Speaker 1: wonder when it was thus she started withholding, or if
Speaker 1: I'm only just now noticing. She accuses me of being distant,
Speaker 1: of being chu absorbed by my work. There's some truth there,
Speaker 1: but not the kind she means. One night, unable to sleep,
Speaker 1: I scroll back through Instagram join as feed cassies the
Speaker 1: public photos from studio shows. Most are innocent group settings,
Speaker 1: but in the background of a few images, I spot
Speaker 1: their bodies almost touched, arms linked, her hands brushing as
Speaker 1: they lean over a wheel, oblivious to the rest of
Speaker 1: the scene. The pieces start to align. The late nights,
Speaker 1: the impersonal mugs, the collaborative initials, the necklace she only
Speaker 1: wears when she goes to class. The sudden laughter that
Speaker 1: doesn't include me. When I finally glance up from my
Speaker 1: phone years of past or so it seems, the apartment
Speaker 1: Lyndon Dawn's weak light is no longer hump, but a
Speaker 1: waiting room full of strangers art. I want to confront
Speaker 1: her to man explanations insist on honesty, but I still hesitate,
Speaker 1: terrified by what the answer might be. Instead, I sat
Speaker 1: at the table, coffee cooling, beside a dozen stone gray
Speaker 1: mugs and wait for her next return. I wonder how
Speaker 1: long one can occupy the span between certainty and grief.
Speaker 1: Cassie comes home late the following Thursday, carrying another box
Speaker 1: of bowls, and hum in a tune that sounds just
Speaker 1: out of reach. She offers me a neutral smile and
Speaker 1: heads to her phone. Before greeting me. I ask her
Speaker 1: if she's going to the festival with me next week,
Speaker 1: or whether there's a reason to bother up planning at all.
Speaker 1: She looks startled, then last thin sighs and says, of course, yes,
Speaker 1: I already told you, But her eyes are distant, half glazed.
Speaker 1: I resolve then to stop accepting rehearstancewers. It's not relief
Speaker 1: but anger that helps me seek. For the first time
Speaker 1: in months, I finally dream of something other than perfect,
Speaker 1: featureless pottery. The anger isn't noble exactly, just a raw
Speaker 1: energy I've forgotten was mine. I write it into the
Speaker 1: next day shop and a little chili with Cassie over coffee.
Speaker 1: She scrolls her phone, barely registering my questions about her schedule,
Speaker 1: dis murmuring studio, then teaching might go late if the
Speaker 1: kill needs extra time. I tell her dinner's up to
Speaker 1: her to night. She grunts an assent, not really agreeing.
Speaker 1: By the time she leaves, the apartment's called of for
Speaker 1: lack of her absence. Even the juss from Belowsan's too
Speaker 1: bright mocking. That day at work, I finish a project
Speaker 1: early and wander into the break room, destructive chewing a thumbnail. Suwey,
Speaker 1: our project manager, asks if everything's all right at home.
Speaker 1: I'm quick to say yes, but afterward I wonder what
Speaker 1: I'm giving away. I check my emails. Then a ping
Speaker 1: from the M Studio gallery, this time advertising an open
Speaker 1: studio tour, listing participant artist in alphabetical order under sea.
Speaker 1: There's Cassie next to Jade theres Jonah mar X. Yes,
Speaker 1: welcome at the invite states free to the public. That's
Speaker 1: the third event She's mentioned as invitation only, members only,
Speaker 1: restricted in some way to keep me on the other
Speaker 1: side of a wall I didn't know existed. At lunch,
Speaker 1: I text her about the tour, keeping a breezy. Got
Speaker 1: an invite to Alms open studio. Should I r SVP
Speaker 1: for us? Her reply comes late. Don't stress, babe, just
Speaker 1: a demo day, probably chaos. Next one three sentences, not
Speaker 1: even a joke, kor emoji, not even punctuation. I try
Speaker 1: to focus on my own tasks for reviewing layout's arguing budgets,
Speaker 1: but my mind's already planning, desperately, angrily, what it would
Speaker 1: feel like to just show up to let her see
Speaker 1: me there, arms folded, refusing the invisible lease. She started
Speaker 1: to wrap around all things studio, but I can't. I don't. Instead,
Speaker 1: when the evening comes, I find myself at Groucher's with Lucas.
Speaker 1: We split a plate of fry pickles, talk about an
Speaker 1: upcoming sculpture commission he's landed. Eventually he brings up Cassie.
Speaker 1: She seems deep in it lately. HA haven't seen her
Speaker 1: at the usual hands you two, Okay, I dodge with
Speaker 1: her a truce, but Lucas just nods, eyes narrowed, clearly
Speaker 1: sensing more. Joan is a force man, Lucas says, picking
Speaker 1: his teeth, brilliant with structure, totally driven. People get swept up.
Speaker 1: Cassie's not the first, but he pauses a pained hesitation.
Speaker 1: You know her best. Sometimes new collaborators just bond, that's art.
Speaker 1: I nod as if placated, but Lucas's words rattle around
Speaker 1: him my head all night. When I get home, Cassi's
Speaker 1: in the kitchens, graving clay from her nails into the sink,
Speaker 1: wearing an old gray heat at once belonged to me.
Speaker 1: It's comfort war and faded, but I noticed a new
Speaker 1: silver bangle on her wrist, A slender wire with a
Speaker 1: trom in the shape of a tiny wheel. Not her style,
Speaker 1: but beautiful, and a glints in the light whenever she
Speaker 1: moves her hand. I've never seen it before. Nice bracelet,
Speaker 1: I say, settling him beside her. She looks down, as
Speaker 1: if she forgot it was there. Oh, Jonah made him
Speaker 1: for the whole class, some kind of team building thing.
Speaker 1: I guess everyone got one, she shrugs. The Thursday group.
Speaker 1: At least he's obsessed with little ritual objects. I almost
Speaker 1: let it drop, then decide not to. So what's he like?
Speaker 1: I haven't actually met him, She rinses her fingers, staring
Speaker 1: at the flecks of clay pooling in the sink. He's intense,
Speaker 1: always going off on theory a little much, honestly makes
Speaker 1: every one tribud exercises, drawing with your eyes closed, the
Speaker 1: sort of thing. But he's good for my discipline, keeps
Speaker 1: me accountable. Something in her tones oftens an intimacy that
Speaker 1: isn't for me. I ask gently, I hope are you
Speaker 1: happy with the work. It seems really different from what
Speaker 1: he used to do. Cassie's mouth tugs at one corner.
Speaker 1: It's technical. It's good to push limits. Sometimes I miss
Speaker 1: the messines, but she trails off, turning away to dry
Speaker 1: her hands. I sense the boundaries closing again. All night,
Speaker 1: I watch her across the table while she works on
Speaker 1: her sketch book Haphon's and lips, mouthing silent lyrics, lost
Speaker 1: in a private world of lines and shadows. Friday night,
Speaker 1: I head out with coworkers. It's late by the time
Speaker 1: I get home. The apartment is dark except for the
Speaker 1: glow under the spare room door. Cassie's hunched over her wheel,
Speaker 1: one over smaller table top ones recently moved home for
Speaker 1: extra practice. I tiptoe past. She's surrounded by I half
Speaker 1: finished forms, all sleek and gray, each with a tiny
Speaker 1: j M, already itched in the still wick clay. For
Speaker 1: a whild second, I want to smash them all, mix
Speaker 1: them back into blobs, force some disorder back into her
Speaker 1: careful new world. But I don't. I just slide into
Speaker 1: bed and count the cracks in the ceiling. The next morning,
Speaker 1: dawn's hot and bright city light pouring through the high windows.
Speaker 1: She leaves early for the farmer's market, a tutslong over
Speaker 1: her shoulder, her phone buzzing as she walks out. I
Speaker 1: linger at the door, watching her solow at recede. There's
Speaker 1: a loneliness in her gate. I can almost convince myself
Speaker 1: as unintentional. With her gone, I allow myself to snoop,
Speaker 1: a shameful act. And yet there's something methodical in the
Speaker 1: way I search. I check her studio drawer, receipts from
Speaker 1: the art supply store, a few handwritten notes, nothing extraordinary.
Speaker 1: I pause at her laptop, which is open but asleep.
Speaker 1: I know her pass what her old cat's name pluralized
Speaker 1: the Saints since college? God help me. I check her email.
Speaker 1: It's mostly newsletters and ortical firmations. But in her drafts
Speaker 1: folder I find a message with no recipient, just a
Speaker 1: subject to for next time and a list Loughderby's temp.
Speaker 1: Joan is as slow, cooling is more expressive. Try that
Speaker 1: return Joonah's loop too, eyed at black lay at Jonah's place,
Speaker 1: next session, test new glazes on, doin pieces, move the
Speaker 1: other mugs. There's nothing damming, just names, meetings more. Jonah,
Speaker 1: her mind infiltrated. I close the laptop quickly, disgusted with
Speaker 1: myself before I can even decide if I am angry
Speaker 1: or just wretchedly curious. That afternoon, instead of contacting her,
Speaker 1: I go to the Alms Studio Gallery alone for the
Speaker 1: open studio event. Places crowded energy buzzing from all the
Speaker 1: half late work spaces on display. I don't spat Cassie
Speaker 1: among the artists mingling, but one of her new bulsts
Speaker 1: on a pedestal labeled see Jennings and Jay Mark's Reduction
Speaker 1: Bawl series. A Leen, a tens man with curly hair
Speaker 1: and thick glasses, stands nearby, laughing with two students over
Speaker 1: some obscure joke about wadding in the kiln. Recognition sweeps
Speaker 1: through me. Jonah distinctill live bigger in person than Inforto's.
Speaker 1: I want to introduce myself to catch him in something indefensible,
Speaker 1: but he moves too quickly, schmoosing his circle. When I
Speaker 1: finally approach her work, he's gone back into the maze
Speaker 1: of rooms. The gallery brochure lists both their names and
Speaker 1: three separate pieces. I snap a photo of the labels,
Speaker 1: not sure why, maybe to have proof beyond the haziones
Speaker 1: celling in my gut. I leave more rattled than before.
Speaker 1: When I returned home, Cassie sprawled on the couch, scrolling
Speaker 1: on Huffham Good Market. I ask. She nods too quickly.
Speaker 1: Great ran into Chloe Groud Coffee. I toss my keys
Speaker 1: in the bowl by the door, then sit beside her,
Speaker 1: close enough to sense the habitual distance stop by Al's studio.
Speaker 1: She freezes, doesn't look up. No why I wait for her,
Speaker 1: the rest of the apartment, holding its breath. When she
Speaker 1: finally glances over, I just say, I thought you had
Speaker 1: a piece in to Day's shore. She recovers, the mask
Speaker 1: sliding into place. Ooh, that Jonah put some of my
Speaker 1: work into a group display. Didn't realize it was happening
Speaker 1: to Day. Honestly, he handles a lot of the organizing.
Speaker 1: I let him silence, save for our breathing. The city
Speaker 1: hum slipped around us from the window. Later, when we
Speaker 1: are in bed, I watch asleep, trying to map this
Speaker 1: patch of physical closeness onto the empty spaces in our lives.
Speaker 1: Her back is to me here fair out breath even.
Speaker 1: I reach for her, then pull my hand back. The
Speaker 1: next week, her absence grows bolder. The lay's forgotten promises,
Speaker 1: Miss dinners. I mention Lucas's upcoming opening in She sighs.
Speaker 1: I'll try, but it's a heavy studio week, firing schedules
Speaker 1: all over the place. I might not make it. I'll text.
Speaker 1: Lucas texts me half an hour before his events starts.
Speaker 1: Cassies here early. Jonah too. My Joe clenches as I
Speaker 1: read it, pull suddenly erratic. When I arrive, she's already
Speaker 1: in deep conversation with Jonah, perched to the bot, their
Speaker 1: postures counted subtly, immred, sharing a small bowl of olives.
Speaker 1: She sees me and straightens, a flash of something panic
Speaker 1: crossing her eyes, before it's replaced by a bright smile.
Speaker 1: Hey love, she calls, waving me over. Jonah turns, blight
Speaker 1: but distant. He nods, introduces himself. His handshake's limp, his
Speaker 1: attention drifting back to Cassie mid greeting. The conversation turns
Speaker 1: around the kiln, the merits of hand built versus thrown
Speaker 1: pottery arch references to inside jokes. I laugh appropriately makes
Speaker 1: more talk, but Cassie's energy is tuned to Joanah's frequency,
Speaker 1: her laughter swelling at his witticisms, her body tilting ever closer.
Speaker 1: At one point she brushes something off as leave some
Speaker 1: invisible speck of dust, and the gestures so familiar sounds
Speaker 1: of conscious it nearly guts me. Afterward, on the walk home,
Speaker 1: I go silent. She fills the void with chitchat about
Speaker 1: the show, about Marsy's curated section, about the price of
Speaker 1: wine at the bar. It's her old trick, distract and redirect.
Speaker 1: By the time we reach our building, I'm none the wiser,
Speaker 1: only more deeply mired in helplessness. That night, I wake
Speaker 1: up to the sound of meat, to voices from the hallway.
Speaker 1: Cassie on her phone, voice soft, secretive. I listen for
Speaker 1: a minute, heart in my throat. She's speaking in fragments
Speaker 1: and no, it's fine, I'll bring it tomorrow. Yea you two.
Speaker 1: I hear a laugh. I'm familiar in its low, confiding register.
Speaker 1: When I step into the hallway, she startles, phone clattering
Speaker 1: to the floor. She bends, clutching her shirt over her chests.
Speaker 1: As wide. Did I wake you? She asks, T bright it?
Speaker 1: Just go into the bathroom, I say, even though my
Speaker 1: bladder is fine. She slips past me into the bedroom,
Speaker 1: face turned away. I lie awake staring at the ceiling,
Speaker 1: hearing echoes. Two days later, while tidying in the living
Speaker 1: room bookshelf, I find a polar or tuck between our catalogs.
Speaker 1: It's an overexposed shot. Cassie in the studio holding a mug,
Speaker 1: Joan's hand, Jenny guiding her fingers on the wheel. They
Speaker 1: are smiling. Hers hesitantly is broad and open. As I
Speaker 1: examine it, my fingers shake. When she returns. I hand
Speaker 1: her the photo looks like a great glass. She grabs it,
Speaker 1: almost snatching it from me, and stuffs it into her bag.
Speaker 1: Joan is documenting everyone's process for a book. It's it's nothing.
Speaker 1: I try to sound casual. You seem to be working
Speaker 1: together a lot. Were you teaching or is he she
Speaker 1: chews her lip. Honestly, he helps run advanced workshops, but
Speaker 1: as collaborative, we're all just pushing each other. No apology,
Speaker 1: no explanation that fits the intimacy in the photograph. The
Speaker 1: next afternoon, Mossy calls, hey, got you on the list
Speaker 1: for pop up? Lucas said, you'd want to see the
Speaker 1: new work. Cassie's pieces on the window or ready, She's
Speaker 1: been near all morning with Joana setting up, I thank her,
Speaker 1: hang up and text Cassie, pop up looks great. Stopping
Speaker 1: by after work. Her reply is instant this time. Don't
Speaker 1: bother heading home early, not feeling the crowd When I
Speaker 1: stop by any way, the clerk behind the register says Cassie.
Speaker 1: She left a while ago with her friend, curly haired guy.
Speaker 1: Said they were getting food. I don't go home right away.
Speaker 1: I walk the neighborhood in slow, winding circles. The last
Speaker 1: fronted chop spill light onto the sidewalks, couple's brushing shoulders,
Speaker 1: snippets of conversation, drifting For the first time, I wonder
Speaker 1: if I'm holding onto something. Only I remember that night.
Speaker 1: Cassie is already in bed when I get in, lights off,
Speaker 1: pretending to sleep. I don't climb in. I paw myself
Speaker 1: a whiskey, nursed in the kitchen with the lights low,
Speaker 1: turning that old lopsided frog sculpture over in my hands.
Speaker 1: I want to for it, smash it, cry for a
Speaker 1: life that seems to be closing in around me. Instead,
Speaker 1: I set it down carefully and breathe weeks slit by
Speaker 1: the rhythm, both frantic and nearly silent. She leaves earlier,
Speaker 1: comes back later. Her pillow always holds the trees of perfume,
Speaker 1: and something deeper must he ar, not her nor mine.
Speaker 1: Occasionally she wakes in the night, startled from some dream,
Speaker 1: asks me if I'm awake. I pretend to be asleep,
Speaker 1: Afraid of what honesty would cost, Chloe texts, one day
Speaker 1: you okay, missing you guys. Cassie's been so busy. Joannah
Speaker 1: too apparently want to do coffee. I say yes, And
Speaker 1: when we meet, the conversation skates around Cassie until finally, tentatively,
Speaker 1: Chloe asks, is everything cold between you too? She seems
Speaker 1: elsewhere lately. I don't answer fully, just tell her we're
Speaker 1: both busy working on ourselves. That's the line Cassie's been
Speaker 1: feeding me, so I stop believing. It might be enough
Speaker 1: for now, but it isn't. The evening stretch, each one
Speaker 1: a little colder, more emptied of the rituals that marked
Speaker 1: our life. No impromptu dancing in the kitchen, no Sunday
Speaker 1: cross with races, no late night plans to photograph of
Speaker 1: murals by moonnight. One Friday, after another noncommittal text out
Speaker 1: a studio late, don't wait up, he snap instead of
Speaker 1: wandering the city or moping in our apartment, I decide
Speaker 1: to walk by her studio. My pulse is a war
Speaker 1: drum my, palm, sweaty. I stand across the street, beneath
Speaker 1: the broken street lamp, tucked into the shadow of her bakery,
Speaker 1: clothes for the night. Through the wide ground floor windows,
Speaker 1: I see a pool of yellow light, bodies moving inside.
Speaker 1: Four maybe five people crowding around a table, mugs raised
Speaker 1: in a toast. Cassie sits beside Jonah. Their heads tipped together,
Speaker 1: are ham lingering on his roost as she laughs at something.
Speaker 1: No one looks at the windows. They're absorbed in a
Speaker 1: world have been told is boring, technical, not for outsiders.
Speaker 1: Jonah stands saying something with a grand gesture, drawing Cassie
Speaker 1: to her feet beside him. The other is dispersed, drifting
Speaker 1: off toward shelves of be square, but Cassie doesn't move away.
Speaker 1: She leans on the table, chin resting in her hand,
Speaker 1: gaze fixed on him as he talks. I stand in
Speaker 1: the dark, shivering, not from cold, but from the certainty
Speaker 1: that this is what I'm not supposed to see. I
Speaker 1: watch a few minutes more, feeling each second notch deeper
Speaker 1: into my skin. Eventually I leave lost to the city,
Speaker 1: wandering blocks. If all look Ali, I can till my
Speaker 1: shoes hurt. That night, I don't confront her. She SLINKs
Speaker 1: home just before one a m face, flushed, eyes bright. Sorry,
Speaker 1: time got away from us, kiln Ranleigh. She kisses my
Speaker 1: cheek and heads for the shower. I want to rage instead,
Speaker 1: I wait, teeth gritted as she washes away the evidence
Speaker 1: of intimacy. The next morning, I take her all sketch
Speaker 1: books off the shelf, under the pretense of rearranging things.
Speaker 1: Her early work is everywhere, jagged lines, wild forms, messy, alive.
Speaker 1: In the very back of the shelf, I find one slim,
Speaker 1: navy covered notebook, partly slit at the spine, inside page
Speaker 1: after page of pencil sketches, each one more detailed than
Speaker 1: the last. A man forming clay is profile and shadowed,
Speaker 1: sometimes with a hand cupping in others. Two so wet
Speaker 1: side by side at the wheel. I recognize Jonah in them.
Speaker 1: His jaw is here, even the bracelets stacked on his wrist.
Speaker 1: In one, he is looking at something the kind of
Speaker 1: gaye reserved for lovers, not colleagues. In another, Ghassi's own
Speaker 1: initials written underneath, coupled with his, their lines overlapping. My
Speaker 1: hands tremble. When I try to close the book, it
Speaker 1: slips from my fingers, spelling open to a doggy a page,
Speaker 1: A sketch of two mugs handles into locked. I snap
Speaker 1: a shut, feeling sick. The door opens behind me Cassi's
Speaker 1: sudden presence, looking for something. I spin, trying to affect surprise,
Speaker 1: just rearranging. Thought i'd take some photos for the gallery series.
Speaker 1: She snatches the notebook from my hands, clutching it to
Speaker 1: her chest. Please don't go through my stuff. That's private.
Speaker 1: My voice fails me. She glars, then softened slightly, gilt
Speaker 1: fleeting across her face. I'm sorry, it's just I'm working
Speaker 1: stuff out in there. Half the sketches don't make sense.
Speaker 1: I get it, I say, but there's nothing left to say.
Speaker 1: That night, I text Lucas, need to talk. Can I
Speaker 1: come by? He replies, almost instantly. In a time, Beer's
Speaker 1: col couches yours. I throw on a jacket, torn between
Speaker 1: relief and shame. When now rived, Lucas asks no questions
Speaker 1: at first, just hands me a beer. Lets the silence
Speaker 1: do its work. Eventually I spill everything, my suspicions, the lies,
Speaker 1: the sketches, the feeling that something vital has been amputated
Speaker 1: from my world and replaced by numasa can shake. Lucas listens,
Speaker 1: rubbing his chin, cheosing his words with care. I don't
Speaker 1: know what's happening between them, he says, But I know
Speaker 1: Cassie's always admired intensity not in people. Sometimes those boundaries
Speaker 1: get slippery, I ask, desperately, do you think she's sleeping
Speaker 1: with him? He looks away. I don't know. You know
Speaker 1: her better than any of us. But even if she
Speaker 1: isn't if he thinks she might, what's that drink to you?
Speaker 1: I don't have an answer. That week, I keep my distance,
Speaker 1: stop asking questions, stop tracking her movements. It feels like defeat,
Speaker 1: but at least it is in desperation she notices, tries
Speaker 1: to close the gap with small gestures, a new loaf
Speaker 1: of bread baked badly, a text mid day with an
Speaker 1: irreverent mem Behan on my back as I pass her,
Speaker 1: But in the hallway I let her for a while,
Speaker 1: pretending that rituals can heal what honesty isn't done. But
Speaker 1: the phone always the phone that's the boundary. She God's
Speaker 1: most even when it thinks with the message from Jonah,
Speaker 1: implain to you, don't forget. I'll plan for Tuesday. Can't wait.
Speaker 1: She snatches it up, types something quickly screen angled away.
Speaker 1: At some point during that week, Marcy invites me for
Speaker 1: a drink after work. We sip warm cider in her
Speaker 1: cramp fragrant living room, surrounded by the paintings of half
Speaker 1: a city's artists. She is gentle, circling the subject before landing.
Speaker 1: I worry about Cassie. She doesn't talk about you much lately.
Speaker 1: Is everything all right? I almost choke. She's distant. I
Speaker 1: don't know what's going on. Marcy's voice, usually so brisk, softens.
Speaker 1: I haven't seen her like this in years, in her
Speaker 1: own head. I mean, she and Jonah. It's the talk
Speaker 1: of the circles, you know. Most people think there's something
Speaker 1: there At my stricken look, she adds quietly, I'm sorry.
Speaker 1: I wish I knew less. Sometimes when I return home,
Speaker 1: Cassie is curled on a couch, legs tucked up, sketched
Speaker 1: abandon on the coffee table. She meets my eyes, uncertain.
Speaker 1: Are you angry with me? I hesitate, then tell the
Speaker 1: only truth I have left. I don't know. I just
Speaker 1: want us back. She looks away. The days cant themselves
Speaker 1: into the caund A Whout's festival approaching are tradition looming
Speaker 1: on the horizon. Hassie makes plans, insists will go, and
Speaker 1: for a time, I let myself believe we might still
Speaker 1: have a future. That belief last until the morning. If
Speaker 1: she hums around the kitchen all nerves, her foam buzzing
Speaker 1: every few minutes. When I glimpse the screen, I see
Speaker 1: only Jade and hear her laugh as she types, I
Speaker 1: say nothing. We walk to the festival in tense silence,
Speaker 1: Cassie clutching my hand, but otherwise to say. At the
Speaker 1: first booth, she launches into a discussion of firing schedules
Speaker 1: with an artist before I can even start enjoying the day.
Speaker 1: Every few minutes, her gaze darts around, searching as if
Speaker 1: she expects Jonah to materialize. During lunch at a food truck,
Speaker 1: Joona appears. He greets Cassie with an embrace that's too tight,
Speaker 1: his fingers lingering at her waist. She introduces HEIMI Jonah,
Speaker 1: this is sam My partner Jonah grins, politely, shakes my hand,
Speaker 1: and returns his attention to Cassie. The rest of the
Speaker 1: afternoon is a parade to Cassie and Joe, a deep
Speaker 1: in conversation, metrailing behind, feeling like a misplaced artifact. When
Speaker 1: she finally notices my silence during a lull, she asks
Speaker 1: you ok. I nod, unwilling to cause a scene, unwilling
Speaker 1: to rutch of this painful theater. That night, at home,
Speaker 1: she's born from the festival, animated in a way she
Speaker 1: hasn't been in months. She sits beside me on the sofa,
Speaker 1: feed in my lap, recounting stories, laughter, tumbling at There
Speaker 1: is even a moment we kiss, gentle, almost shy, I
Speaker 1: let myself lean into her warmth, Remember the old shape
Speaker 1: of our intimacy. It doesn't last. The next morning, I
Speaker 1: may coffee while Cassie showers. Her phone for once is
Speaker 1: left on the kitchen island. A notification appears, lighting the room. Jonah,
Speaker 1: last night was everything. Next week. I stare at the
Speaker 1: words as if there in another language. When Kassie appearsed
Speaker 1: ten minutes later, here wet, She snatches the phone up
Speaker 1: before I can even ask, need to get ready, she mutters,
Speaker 1: fleeing the kitchen. I breathe out and ask myself, what
Speaker 1: story have I been denying? Is already written that day?
Speaker 1: I'm done waiting. When Kassi leaves for the studio that evening,
Speaker 1: I follow. I keep my distance, curardly, perhaps but necessary.
Speaker 1: I watch her. She enters the white glass doors, meets
Speaker 1: Jonah at the entrance. They don't see me, don't look.
Speaker 1: I wait, crouched in the lee of a newspaper stand.
Speaker 1: Cigarette smokes swelling around me from the bar next door.
Speaker 1: An hour passes, then laughter spills into the street. Her
Speaker 1: laughter not loud, but rich, suffuse, with something private. Jonah
Speaker 1: beside her hand on her back. They don't notice me
Speaker 1: as they walk, disappearing round the corner. I follow at
Speaker 1: a distance, trail and shadows. They stop at a tiny
Speaker 1: wine bar, tuff between an and a tea shop and
Speaker 1: a dry cleaner, heads bowed together at the window. I
Speaker 1: walk past, pretending not to see, but in the reflection
Speaker 1: of the glass, I watch him brushing something from her cheek,
Speaker 1: how leaning in whispering clothes, their faces softly illuminated by
Speaker 1: vote of candlelight. I walk away before I'm sick later
Speaker 1: at home, I wait for her with a half empty
Speaker 1: whiskey bottle and a hard cove down to its last nerve.
Speaker 1: Cassie arrives home ny midnight, face tired but serene. Long
Speaker 1: killed night, she says. I NodD in, say nothing. She
Speaker 1: moves to brush past cass She stops her face all questions.
Speaker 1: We need to talk. My voice is quiet, but for
Speaker 1: the first time, she doesn't pretend she doesn't understand. She
Speaker 1: sits clutching her knees, the space between us full of truce,
Speaker 1: waiting to detone. I take a shaking breath, and again
Speaker 1: the story continues with confrontation. In the next section, she
Speaker 1: sits down slowly on the arm of the sofa, arms
Speaker 1: wrapped tightly around her own frame, knees drawn up, trying
Speaker 1: to make herself small. I can see she's rehearsing the
Speaker 1: next move in her head, some some version of composure.
Speaker 1: I'm still holding the whisky glass, the ice long gone,
Speaker 1: fingers numb with waiting. I know you saw me tonight,
Speaker 1: as she says, her voice stripped of ornaments, not defensive
Speaker 1: this time, just worry, matter of fact, as if some
Speaker 1: pretense has evaporated. She tucks her chin down and ads.
Speaker 1: You've followed me, didn't you. She doesn't sound angry or
Speaker 1: even surprised. The room feels suddenly calstrophobic. The old record bar,
Speaker 1: jazz barely leaking through the windows, the hum of the
Speaker 1: street below too far some one else's life, A car
Speaker 1: horn blaze would both jump a little synchrony by reflex
Speaker 1: exhale dropped my gaze to the glass. I did I
Speaker 1: saw you and Jonnah at the bar. I saw the
Speaker 1: way you looked at him, cass She doesn't interrupt. Her
Speaker 1: knuckles are white where she gripped the fabric of her jeans.
Speaker 1: There's a shudder in her breath that carries across the
Speaker 1: gap between us. So this all she manages, brutle. I
Speaker 1: take a breath, the alcohol catching at the back of
Speaker 1: my tongue. So I need you to be honest with me.
Speaker 1: No more brushing it off, no more just studio. Okay,
Speaker 1: I'm not accusing you of some coluchet I jested. My
Speaker 1: voice cracks, some of the anger leaking out, replaced only
Speaker 1: by exhaustion. I don't know how to live here. If
Speaker 1: you're gune already, if you're out, Cassie, just say it.
Speaker 1: Her eyes glos some tears pulling up but not falling.
Speaker 1: She wipes quickly at one, almost annoyed at herself. It
Speaker 1: isn't what you think. Or it wasn't, and then it was,
Speaker 1: and now I don't know how to make it stop.
Speaker 1: She presses her face into her hands. Sell in a moment.
Speaker 1: I sit on the far side of the couch. It's
Speaker 1: a kind of neutral zone, not the edge where I
Speaker 1: always charge my phone waiting for her, not the soft
Speaker 1: spot where we used to read together, just far enough
Speaker 1: away to feel the draft from the kitchen. I set
Speaker 1: the glass down and rubbed the bridge of my nose
Speaker 1: until my vision blurs. Are you sleeping with him? I ask?
Speaker 1: And even as I ask it, I hear the flat
Speaker 1: fatalism in my own voice. She shakes her head hard.
Speaker 1: No I haven't. We haven't, but as she chokes a little,
Speaker 1: but I might as well have. Mentally, emotionally, I don't
Speaker 1: even know santhe. It's a mess. She leans forward, elbows
Speaker 1: de knees, staring at her own hands. I never meant
Speaker 1: for any of this, I swear it started with the glasses.
Speaker 1: Feedback was so direct, sometimes harsh, but it made my
Speaker 1: work feel new. I kept pushing, trying to impress him.
Speaker 1: It felt like I was finally being seen again as
Speaker 1: I don't know, as an artist, as someone who mattered
Speaker 1: for what I made, not what I was failing to create.
Speaker 1: She looks up at me, and, for the first time,
Speaker 1: in what feels like he is, I see a total
Speaker 1: collapse in her posture. None of that excuses it. The
Speaker 1: room is unbearably tense, the plates of our shared world
Speaker 1: shifting under foot. I noticed the old frog sculpture on
Speaker 1: the shelf, the lopsided amongst the last relics from us
Speaker 1: before all this began. So what do you want, Cass?
Speaker 1: My own voice is quite again, almost colorless. You're here,
Speaker 1: but you're not. You're there with June in ways you
Speaker 1: won't be with me. A sound escapes her, half sob
Speaker 1: half laugh. I've been telling myself it was safe as
Speaker 1: long as it stayed in the studio, that there was
Speaker 1: a line. But it's not just a work or what
Speaker 1: happens after class. It's how I felt with him. It
Speaker 1: made everything else, our apartment, our dinners, the routine Fieldsdale.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry for that. I hate myself for it. She
Speaker 1: reaches out, hesitantly, palm up and for second, I feel
Speaker 1: the ghost of our old life. But I don't take
Speaker 1: her hand. I can't no Now, did you ever want
Speaker 1: to bring me in? I say, all those shows you
Speaker 1: claimed remembers, only all those dinners I used to be
Speaker 1: your person, Cass. At some point he started hiding our
Speaker 1: Facetiss was something like shame or maybe helplessness. I kept
Speaker 1: it from you because because I was scared. I was ashamed, yes,
Speaker 1: but also because I wanted it just for myself, something secret,
Speaker 1: something that was just mine. And that maybe that's the
Speaker 1: worst part. She lets the silence breathe between us, a chasm.
Speaker 1: I never loved him. I don't even know if I
Speaker 1: like him outside the studio, but he made me feel
Speaker 1: alive in a way at last. If I don't want
Speaker 1: to hurt you, Sam, I just couldn't stop her words.
Speaker 1: Linger Fragel was bon our customary music from below is
Speaker 1: faded out, replaced by the faint shuffle of feet on
Speaker 1: the sidewalk. I stare at her heart pounding. You crossed
Speaker 1: it to Cass, whether you slept with him or not,
Speaker 1: you build a life away from me. I count a
Speaker 1: trail off, biting my tongue. She nods, tears barely held
Speaker 1: in check. I know that's what I'm trying to say.
Speaker 1: That ruined it. I'm sorry if I don't know what
Speaker 1: you want me to do. Now. The air feels thick
Speaker 1: for the first time. I don't reach for her, don't
Speaker 1: try to fill the space with the plan or fix.
Speaker 1: I just breathe, tasting the loss on the backs of
Speaker 1: my teeth. I mutter I need to get up for
Speaker 1: a bit, and she makes a pain sound but doesn't argue.
Speaker 1: I find my keys by the door. Stay, she pleads,
Speaker 1: rising from the couch, her arms crossed like a shield.
Speaker 1: Please just let's talk. Don't just leave. I shake my
Speaker 1: head slowly, Joe clenched. I can't talk any more, not tonight.
Speaker 1: I just can't. She tries once to close the gap
Speaker 1: between us, but I step back for a moment. We
Speaker 1: have her, both of us caught on the trembling edge
Speaker 1: of what's been lost in what's still to be admitted.
Speaker 1: She lowers her hands, stands frozen, watching me cross to
Speaker 1: the door. Her face is red, I swollen, but she
Speaker 1: says nothing. As I pull on my coat on the landing,
Speaker 1: the city's noise rises to meet me. Laughter from passing strangers.
Speaker 1: Engine breaks A late cyclist rattling past the uncertainty ed
Speaker 1: fed for so long flares up sharp and raw. My
Speaker 1: chest feels hollowed up to light. I stand there in
Speaker 1: the stairwell hann and the worn rail, listening to herself
Speaker 1: quietly on the other side of our door. Something in
Speaker 1: me wants to turn back to comfort her despite everything,
Speaker 1: but the image of her head bent beside Jonah, sketching
Speaker 1: him in secret, holding warmth for someone else, ancors me
Speaker 1: to the concrete downstairs. I text, Lucas, is your couch empty?
Speaker 1: He replies, immediately, always for you. I step into the
Speaker 1: street and walk the eight blocks to his place, replaying
Speaker 1: the last hour and flashes the hurt in her posture
Speaker 1: when she admitted it, a voice ruined with remorse, my
Speaker 1: own determination. I felt more like surrender. Lucas buzzes me
Speaker 1: in inside his apartment, smells like o old paint and pepper,
Speaker 1: something hardly simmering on the stove. He hands me a
Speaker 1: beer without a word. We sit in the great quiet,
Speaker 1: the TV off, just the hum and pop of the
Speaker 1: radiator fill in the space. He looks at me, searching,
Speaker 1: you look like hell. He says, I let out an
Speaker 1: ugly laugh, feel worse. He waits, giving me room. It's
Speaker 1: it's silver at Lucas, or if it isn't, it should be.
Speaker 1: She says it's not physical, but I can't finish. He
Speaker 1: puts a solid hand on my shoulder, squeezing once. It
Speaker 1: doesn't have to be. Sometimes the betrayal is the part
Speaker 1: you don't see, not the act, but the turning away.
Speaker 1: We sit, words spinning out in slow turns, Lucas asking
Speaker 1: only what he must me answering honestly for the first
Speaker 1: time in weeks, I spill the full story, sketchbooks, mugs,
Speaker 1: the endless lies. He listens, neither excusing nor condemning, just
Speaker 1: holding the silence with me. Where do you go from here?
Speaker 1: He finally asks. I shrug a rope tight. I need
Speaker 1: air space. I can't stand to keep circling the question,
Speaker 1: waiting for her to choose. He nods, understanding in his
Speaker 1: quiet way, you don't have to decide to night. I
Speaker 1: spend a night there, lying on a battered section in
Speaker 1: his spare room. A week long after the city falls choir,
Speaker 1: I turn the questions over what I missed, what I denied?
Speaker 1: Where I might have changed things if I'd only ask sooner,
Speaker 1: insisted harder, or drawn a line of my own. The
Speaker 1: ache in my chest grows sharper as the night's chretches,
Speaker 1: making the prospect of morning feel as foreign as hope.
Speaker 1: I can't avoid practicalities forever. I knee in the next day,
Speaker 1: Cassie has texted, first simply can we talk, Then hours
Speaker 1: later I'm sorry. I can give you space. Please let
Speaker 1: me know what you want. No declarations, no arguments, just
Speaker 1: a single plea for direction. I don't reply, not yet.
Speaker 1: Instead I focus on BASIC's work, food, arranging to stay
Speaker 1: with Lucas for a while. I find our share of
Speaker 1: foreto fold on my phone, and for a long time,
Speaker 1: I flip through those old snap shuts, her bright, uneven pieces,
Speaker 1: the chipped answer, her grinning with clay up to her elbows.
Speaker 1: The contrast with her recent work stings. I click back
Speaker 1: to my own foretos and see the silent progression in
Speaker 1: every shot from the past year. She's more distant, framed
Speaker 1: in corners, half turned away. Even my art seemed to
Speaker 1: retreat light, fading angles, growing stock and lonely. Lucas keeps
Speaker 1: the apartment quiet, only breaking the silence to invite me
Speaker 1: for coffee or to check in on my appetite. I
Speaker 1: answer questions at work with dull efficiency, beg off invitations
Speaker 1: from friends with vague Under the weathered excises, the creative
Speaker 1: people in our circle begin to notice my absence, at
Speaker 1: first subtly, then more directly, messages from Chloe and Marcy,
Speaker 1: hints from others, a faint scuttle of social whisper. One evening,
Speaker 1: Marcy calls voice close to whisper. Cassie told me to
Speaker 1: give you space, but I just wanted you to know
Speaker 1: whatever you need, I'm here. I thank her not for
Speaker 1: the offer, but for knowing how to offer it without demands.
Speaker 1: The days slide together. I do not return to our apartment,
Speaker 1: though Kassi text occasionally updates as succinct as possible. I'll
Speaker 1: be at Thursday night studio all day Saturday. Let me
Speaker 1: know if you need anything. It feels like arranging a
Speaker 1: business split more than the dissolution of a life. The
Speaker 1: details are strangely bureaucratic. Who will stay in the apartment
Speaker 1: you won the least battle? Lucas teases an attempt at levity.
Speaker 1: How will divide the accumulated debris of ten shared years
Speaker 1: of our dishes, the battered couch, small plants in the
Speaker 1: window sill. Even our collective artwork becomes something to be
Speaker 1: divied up, walction against meaning rather than market value. Twice
Speaker 1: I begin typing a message to casilusts of questions demands, Fritz,
Speaker 1: I always erased them. There's nothing left to ask that
Speaker 1: would restore what has been drained out of us. On Friday,
Speaker 1: Lucas comes home to find me seated at his tiny
Speaker 1: kitchen table, silent before a cold mug of coffee. You
Speaker 1: need to go get your stuff, if he asks gently,
Speaker 1: I nod, some of it, not all. He offers a ride,
Speaker 1: but I walk instead, feeling the city push past me,
Speaker 1: stranger's custard, a patio tables, the scent of fried food
Speaker 1: bleeding into evening air. The longer I walk, the light
Speaker 1: on my head feels as if grief might event she
Speaker 1: be upiaced by mersion. Cassi is not home. When I
Speaker 1: unlock our door. The apartment is as we left it,
Speaker 1: her latest ball on the countertop, a stack of mail
Speaker 1: by the door, a scarf draped over a chair. The
Speaker 1: stillness repels me. I move quickly, gathering only the most
Speaker 1: vital things, toiletries, a small duffel of clothes, a stack
Speaker 1: of old photographs that somehow escaped her culling. On impulse,
Speaker 1: I reach for one of her earliest mugs of clumdy
Speaker 1: neonswelt thing with a handle that barely fits two fingers,
Speaker 1: the glaze chiped at the rim. I cradle it for
Speaker 1: a long time. I'm sure if it's a relique or
Speaker 1: wound to carry. As I leave, and note sits on
Speaker 1: the dresser in her handwriting, I'm sorry for all of it.
Speaker 1: Call me when you want to talk, or if you
Speaker 1: never do. I understand no signature, just her initial, looping, hesitant, unfinished.
Speaker 1: Back at Lucas's, I set my things in the spare room.
Speaker 1: I stare at the mug a long time, unable to
Speaker 1: keep my hand still. The apartment is already beginning to
Speaker 1: feel more like home than I own, a fact that
Speaker 1: both relieves and devastates in equal measure. The invitations from
Speaker 1: friends trickle, or in some cases pouring over the next days.
Speaker 1: Some seem curious, some deeply sympathetic. Utter is gently prying.
Speaker 1: I've read their well meaning offerers with brief, polite brush
Speaker 1: offs never revealing the precise shape of the loss, only
Speaker 1: that it has happened and that, crucially it won't beIN done.
Speaker 1: Chloeitech's asking if I want to meet for a walk,
Speaker 1: Marcy offers wine and quiet. I say yes to Chloe.
Speaker 1: You grateful for the normalcy of some one who won't
Speaker 1: pressed too hard on the path along the river, she says,
Speaker 1: I miss seeing you together. It's weird, feels like the
Speaker 1: whole group's rearranged. I nod watching ducks fan out across
Speaker 1: the dock water. I think it's going to take a
Speaker 1: while for any of us to remember how to just be.
Speaker 1: She doesn't push for details, and I am grateful for that,
Speaker 1: A rare mersemong artis who are normally greedy for narrative. Later,
Speaker 1: back at Lucas's, I note Cassie's email. She sent me
Speaker 1: a spreadshet columns headed with the Cassi. The sam is
Speaker 1: split for the various pieces, plates, mugs, prints, books, even
Speaker 1: the photos are listed as if splitting memory itself. I
Speaker 1: select a handful strike through the rest. When I hit sen,
Speaker 1: there is a finality to the click I hadn't expected. Still,
Speaker 1: some nights I hear from mine or Lucas that Cassie
Speaker 1: has been seen out with Joonah, sometimes with their arms linked,
Speaker 1: sometimes only laughing over a drink at the bar. I
Speaker 1: once haunted. No one expects gossip, and yet it drifts
Speaker 1: around me, flavoring the air of any gathering where artists mingle.
Speaker 1: I try not to dwell on the boundaries she crossed,
Speaker 1: or what lines she and Jonah are now willing to claim.
Speaker 1: Issues moved from emotional intimacy to something more. It's no
Speaker 1: longer my place to object. Instead, I returned simple routine's work.
Speaker 1: Late night editing in Luca's kitchen, silent walks home with
Speaker 1: nothing but my music in my headphones. I sleep more solently,
Speaker 1: if not more deeply, than I have in months. A
Speaker 1: week passes, then, too. I see Cassie twice in public places,
Speaker 1: once at the market, once outside the gallery. Both times
Speaker 1: she meets my gaze, briefly, uncertainty flickering in her smile.
Speaker 1: The second time I nod an acknowledgment and keep moving.
Speaker 1: I still have the mug, her first gift to me
Speaker 1: in a decade of nights like this, one, tucked into
Speaker 1: the corner of Lucas's kitchen. I never use it. Sometimes
Speaker 1: as now, I turn it over in my hands and
Speaker 1: marvel at the way color seeps through its cracks. The
Speaker 1: earth to go back to find explanation wanes with each
Speaker 1: quiet hour. That night, Lucas suggests we go while the
Speaker 1: movie drinks some attempt at normalcy. I hesitate, nearly turn
Speaker 1: him down, but end up joining him at the bar.
Speaker 1: Someone mentions a new group's show opening at the AM Studio.
Speaker 1: Jonah's name leads the bill. Cassie's is absent. A shift
Speaker 1: in the world, small but real. I realize I no
Speaker 1: longer need to know why she stayed or left over
Speaker 1: her heart as finally settled. I just need to know
Speaker 1: that I have. After the bar, walking home under the
Speaker 1: street lamps, I grip the mug in my jacket pocket
Speaker 1: and feel, for the first time in a long while,
Speaker 1: unburdened by waiting. But even with the lightness a low
Speaker 1: eight lingers, I awake the next morning, spoiled on Lucas's
Speaker 1: to short couch, sunlight pressing through the dusty window like
Speaker 1: an unwelcome hand on my face. For a few minutes,
Speaker 1: I lie in that watery haze between sleep and dread,
Speaker 1: where everything is possible and nothing has happened. Yet then
Speaker 1: reality seeps in the apartment. Ha not owes Cassie's absence,
Speaker 1: more pronounced for having been filled with mediocre dreams. I
Speaker 1: make coffee. My hand's moving through muscle memory. Lucas pads
Speaker 1: in Mutto's a greeting, ruffles them, mink between my palms.
Speaker 1: You keeping that, he asks, half a smile. The sort
Speaker 1: meant to soften a blow. I nod, not sure why.
Speaker 1: It's not about usefulness any more. It's about remembering that
Speaker 1: once something was imperfect and still beloved. By early afternoon,
Speaker 1: I hear from Cassie again, an e mail, not a text.
Speaker 1: The subject line final round of the apartment. I say, em,
Speaker 1: the landlord needs to know by next week he's staying
Speaker 1: on the lease. I don't want to complicate things. If
Speaker 1: you want to keep the place, I'll stop looking for
Speaker 1: some one you. Otherwise, maybe we can end it and
Speaker 1: go our separate ways. Let me know. She doesn't sign it.
Speaker 1: I stare at the words even now. Cassie is pragmatic,
Speaker 1: never melodheumatic. She always said ending should be clean. Only
Speaker 1: she could make dissolving a decy together sound like splitting
Speaker 1: a utility bill. I reply, simply I'll keep the place,
Speaker 1: thank you. The rest, I guess will happen in slow,
Speaker 1: bureaucratic pieces, returning the last key, splitting the rent into
Speaker 1: pointing the WiFi. When I finish, I don't feel relief,
Speaker 1: just a soreness, as if I've worked a muscle too long.
Speaker 1: For the next two days, I feel calls for mutual friends.
Speaker 1: Chloe wants to meet for a walk again, tries to
Speaker 1: tell me without words that no one blames me. Lucas
Speaker 1: and I go grocery shopping, and for the first time
Speaker 1: in weeks, I don't immediately think of buying Cassie's favorite bread.
Speaker 1: Social invitations recede, then shift. Marsie takes a photo of
Speaker 1: her group at the barge. Ona, conspicuously missing Cassie present,
Speaker 1: has Miles smaller, more fragile face, clean of the animation
Speaker 1: I once envied the network of shared moments. Fractures some
Speaker 1: friends drift away on principle are those because the fracture
Speaker 1: is too uncomfortable to observe. Bills need sorting, utilities get transferred.
Speaker 1: I go to the apartment twice more each time when
Speaker 1: Cassie says she'll be elsewhere. The first time I pack
Speaker 1: a box of kitchen utensils, muggs, and camera gear. The
Speaker 1: second I take my clothes and a stack of prints
Speaker 1: from the living room. All both times I move quietly,
Speaker 1: half expecting to run into her, rehearsing what I'd say
Speaker 1: if I did. But the apartment never feels empty them
Speaker 1: when I leave the keys on the counter for her,
Speaker 1: sitting beside, a note to just my things. Hope that's
Speaker 1: all right. Let me know if you need anything. No
Speaker 1: signature asymmetry I didn't want, but that seems right. Lucas
Speaker 1: helps me move my things. Office jokes in a low
Speaker 1: voice for you getting a deal, you know, free rent
Speaker 1: for all the emotional growth you've crammed in this month.
Speaker 1: And I let him make me laugh. However, briefly, in
Speaker 1: the old lops I did not. I keep this change
Speaker 1: in a ring of Cassi's chep jewy I forgot to return.
Speaker 1: Every time I look at it, I remember how it
Speaker 1: once fit her hand, as if it grew there. Spring
Speaker 1: pushes towards summer, the dog would outside Lucas's building, blossoms explosively,
Speaker 1: white petals, litter in the stoop, high work, eat sleep.
Speaker 1: Sometimes in the city I used to love sometimes in
Speaker 1: the almost home of Lucas's kitchen, learning new edges to
Speaker 1: my own silence. One evening, near dusk, my phone buzzes.
Speaker 1: Not Cassie this time, Jonah, Hey, this is awkward. Didn't
Speaker 1: want to reach out, but figured you might want to talk.
Speaker 1: Cassie is figuring things up, not together now, but just
Speaker 1: so you know. I stare at the screen, fingers numb.
Speaker 1: There are so many things I want to say, anger, sarcism,
Speaker 1: desperately for him to just finish from the narrative, and
Speaker 1: yet the message is almost apologetic, a poortent to tie
Speaker 1: off loss ends. I tight then delete in the end,
Speaker 1: single word not necessary. He doesn't reply. Later, Marcy invites
Speaker 1: me to one of the smaller galleries. We are trying
Speaker 1: out a new event, quiet local, no big debuts. I accept,
Speaker 1: unsure whether Cassie will be there, whether I want her
Speaker 1: to be. When I arrive, the gallery is half full,
Speaker 1: soft light on new pieces. Nune by Cassi, none by Jonah.
Speaker 1: I circulate glass in hand and feel the tremor of
Speaker 1: old had its squinting at brush strokes, nodding to all acquaintances.
Speaker 1: Chloe arrives. We shuck quietly skirting names in recent history,
Speaker 1: both of us grateful for too much noise to allow
Speaker 1: real conversation. I realize, standing there, that the world has
Speaker 1: closed over the wound, or at least scard enough that
Speaker 1: I can move through it. Outside, the city is humming,
Speaker 1: as if no one noticed my absence at all. Back
Speaker 1: in look at his apartment. The mug sits in the
Speaker 1: light from the window, catching on its own warping. I
Speaker 1: reach over left it gently, feel its weight, not much,
Speaker 1: but familiar on honest in its flaws. Cassis ends one
Speaker 1: last message later that week, just a line. I've moved
Speaker 1: my things out. You can change the locks when you're ready.
Speaker 1: I hope everything is better for you, truly this time
Speaker 1: I don't reply. Some things are better, are left to
Speaker 1: drift into silence. I leave the mug on the table,
Speaker 1: the colors inside catching the golden spill of dusk, im
Speaker 1: perfect and brightly, unrepentant for the life it wants. Held
Speaker 1: For the first time, I let it be just a thing,
Speaker 1: scar chipped, wholly mine. I stand at Lucas's window as
Speaker 1: the city turns blue, the sounds below shifting from laughter
Speaker 1: to the low drone of evening. The urge to look back.
Speaker 1: Is still the out humming at the base of my skull,
Speaker 1: but lighter now, like a saw. I finally know by
Speaker 1: Howton can let finish and complete in the stillness. And
Speaker 1: that is the end. Thank you for listening, and I
Speaker 1: will see you in the next one.