Page 5 of The Echo of Regret

The last thing I want to talk to her about, though, is the man I saw downtown this morning.

Bishop Mitchell.

God, even just his name makes my heart begin to beat erratically. It’s been four years since I’ve seen him in person, and as much as I hate to admit it, he looks good. Like…really good. The grown-up kind of good that only comes after that last bit of youthful roundness fades away. Well, that and an almost religious dedication to fitness and exercise and athletics.

Bishop always had that, though. He was always moving, always running somewhere, always playing some sort of ball—football, soccer, baseball, you name it—until eventually baseball became his life. It became his life and led him away from me…from here…and the last thing I want now is to still be bitter about it.

But I am.

So, Leah can prod and poke all she wants this time. I have no intention of sharing.

I glance her way before returning my eyes to the mug I’m still examining.

“Thanks for bringing me my stuff. I need to get to work.”

It’s a firm dismissal, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she crosses her arms and her hip pops out to the side.

“Fine, if you want to hide in here, that’s your choice. Just know you’re not fooling anyone. So why don’t you just tell me what it is and save us from this back and forth.”

I remain silent long enough that she sighs and finally leaves me in peace.

Leah’s the best ‘mom’ a girl could ask for, especially considering the fact that she never actually intended to be one in the first place. Still, she has yet to accept the reality that I’m not a teenager anymore. I don’t always want—or need—to talk everything out with her. Sometimes, I want to keep my thoughts to myself, and I wish, every once in a while, she’d let me.

Once I’ve finished adding in the gold leaf and glaze, I add my pieces back to the kiln and turn my attention to a different project. Technically, it’s nothing I need to work on for at least a few more days, but I’m desperate to use my muscles and focus my energy on something creative. There’s nothing that both consumes my energy and stokes it at the same time like throwing pottery.

I grab a block of clay and chuck it on the bat—a flat disc that sits in the center that allows me to swap out projects more quickly—then drop down into my seat and start the wheel. I add water and press my hands downward, putting the full weight of my body into centering the clay, until I’ve finally gotten it into a dome shape. Then I press two fingers into the center, pulling outward to open the mouth, before pulling up on the sides. It doesn’t take long to get the shape right for the first of four bowls, each just slightly smaller than the last.

A version of this nested set is what first boomed my business online when one of the most popular food bloggers used my pottery to plate her food in a video that went viral. My website actually shut down because there was so much traffic, and I got close to 300 emails in just a few days asking if I had more of the bowls or other items for sale.

Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity in front of me and took full advantage. I began posting ‘in-progress’ videos regularly on my socials, hired a friend in town to take professional photos of my work, leveled up my website with a shop, and updated my commission request form. I booked out for the rest of the year within just a few weeks, and I’ve never looked back.

I’m shocked at how lucrative it’s been. I’ve been able to pay off my student loans, begin putting aside emergency savings every month, and actually start paying myself with the remaining profit. It’s why I’m planning to build a new workspace, and I’m even thinking about hiring a part-time employee to handle some of the administrative stuff I’m not as good at. It’s been a wild ride for the past two years as I’ve been figuring this business out, and I’m finally feeling truly settled into my life again, in my work as a creator, in my routine and my process.

Which is why it’s so irritating that Bishop is here. I don’t want him to disrupt the life I’ve finally gotten my footing in.

I might not be a big joiner, but I still hear town gossip. I knew he got injured during his first game, knew it was serious enough he needed surgery. I know far more than I should about his life, if I’m honest. Doesn’t seem to matter if I’m studiously avoiding him when he’s home or diligent about not snooping about his life online—which would be so easy to do and I’ve thought about more than once.

Small town rules are that you always hear about what your ex is up to, whether you want to or not. For most people, it might just be a snippet of news here and there.

I’m not so lucky. I’m the girl who fell in love with and dated a Mitchell, and this town loves to talk about the Mitchells, so I get regular updates. His batting average each year. The fact that he waited on the draft until after he graduated because he wanted to get his degree. His grades suffering sophomore year to the point that he needed a tutor. News about his girlfriend. How things went with the combine and then the draft.

There’s no way I would have not heard about his injury—half the town was watching his first game for the Kings on a TV Melvin Kinny brought into The Mitch and got set up with a streamed feed. Leah boycotted the townie bar that night, even though I told her she should go. She was adamant, though.

“No boy who breaks my Gabi’s heart is going to get even a lick of my time.”

I love when she says that—my Gabi—but it hurts a little bit, too. I was always Gabriela until Bishop. He was the only one who called me Gabi for years, until Leah started using it occasionally as well. Nobody else has picked it up, and for that, I’m thankful, because Gabi did have her heart broken. She was a moody, lovelorn sap for far longer than she’d like to admit.

I don’t want to be Gabi, Bishop’s ex-girlfriend.

I want to be Gabriela, the artist. Gabriela, the creator. Gabriela, the insert badass thing here.

And I can’t be her if I’m just the heartbroken girl Bishop left behind.

chapter three

Bishop

The sound of rain hitting my window should be enough to lull me to sleep. Normally, the gentle tapping is exactly what I need to quiet my ever-racing mind, and there have been more than a few occasions when I’ve popped on an ambient rain playlist on my phone to help me nod off.

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