David recorded the moment with his phone, while Izzy, so stoned, put on a pair of safety goggles and then gripped the hammer, testing the heft of it. She looked at the vase, the way the birds seemed to be moving, and she looked to David for reassurance. He nodded his approval, his permission to ruin what he had made. Though Izzy knew she would hate herself for it later, she raised the hammer and brought it down on the lip of the vase. Shards of ceramic skittered across the table, the vase still recognizable as a vase, but badly damaged. She brought the hammer down on it again, then one more time, then one more time, and now it was nothing but broken pieces, unrecognizable. With his free hand, David mimed more hammer blows, but Izzy shook her head. This was as much as she could do, a black cloud in her stomach, so many pieces around her, no idea how she would put it back together again.
“That was great,” David finally said, putting his phone back in his pocket. He reached for what was left of the vase, the base of it still intact, and he smiled. He set it down, looked around at the shards of ceramic on the table and the floor, and nodded, as if he was putting the entire thing back together in his mind. He went into his bag and grabbed some Krazy Glue. “This isn’t as much fun,” he admitted, “but it’s the most important part of the process.” He relit the joint and took a few more hits, offering it to Izzy, who declined, still so damn high. When he was done, he started picking up the pieces of the vase, holding them up to the light. Finally, he found a piece that fit the base. He applied glue and held it in place. After a few minutes, though it felt like an entire day to Izzy, he let go of the piece and it stayed connected to the base. “Okay,” he said, nodding. Then he resumed his search among the shards.
“How long does this take?” Izzy asked.
“Days. Weeks. Forever,” David replied. It was as if he had forgotten she was still here, his attention entirely on the vase. She watched him sort through the pieces until he found another one that fit. “I have to be high to do this,” he said. “No other way to do it.”
Perhaps it was unavoidable, the way that she saw Hal in David. She imagined that watching David provided some strange window into Hal’s life before Izzy had ever known him, when he was still young and in thrall to his talent and convinced of his future fame. The intensity of David’s focus, the way Izzy felt as if she had disappeared from his mind, reminded her of Hal, those moments when he was right next to her but so, so far away. And then it was simply too much, the pot, the ghost of Hal, David. Were they dating now? What was happening? She took a deep breath, as if it would expel the haziness from her brain. It did nothing.
She looked at her phone and realized how late it was, that she was supposed to be back at the complex, helping with dinner. “Oh shit,” she said. “I have to go.”
“Bye,” he said, not looking up. Izzy fumbled for her keys and began to hurry out of the studio.
“There’s a party this weekend,” he said, still not looking at her. “Let’s go to it.”
“Maybe,” Izzy said, not really thinking, just wanting to get in her car and go home.
“Definitely,” he said, and then Izzy left.
Back at the complex, Izzy ran into the kitchen, her gait entirely foreign to her, the pot still impeding every single action, to find Chef Nicole and Carmen working together. “I hate tardiness,” Chef Nicole announced. “You should know that by now.”
“I know, Chef,” Izzy replied. “I got caught up at school. I’m sorry.”
Chef Nicole pointed to Carmen. “Lucky for you Carmen’s so good at this. You might be in danger of being replaced.” Izzy felt her stomach drop, and Chef Nicole finally noticed her alarm and smiled. “I’m just kidding, Izzy. You’re fine.”
Izzy stood there, unsure of what to do, how to return to normalcy. Carmen put down a bowl and walked over to Izzy.
“David?” she asked, smiling. Izzy had shown David’s pictures on Facebook to Carmen, who nodded with each picture. “Oh, yes,” she said. “That kind of beauty is infuriating.”
Izzy nodded. “I got caught up with him. We made out.”
Carmen frowned. “Are you high, Izzy?” she whispered.
Izzy nodded, unable to lie.
“You kind of reek of it,” Carmen said. “Go get a shower. Take a break. I’ve got the kitchen stuff handled.”
“I’m sorry,” Izzy said, blushing.
“Go on,” Carmen replied, smiling again. “You’re bad.”
“No,” Izzy said, shaking her head, but Carmen had already returned to the prep work for dinner. “I’m good,” she said to no one.