Page 15 of Watching Ames

I got to Alex’s pieces, recognizing the symmetrical shaping among the more artistic and abstract attempts from the rest of the class. Alex’s pieces were more precise, a methodical duplication of my model pieces, not very original but technically impressive, and I huffed a laugh at how well his throwing matched his personality.

Curious at what colors he chose for his pieces, I glanced down at the sheet of paper with his glazing choices written on it. His colors were similar to the ones on my custom order, likely after having watched me glaze them after class one morning, staying late to help me lug giant buckets of it across the studio. Navy and black and white, a few pieces in each color, which would go well together, especially in the bachelor pad I imagined him living in.

The glaze names and numbers were written in small, precise letters that were still slightly messy. It looked familiar, likely because I often saw him scrawl small notes in a notebook atIronwood- small letters, pressed closely together, with a slant to the words. His name was etched across the bottom in larger letters - Alex Ortiz - the letters pressed so closely together the X and O almost blended into one another.

My mind blanked, a mug slipping out of my fingers and shattering against the ground as I yanked the paper out from under the rest of his pottery and held it closer to my face. I hurried over to my bag, pieces of pottery crunching under my shoes on the way, and pulled out one of the silver cards that I’d been carrying around in my purse for weeks. I held both up to the light, noting the slant of the lines in the X and the shape of the O, the similarities too obvious to ignore. What I thought were hugs and kisses really just some sort of initials plucked from the middle of his name, like an Easter egg to keep me guessing.

Seeing him at the concert where my admirer had given me tickets and then seeing him days later atmyfavorite coffee shop. Coincidences I had noticed and dismissed so quickly.

I laughed, loud and bitter, when I thought back to how I had hoped for a moment that Alex was my admirer, when I first met him after the concert. But now it seemed like a slap in the face. Days and weeks of becoming my friend and getting to know me without a word of the gifts he’d been sending anonymously? It was a betrayal of our friendship, an unfair power dynamic I wasn’t aware of.

I pulled my phone out of my bag, opening up the text chain that spanned the past couple of weeks, quick texts about coffee and lunch and questions about how the other’s day was going.

Tell me it’s not you. XO.

But that wasn’t enough for me. I didn’t even wait a moment between texts, fury sending my fingers flying over the keyboard and pressing the send button a second time.

Never speak to me again.

My stomach tightened at the directive, a small part of me hesitant to break off a friendship over what I had considered a harmless crush and flirtation in the form of gifts a few days ago. Throwing away a friendship that had become a lifeline as so many things in my life had changed: Bex moving in, Peter leaving and then coming back into my life. But another part of me was too busy being angry. Despite knowing that Alex didn’t seem like the pranking type, this felt like one big joke. Like he’d been laughing at me for weeks, sending me gifts to obsess over and then creating a friendship with me in his free time. But was it really a friendship if it was all built on a lie?

My phone chimed with a text minutes later and my heart jumped, expecting a response from Alex but instead finding a short message from Peter. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks, since Bex arrived and he made himself scarce, feigning an extended work trip that I didn’t bother calling him out on because I didn’t miss his presence. Plus, I still wasn’t sure how to feel after finding out the gifts I’d enjoyed so thoroughly weren’t even from him.

Need to talk. I’ll be at your place at 8.

Not bothering to respond, I clicked back over to my accusation toward Alex, waiting for him to…what? Even if I wanted him to deny it, he would be lying. But admitting the truth would hurt just as much. So I didn’t give him either option, instead hitting a few quick buttons to effectively block his number. I slipped my phone back in my pocket as I finished boxing up the dinnerware set, slapping on the fragile and pre-printed address stickers with little fanfare.

Somehow I made it back to my apartment, driving home on autopilot and climbing the stairs up to my apartment in a daze, almost tripping over a small silver box that sat on my doorstep. I lightly kicked it across the threshold, unwilling to bend down to retrieve it for fear my legs would give out and I’d be stuck on the floor the rest of the night. My limbs felt heavy, and my mind was fuzzy when I eventually managed to nudge the box into the kitchen, stooping to pick it up and place it on the island.

It was almost poetic, I realized, as I set this final gift on the counter where I first saw the bouquet. I had to throw it out a week ago, the flowers finally giving up and drooping on their stems. I tore open the box and the envelope with angry energy, thinking about how all the positive memories associated with these gifts would now be forever ruined in my mind, the edges tinged with betrayal. The words swam in my eyes, and I blinked a few times until the letters came into focus.

Forgive me? Let me explain. Please.

XO

I shoved the perfume and the card into a drawer, shutting it before slamming my palm on the counter as I let out a frustrated noise that sounded closer to a sob. A few blinks later and the time on my clock had jumped forward two hours and Peter was due to arrive any minute. I made my way to the sink, scrubbing my hands, only realizing the water was too hot when I dried my hands to find them pink and raw. But it almost felt good, having external pain to match the pain coursing through my mind and my chest.

By the time Peter arrived, I was dressed in a cute silk pajama set he bought me for my birthday last year, and my face had settled back into the blank mask of pleasantness that I knew Peter expected. I let him in when he knocked, and he joined me on the couch, face tilted down toward his phone as he finished an email.

“We should move in together.” The words were abrupt - no hi’s or how-are-you’s - and the rest of his statement was drowned out by the rushing in my ears that hadn’t stopped since I saw those two letters side-by-side in Alex’s handwriting. Something about wanting a second home near the local office and ‘next steps’ and a bunch of words I couldn’t process because the conversation was not within my mental bandwidth at the moment. And even though a couple weeks ago I was thinking about breaking up with Peter - funnily enough, because Alex was sending me beautiful gifts - I considered moving in with him.

Wasn’t Peter offering me everything I wanted? Sure, he didn’t apologize through a series of thoughtful, personalized gifts like I had originally thought. But moving in together was a step in the right direction, wasn’t it? A commitment to me and our relationship? Besides, I obviously couldn’t be trusted to make decisions on my own. The first man to get my attention in years had been lying to me for weeks, and I didn’t even realize. Instead, I formed a friendship with him, masturbated to thoughts of him, and played right into his strange little game.

Peter finally reached the end of his speech, oblivious to my dead eyes and distracted mind, stating, “I’m thinking just after the Fourth of July. We can do a soft move mid-month and have the movers get the rest when your rent is up at the end of the month. My assistant has already looked into breaking your lease, which shouldn’t be a problem. I can always look at the contract you signed and find a loophole to get you out early.”

And then it was done. Peter’s phone rang, and he rushed off, not bothering to excuse himself as he swiped to take the call. I expected to feel relieved that I didn’t have to confront Peter and that I wouldn’t have to start over with someone new, but instead I just felt…resigned. It was easier though, this way, having Peter make the decision rather than asking for my opinion on it. No confrontation, no failure, just continuing with the status quo and moving forward with the relationship that I’d put years into. It was the responsible thing to do, the rational thing to do.

It was the opposite of what I did with Alex, forming a quick friendship with a stranger based on a few chance meetings. And that was enough to settle my nerves and have me looking forward to the future. So I opened up my computer and started looking for design ideas, saving my favorites long after Peter left my apartment, only stopping once my computer died and I caught the lifeless look in my eyes staring back at me on the black screen.

Chapter10

Her

The next fewdays passed quickly and slowly all at once. They were full of decoration ideas and Zillow listings that served to distract me between classes at the studio as I tried not to think of how my mornings and afternoons were suddenly empty. I went on long hikes with Bex, claiming that my time had freed up due to my finishing theMorelplates in record time. I didn’t tell her about moving in with Peter, too drained from the Alex incident to fend off the litany of “this is a mistake” I was sure she would throw my way.

I considered spilling everything to Bex, especially when she tried to meet my eyes over the dinner table or across the room, as if she recognized something was off. But I had never told her about Alex. At first, it was nice to have something to myself, but now I was too embarrassed. I still wasn’t sure why Alex would lie, but it felt like some joke that I failed to catch until I was the punchline. So I attempted to act as normal as possible, teaching classes with the same vigor I always had, even if my jokes fell flat and my smiles emerged a little slower than usual.

It took four days until I gathered up the courage to head toIronwood. At first, I considered completely switching, but the thought had me bristling with anger. Why should I switch coffee shops just because Alex decided to be an asshole? What would Adam and Delon think if I stopped coming to see them after years of loyal service? They didn’t deserve that, and besides, I didn’t want to give an explanation for my absence, which they would undoubtedly expect if I started getting coffee somewhere else.

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