“Yes.”
Aiden pressed a pedal beneath the wheel with his foot. It began to turn, slowly at first, and then more rapidly. I sat down along the edge of the wall, watching as his hands pressed and pulled and shoved the clay between them. His whole body tilted as he leaned into the wheel, almost as if he was forcing the clay in a direction it didn’t want to go. Suddenly, like a tree trunk growing at superspeed, a column of clay began to rise up from between his fingers. And then in the next moment, even under his flat, steadying palms, it flopped over and sank down into a heap. It looked like a crushed baby elephant’s trunk.
Aiden sat back. “And that is what happens when your clay has not been centered properly.” He began scraping the mound off the wheel again. “You know, all the glory around this process goes to the shaping and the decorating and even the firing of the clay, but centering is really the most important thing of all. None of your pieces will ever work unless the middle is strong enough.”
He started again, putting the clay down and kneading it back and forth as the wheel began to turn. Small grunts came out of his mouth as he worked. Overhead, a few yellow leaves from a birch tree fluttered lightly, and somewhere in the distance I could hear a dog barking.
“I think it’s…,” Aiden said. “Come on, come on!” All at once he sat back, his hunched shoulders releasing themselves, and exhaled. “There she is!” he said. The wheel was still turning and the clay had not been shaped into anything worth mentioning. But it was centered. And even as it sat there, pale and bloblike, I thought it looked almost strong. Maybe proud, even. And ready.
chapter
27
I could smell the Chinese food as soon as I walked into the house. My stomach growled. I’d been so immersed in Aiden’s pottery lesson that I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was—or how long I’d been gone. By the time I walked back, the sun was low in the sky. Not quite dusk, but still. I’d been gone for hours.
“Jules?” Sophie’s voice came out from one side of the house.
“Yeah, it’s me. Where are you?”
“Living room,” she said.
The living room was completely empty, except for the red and white checked tablecloth Sophie had spread out on the floor. Two stubby-looking candles, their flames soft and flickering, anchored opposite corners, and white cartons of food—some with chopsticks sticking out of the middle—had been placed in the middle.
“Oh, it’s so nice!” I squatted down, crossing my legs in front of me, and reached for a carton. It was filled to the brim with shrimp, snow peas, slivered carrots, and water chestnuts. I pulled a large pink shrimp out with my fingers and stuffed it into my mouth. “Mmmm. Spicy shrimp is my favorite. Thanks!”
“I never knew you liked Chinese food.” Sophie picked up a carton of brown rice and began eating it with chopsticks. “You should’ve said something. Mom and Dad and I would’ve taken you out to a Chinese place for your graduation.”
I shook my head, trying to form words around the wad of food in my mouth. “Mom’s allergic to MSG.”
“She is?” Sophie’s chopsticks paused by her lips. “Since when?”
I shrugged. “Since forever, I guess. I don’t know. We’ve never eaten Chinese at home.”
“Where do you eat it then?”
“Zoe and I get it a lot.”
Sophie sighed softly. “Thank God for Zoe.”
I stopped chewing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just glad you have a friend like that,” Sophie said.
“Like what?”
“Like…” I could tell Sophie was backtracking, choosing her words carefully. It made me even angrier.
“Like what?” I said again.
“Why are you getting all bent out of shape here?” Sophie put her chopsticks down. “What’d I say?”
“Nothing. But I can just tell you’re going to say some judgmental thing about how Zoe brings me out of my shell or how pitiful I would be without her.”
“Pitiful?” Sophie repeated. “Julia, the last word I would ever use with you is pitiful. Pitiful is some helpless little thing. An injured rabbit, maybe. Or a bird with a broken wing. Not you. Ever.”
I inhaled tightly through my nostrils. The spiciness of the shrimp had cleared them considerably. “Okay then, what were you going to say?”
“All I meant,” Sophie said, “is that I’m glad you have someone who exposes you to different things.” She leaned forward a little, put her hand on my knee. “I mean, you have to know by now that Mom and Dad have kind of raised you in a bubble all these years. They’ve protected you from a lot of different things.” She shrugged. “I’m just glad Zoe’s there to remind you that life isn’t a bubble. That’s all.”