Page 73 of Seven Summer Weekends

When all eyes landed on her, she explained herself. “That’s because Gicky’s famous scones were frozen, ready to bake from Costco. She left that recipe taped to the fridge to impress renters. She never baked a scone from scratch in her life.”

And Addison felt like a fool again.

She excused herself to fake check the oven. When she returned, CC had her head in the kiln. Apparently, it buzzed when its timer went off as well.

“What’s this? This isn’t Gicky’s,” CC declared correctly.

“Oh—oh,” Addison stammered. “It’s just something I’ve been playing around with.” She laughed awkwardly, peering inat her creation and lifting it from the kiln as delicately as Mary lifting Jesus from the manger. She couldn’t help but smile. The colors were brilliant—even better than she could have imagined, better than anything she had made before. She remembered Paresh’s story about the weaver and the princess and wondered if unrequited love counted toward producing good work.

CC pulled down her glasses and studied the sculpture intently. It brought Addison right back to art school, and she found herself holding her breath until CC spoke.

“The cubist distortion of the female form is quite inspired.”

Addison exhaled, and a small laugh came out with it. She resisted admitting that the self-portrait had been inspired by scones.

“It conveys such emotional intensity,” she said finally, adding, “such a profound sense of vulnerability.”

“That’s what I was going for,” Addison joked. CC was clearly not joking.

“I’m putting together a group show in December supporting emerging artists working in ceramics. Do you have others I can see?”

She knew better than to break out the silly vases she had created. They didn’t exactly go together.

“That’s my first, I’m afraid—since studying at SAIC.”

She didn’t know why she had suddenly thrown in her credentials. Well, that wasn’t really true. CC Ng had just called her piece “inspired.” Of course she was throwing in her credentials.

“If you can have a few more for me to see, I would consider them for the December show. Let’s say in eight weeks’ time?”

“Oh, I am not a professional artist. I’m in advertising.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

Addison blushed, and CC softened it with, “There are worse ways to make Page Six.”

“I’m contemplating going back to Madison Avenue. I have an interview on Monday.”

“How about just a few more pieces, then?” CC asked.

She took in Addison’s contemplative expression and threw in a few more compliments. “Look,” she said, “I’ve been doing this a long time, and it is rare to find such natural talent. The way the organic shapes burst from the sleek lines, it’s both graceful and strikingly modern. I have a feeling about you. And my feelings are often right.”

CC stepped back and admired the work from a distance.

“You should think about it.”

“I will, thank you.”

At the very least, this brightened her mood. Though she wasn’t sure that the sculpting, meditating, ocean swimming, free-to-be-you-and-me Addie would ever even show her face in Manhattan, much less survive more than a day there. And Manhattan Addison would never quiet her mind long enough for her hands to work so freely. She was pretty sure she was a one-hit wonder, like Dexys Midnight Runners or Fountains of Wayne. One and done.

Chapter Thirty-four

While watching CC and her crew fade into the distance on the Great South Bay, Addison texted her friends:Who’s free for dinner Monday night?

Soon an array of hearts and exclamation points confirmed that everyone was available. Addison called in a favor for a res at Bad Roman and smiled.

I’m back, she thought happily.

She was confident she could forget about the roller coaster of nonsense she’d been riding for the past seven weeks. She was not Addie; she was Addison Irwin.

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