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Deal-breaker for me, dog, he said.
I fully shut down my computer and cleared off my workspace. I planned to completely unplug for the weekend. I’d booked a pottery class for Patrick and me, starting tonight, to thank him for getting me the job at Apollo IT in the first place. The class was super late in coming, but Patrick had kept rescheduling. It was almost as if he didn’t want to go. I hadn’t given him a choice this time because I knew he’d love it, even if he didn’t.Still coming with me to the pottery class?I texted.
After a few minutes, he wrote back.Do I have to?
I rolled my eyes.Yes. You reschedule every month. Not this time. This is my THANK YOU to you. Accept it, dammit.
Fine. I’ll pick you up at 5.
I tamed my hair the best I could and put on jeans for the first time in days. Working from home with no camera had reduced my wardrobe to old concert T-shirts and leggings. My dress clothes were all getting dusty in the closet, but it was awesome being comfortable all the time. I didn’t miss physically going to work. There were a lot of unexpected perks to working on my couch. For one, Ilovedseeing so many cat butts during the informal meetings. There was something endearing about seeing people’s pets wander by or swat at the screen while they talkedabout programming. Humanizing somehow. Some of my new coworkers used those weird backgrounds of beaches or city skylines, which made part of their faces disappear if they made any sudden moves. Most of them, however, just kept the camera off, or unflatteringly close to their faces, like shiny forehead shots, or occasionally just showing part of an arm or desk. I hadn’t gotten to know any of them personally yet. And, of course, there was no break room or cubicle neighbors. As an introvert, it all went into my “pro” column. There was that one guy, though, who sometimes spoke. His name was Shane something. He wasn’t part of the Artemis team, but he joined the meetings now and then, and usually talked about numbers and finances. He kept his camera off, too, but he had the nicest voice. I loved listening to him speak but never caught all the words because his voice was so soothing, it made my mind wander. There was no way he looked as good as he sounded. People rarely got both gifts.
By the time Patrick came to get me, I looked like a normal person who hadn’t spent my past week gross and unbathed. Patrick was going to havesomuch fun, whether he wanted to or not.
“Miss me?” I asked as I got in the car.
“I don’t play in mud for most people,” he said, “so yeah. I guess.”
Patrick grumbled all the way to the pottery class, but it was still good to see him. When we arrived, I held the door to the studio open for him. “After you, Mud Master. Oooh, that would make a great reality TV show. You and I could be on a dirt team together with a half hour to construct something impossible. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
Patrick made a sound like a low whine as the instructor, a fellow short pleasant woman named Kelli, waved to us. “Hi, Ana! I loveyour dedication. Your mom would be so proud of your tenacity. And you brought a friend!” She smiled broadly. “Pick any table you like,” she said.
I waved back as Patrick looked around at the pottery wheels, kiln, and stacks of clay. “I pick the table with the wine,” he said. “Where’s the table with the wine?”
“There’s no alcohol here. We’re making pottery. I told you.”
“But I thought we were doing the Drunken Degas thing. You know, where you get toasty and pretend to do a craft,” he protested. “They do it with painting.”
“I think you misunderstood,” I said. “Besides, you’d get mud in your wine. Especially if we had a time limit and had to race other teams.” I grinned at him and raised my eyebrows.
He shot me a betrayed look, settled into the seat closest to the door, and pulled a flask from his jacket pocket.
“What is that?” I hissed.
He shrugged. “If this isn’t one of those drink-and-do-pots kind of places, then I’m gonna make it one.”
“Excuse you, but no,” I answered and gestured to the instructor. “And Kelli might hear you.” I swatted his arm because a few other people had begun filing in and settling into the available seats.
“Why does Kelli like your dedication?” Patrick asked as he reluctantly slipped the flask back in his pocket.
“Because I’ve taken this class a few times. Like maybe more than a few,” I confessed.
“Then you must be the goddess of pottery.”
I winced. Not quite.
“Today we’re going to make pinch pots,” Kelli said brightly. “Everyone grab a chunk of clay and start molding it.”
“A pinch pot sounds an awful lot like drug paraphernalia,” Patrick mumbled, “but whatever.”
We molded our clay as he filled me in on everything that had been going on in the office since I left. Jason had been right. The MD had retracted his statement and let everyone know that the idea of advancement was still on the table. Frustration and embarrassment washed through me. He probably didn’t mean it, but he’d walked back the statement anyway. Otherwise, there wasn’t that much to report. Ever since Patrick had met his husband, Joseph, and settled down, he’d been a lot less concerned about office drama.
As we worked, Patrick abandoned the pinch pot idea almost immediately and was shaping the clay into a little house. “So, Mr. Aaron, tell me about what happened today while I build a hobbit hole out of sticky dirt.”
“It was probably just a mistake,” I said as I shaped my clay into a wonky bird. “Teachers have mixed up my gender before. People tend to think of Indiana Jones when they hear my name and ask me if I’m an archeologist or if I’m good with a whip.” I rolled my eyes. “But the important part is that he didn’t fire me for pointing out his mistakes. Or transfer me to the unemployment office.” I was trying to shape a beak on the bird when my phone buzzed. I picked it up, smearing clay across the surface.
I stared at the screen, confused, as I opened a message from Venmo. “Bruce Atkins paid you ten dollars.”
“Who’s Bruce Atkins?” Patrick asked as he looked over my shoulder.
