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“You really didn’t do anything with ceramics before that first class at MSA?” I clarify.
“Do you remember me doing anything like that?” she replies, laughing.
I spin to look at her. “No, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened. We weren’t together every second of every day.”
She rolls her eyes as she rinses off some of her supplies in the sink. “But we talked about pretty much everything, so you would have known.”
“True.”
I find it hard to look away from her as she finishes at the sink, then pulls her long hair out of the loose ponytail that stretches down to the middle of her back. Her hair falls forward, and she runs her fingers through it. God, I always loved her hair.
“I don’t know why, but I just had a knack for it, you know?” she continues, tucking her hair behind her ears and shrugging, oblivious to my perusal. “And after I finished those two years, I came home and started making stuff and posting it online to sell.”
It doesn’t surprise me at all. Gabi’s plan was always to do two years at Monterey School of Art then return to Cedar Point and work somewhere in town while she did art on the side. She told me multiple times that this place was the only place she felt at home—with Leah, the most important person in her life—and she didn’t want to lose it. The fact that she’s here, creating and thriving, makes perfect sense.
“So you just…what, came home and started a business that took off? What a badass.”
Gabi blushes slightly at my comment. “No. Some of my stuff went viral. It wasn’t anything I did.”
I scoff. “Bullshit it wasn’t something you did. If you weren’t so talented and if you hadn’t created a product that was so amazing, there wouldn’t have been anything to go viral. Don’t brush it off like it’s just luck, Gabi.”
“It feels like luck.” Her words are just a mumble, but I still hear them.
I hear the underlying fear behind what she’s saying. It resonates with a truth Gabi has always struggled with her entire life: that people will see through the mask she wears so carefully. As confident as she is, as beautiful and smart and talented, there is something inside her that thinks she is undeserving.
“Was it luck that I was drafted?” I toss at her, intent on making a point. “Was I just lucky? After all my hard work and long practices and extra time in the gym and every single sacrifice I made…was it just luck?”
Gabi rolls her eyes and leans back against the sink, crossing her arms. “Of course not.”
“Of course it wasn’t. Sure, there was some luck in there, but that luck would have had nothing to stick to if I hadn’t first done all the work.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It is the same,” I continue, crossing toward her. “You spent your entire life building yourself as an artist, someone with an eye for detail. And then you found a new way to bring that artistry to life. I don’t doubt you were the first one spinning pottery each morning and the last one each night. Because that’s the kind of effort you put into the things you care about.”
“Throwing pottery,” she says, her lips curving. “It’s called throwing pottery.”
I give her a look at says I’m unamused by her attempt to distract me. “Seriously?”
“I get it, okay? I do.”
Even so, I’m certain the things I’ve said are already lost in the sea of Gabi’s mind, swallowed up by the imposter syndrome and self-doubt she usually hides so well but has felt for as long as I’ve known her.
“If you can just take away from this conversation one thing that’s true, can it be that I think you’re amazing?” I say, taking one last shot at driving my message home. “Regardless of everything else, I’m supremely impressed by you and everything you’ve accomplished.”
I can see some of the tension in her shoulders begin to leak out, and her eyes return to mine. She nods, and even though it’s small, I take it as a win.
“You ready to head in? Give this record a listen?”
She sighs, her smile soft. “Yeah.”
We shut off the lights in her shed and step outside, slipping into the cold evening air. Gabi starts giggling as we pick up the pace, jogging quickly across the property to the house. When we step into the blissful warmth of the kitchen, we find Leah standing at the counter, staring blankly out the window. I glance past her, spotting a red truck parked next to my SUV in the driveway.
“Is Roy here?” Gabi asks.
“Yeah. I guess it’s time to go.” She throws her purse over one shoulder then looks at Gabi. “Time to get this over with.”
“Don’t say that.” Gabi glares at her. “You’re going to have a great time.”
