Break My Heart: Part 1

“His birthday is only a couple of weeks away. You really should buy him something nice.” Mrs. Adamson smiled at me over a porcelain teacup as she gingerly raised it to her lips.

I opened my mouth, but somehow managed to bite back the question on my tongue. Even though we both knew I never listened to my potential mother-in-law, wisdom dictated that I not admit to this flaw in my character.

“Would you like me to give you some suggestions?” Another sip of chamomile tea slid across her lips as she waited for my response.

My lips tilted upward in a soft smile as I lied. “I’ve got something special in mind.”

“I hope so. He deserves the best.” She frowned critically as she searched my face for signs of my lie.

I nodded agreement, avoiding more words by taking a long sip of the tepid tea. Her frown deepened as I lingered with the fine porcelain to my lips. My mind wandered to how sincerely I didn’t wish to be here. Clearly, she didn’t approve of me, so I couldn’t understand why Janson insisted I get to know his mother. He’d already admitted that he never intended to marry, so I was probably another in a long string of broken hearts he’d leave in his wake. I fidgeted a little as I tried to surreptitiously glance at my watch.

“So what is it?”

The broken silence returned as I gazed back at her through startled eyes. I struggled to keep from expressing my own annoyance at her questions. Mrs. Adamson tilted her head as if seeing me for the first time.

“What is this special something you have planned for my son?” Disdain chased the words from her mouth to my ear.

Warm blood blushed through my fair skin from feet to hairline as I searched for a response. I finally stammered a few words of defense. “Um. Well. I want to keep it a secret for now.”

“I see.” I knew she didn’t but she would never admit it.

Instead, she tried to wheedle information from me as we continued to sip tea and nibble tiny cakes coated in crystalized icing. Had I actually planned something already, I would have cracked and revealed everything in the hope of being released. It may have been better that I didn’t know yet.

~~

By the time the great inquisitor permitted me to leave, exhaustion ruled me. I drove home in a foggy haze and passed out on my couch without even removing my shoes. The next morning, my first thought upon waking drove me to stumble down the stairs and across the street to the local newsstand in search of a newspaper and, hopefully, some inspiration. After acquiring the local paper, I barely crossed my threshold before opening its pages and scanning the classifieds.

“Chasetown Community College Offers Continuing Education” leapt out from a half page ad. Underneath this promising headline, a list of classes filled the rest of the space. My eyes rested on the offering of “pottery basics”. Scenes from an old movie drifted into my head and I smiled.

“That’s perfect.” A soft smile played along my lips.

~~

I arrived late to the first pottery class. Slipping into an empty station at the back of the room, I offered a tentative smile to the redhead at the station next to mine. She smiled back as she raised one hand to wipe a bead of sweat from her brow. My own skin already released its own thin layer of moisture as the heat of the kilns reached me. As the teacher began preparing us to sink our fingers into the balls of clay that nestled under moist cloths in front of us, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and carefully flipped it open under the tabletop. Janson wanted to know what I was doing. I spent the rest of the lecture reassuring him that I’d see him later. During our conversation, I only managed to catch a few of the instructions from our teacher. Determined to create a beautiful gift anyway, I began rolling the clay into the snake. When the snake was as thick as a pencil, I cut it into eight equal pieces and formed each coil into a heart shape, one on top of the other. After some hesitation, I reformed it into two interlocking hearts. I lifted my creation gently and turned toward the kiln.

The girl with the flaming red hair noticed and called out in a slow, southern drawl. “Honey, you have to wait…”

“I don’t need help.” Impatience brought the words to my lips.

“But you do need to let the clay dry before you fire it.” She forced a smile as she stepped closer to me.

“It dries in the kiln.” I responded.

“The professor says it needs to air dry first.” Her eyes wandered to my phone, which I had placed on the countertop.

“Oh.” I gently placed my hearts back on the counter.

I felt the warmth of the other woman’s hand as she placed it on my wrist. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s start over.”

I looked at her for a moment in silence, gently pulling my wrist away. I turned to look at my coiled hearts. After exaggerated scrutiny, I gently pressed a few of the coils more tightly together.

“My name is Maribel.” She filled the silence, extending her hand to me.

As I turned back to her, I found my own hand engulfed in a warm handshake. “Winnie.” I breathed my name as my rigid body relaxed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Despite my initial reluctance, we talked like old friends. Somehow, she softened the sharp edges of my personality and opened me up. I explained why I had decided to take the pottery class. She repeated more of the instructor’s advice as I worked to make my piece ready for the kiln. By the time the teacher circled around to offer assistance and criticism, newspaper covered our works as we leaned against the counter.

He lifted the corner of one of the newspapers to peer at the clay underneath. “Good. Good. A little patience merits great rewards.”

I inclined my head in a slight nod. He lifted the second newspaper and offered similar platitudes to Maribel. She smiled and thanked him. We continued to lean against the counter in companionable silence as the teacher took his place at the front of the room.

“I know you are all impatient to take home the fruit of your labors, but you’re going to have to wait. As I said before, we have to let the clay dry before firing it. I have reserved some cabinets in the back to store your pieces until you return next week. They should be ready to go into the kiln then.”

A rustle went through the room as we all turned to pick up our creations. The professor cleared his throat. “Let’s not rush. We need to do this in an orderly fashion.”

He pointed at a few men in the front row, inviting them to be the first to stow their work until next week. Being closest to cabinets, Maribel and I were the last to place our items in storage.

“See you next week.” She called out as we separated to go to our cars.

“And our masterpieces. At last.” I replied with a dramatic flourish.

We both laughed.