Page 29 of Chasing Forever
Everyone in my family wants me to walk into someone’s arms and give them a chance to strip away the last part of me that existed before Holden destroyed it all with one fatal blow. Do they think I want to live this way? That I want to feel so lost? To sit in the back pew, wedding after wedding, as my cousins find their happily ever afters, knowing mine will never come?
Maybe if I had shared the whole truth with them, they’d understand better and not think I’m just being stubborn.
I dip my hands in the water, not even sure what I’m about to sculpt, just desperate to ground myself after this disaster.
My fingers move on instinct, digging and molding, my muscle memory taking control as the wheel spins around. I form the base of a mug, the same coffee mugs I always make for my family, but today the clay resists, wobbling under my touch. My hands shake against it, my knuckles whitening from how hard I press, trying to force the mound into submission.
I concentrate on making sure the base is thick enough, the walls steady and even. My nails dig grooves into the wet surface without care. The spinning hum of the wheel and the steady resistance of clay beneath my palms are the only things tethering me.
I’m so lost in the rhythm of trying to perfect this stupid mug that I don’t even realize the door to my shed has opened and shut.
My foot lifts from the pedal, and my half-formed mug collapses inward, the clay sagging back into a glob of nothing.
Sadie walks over and lowers the volume of the music. “Hey,” she says softly, as if she’s afraid of what she just walked into.
I start the wheel again and keep working, my fingers slapping the hunk of clay, unwilling to have the same talk with her that I had with my parents last night.
“I was walking by with Jude and Daisy and heard the music.” She sits in the chair by me, her presence warm and patient as always. “I’m assuming you talked to Brooks?”
I nod, the coolness of the water over my hands and the silky texture of the clay the only reasons I’m not melting down like a screaming toddler at what Brooks is demanding in order to give me an annulment.
“So, what did he say?”
She’s going to be such a great mom. While I’d bust into my teenager’s room, demanding he talk to me, she’ll coax teenage Daisy with patience and kindness and get a better result than I ever would.
I stop the wheel, the clay spinning crookedly before slowing to a halt.
She sighs, crossing her legs and getting comfortable.
“He’s demanding four dates before he’ll give me the annulment. He plans two, and I plan two.” I shake my head. “Can you believe him? The audacity.”
“You’re really mad,” she says, as though that’s a surprise.
Why wouldn’t I be mad? “Of course I am. You know I went to pick up doughnuts this morning?—”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I promised him Boston creams and thought he might repay my kindness with an annulment.” My fingers spread out at my sides, and I wiggle my body as if I might collapse from sheer frustration. “But no, he ups the ante. He wanted seven. Can you believe it? Seven dates!”
She bites her lip to stop her laughter.
“Sadie!”
Her hands go up in defense. “I’m sorry, but it’s kind of cute, no?”
I scoff. “It’s not cute. He’s trying to blackmail me…” I snap my fingers, struggling to find the word. “What word am I thinking of?”
“Bargaining?”
“It’s not bargaining. There’s only one thing I want.”
“That’s the point. But he wants more.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What could he possibly want?”
She smiles, and my anxiety knots tighter in my stomach. “You. He wants you.”
I roll my eyes and spin around, grabbing another slab of clay and slamming it onto the table to avoid seeing that dreamy expression on her face. “It’s just because he’s always been in competition with Holden.”
