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For the firsttime in a long time, it was a relief to go to work. It was a place that didn’t smell like Lark. Where I didn’t bump into her when I came out of the bathroom. Where I didn’t see her after she’d just rolled out of bed. I wasn’t exactly a morning person to begin with, and now I had the added complication of seeing a warm and sleepy Lark, her blonde hair glowing in the sunshine that peeked between the curtains. Lark, who always greeted Clementine with enthusiasm, her voice rough from sleep and her eyes puffy and adorable. Seeing someone when they woke up every day was an intimacy that scratched against my skin and made me avoid eye contact with her.
I ate my breakfast with a minimum of conversation and ran down the stairs to unlock the pottery studio fifteen minutes early. Mom was already there, because she practically lived here. At one point she’d pitched the idea of putting a pullout bed in the back, but I’d been able to convince her that was a bad idea.
“Good morning, my baby,” she said, kissing me on the cheek the way she did every morning.
“Did you eat?” I asked, as I did every morning.
Mom blinked at me for a second. “Yes?” She didn’t sound sure.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, heading to the café to grab her some breakfast and coffee. Mom would get so into her pottery that she didn’t see anything else, and that often included forgetting to eat or drink water. I’d set alarms on her phone for her that went off and prodded her to use the water bottle I’d bought her last Christmas. You’d think being surrounded by so many drinking vessels would remind her, but not so much. It was fine, she was trying.
I got back to the shop and handed the breakfast off to Mom, telling her I’d get to work on opening up for the day. At some point today I needed to head to the post office nearby to send out mug orders. It was my least favorite task, and the one that I couldn’t wait to give to someone else when we hired help. I’d given Mom the applications and asked her to look over them, but she had yet to do that. Too busy, she said. Yes, that was the point, I’d thrown back.
I made it to the post office and shipped everything out without too much hassle and the shop was still standing. Mom was actually selling a lamp to a customer when I walked in and I stood back, letting her go ahead. She was great with certain customers, but not with others. Mom tended to cry if someone’s voice got too loud, or if anyone was upset with her, so that didn’t really work so great with customer service. That’s where I came in.
While I went about my day, doing my little tasks, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lark. She was working a shift at the coffee shop today. It was her first one back after the fire. I hoped the customers weren’t being nasty to her. Liam would absolutely throw anyone out who abused the baristas, but what if he wasn’t around? Was she tired?
Was she thinking about me at all?
“Shit,” I said under my breath. This was not a healthy train of thought at all. I was obsessing and I needed to snap out of it.
Technically, I was still on my hookup hiatus. I hadn’t been with anyone since that night with Lark. It shouldn’t have even happened that night, but she’d caught me in a vulnerable moment, and really, I hadn’t needed that much convincing.
No more of that. I needed to stop letting pretty girls seduce me. It came back to bite me on the clit, and not in the fun way.
Work wasn’t going to occupy my mind and distract me from Lark, and books hadn’t really worked the way they usually did either.
A hobby. I needed a new hobby. A hobby that didn’t involve sex.
I need a hobbyI sent to both Layne and Joy in our group chat. Honor was also included, but she rarely checked in or responded.
You always say you want to learn to cookJoy said.
NoI replied.
Well, we have lots of craft books at the bookstore. Let me know if you want me to grab you someJoy said.
I’m looking up a list of hobbiesLayne said.A lot of them involve art
NoI replied again.No art. You know I can’t do anything like that.I hated even thinking about just how bad I was at art. Various people had told me over my life that if only I practiced, I’d get better at art, but every time I tried to paint or draw, it always came out like absolute shit and it felt like shit, and I was miserable. Why would I keep doing something that made me miserable? So I stopped trying until I’d graduated from college and had moved back to Arrowbridge because I didn’t have any other options. My marketing degree was shiny and new, but I hadn’t counted on all of the connections I was supposed to have been making so I could secure a decent job or even an internship. Missed that lecture, apparently.
I’d come back to Arrowbridge and had started working in the shop and Mom had given up on forcing me to ruin the name of pottery after only a week. At that time, she was still selling her work out of the garage. I’d been the one to tell her that she needed an actual storefront and had been the one to negotiate the original rental agreement for this place.
I didn’t even know how I’d done it. Fresh out of college, and I’d been pretty much in charge of everything. A lot of caffeine and confidence had been involved. Now I was much world-wearier and wiser, and I hoped I’d never have to do it again.
Got it. No art. What about dancing, or yoga? You know McKenna would helpJoy sent.
McKenna would teach me how to do yoga, but that didn’t call to me.
I don’t know. If you have any more ideas, please send them my wayI added and then went back to work.
* * *
Lark messagedme to let me know when she was on her way back from the coffee shop and asked if I wanted her to pick up dinner. I told her that was fine, and I was flexible with whatever she wanted to get.
Tacos?she asked.
