Sitting criss crossed in my bed, my eyes drifted over to the wilting bouquet on top of my dresser. Stems curved like old spines and pink petals scattered around the bottom of the vase. I had watered it a few times and added some plant food to try and elongate their lifespan. It was my poor attempt to keep the physical reminder of that day alive but I was starting to realize they wouldn't last much longer. I thought about drying them and hanging them up, but somehow it felt like too much work. So instead, I stared at them and wondered if it was a metaphor for the direction things were going in.
A week had passed and my monthly sickness was nearly behind me. After Pedro ordered from my favorite Thai restaurant we ate and watched a movie on my laptop. He doled out some more pain reliever, shared some of the sweets he brought and gave me a massage on my lower back.
He sprinkled me with kisses throughout the night. My whole being invariably reacting to the sensation of his scruff against my skin, the soft movement of his lips against my own or the way he tasted. I couldn't help the goosebumps or the soft whimpers, or the tingling spark that began in the pit of my stomach and managed to reach my extremities, making me shiver with delight. He teased me once or twice, but let it go once I acknowledged how hard he was. Pedro refused to let me do anything about it though, said this visit was about me not him.
It was heavenly and I had never had someone tend to my needs in such a compassionate and selfless manner. The whole thing felt domestic, like we had known each other much longer than we actually had. It constantly surprised me how comfortable I felt around him, and with a newfound understanding of the parameters of this thing we had I was hopeful.
That was, until he left.
I didn't know if it was period brain, or regular anxiety brain, but I couldn't stop thinking about the time he spent when we weren't talking. If he had taken a bit longer to respond to a message I sent, my mind instantly went to this idea that someone else, someone prettier or more suited to him held his attention.
A part of me knew it was irrational. He had in fact disclosed to me that his schedule was "full enough as it is" but I didn't know how to stop myself. I felt this constant undercurrent of tension and frustration anytime my mind would drift there. This feeling was what I wanted to avoid all along. In hindsight, I think my games tried to accomplish a subconscious goal of not having the interest feel one-sided, with me carrying all the weight.
I didn't want to fall if he wasn't falling too.
I tried to plan a date, giving some initiative for the first time. My motivation lied somewhere between a test and a genuine interest in seeing him, but he said he couldn't. He was busy with work. Nothing more than that, which was a bit uncharacteristic for him, and my heart sank deeper than it had in a long time.
Maybe the conversation about the degree of seriousness was not what I needed. It was reassuring in the moment, and I felt solidified in my place in his life...but things felt rocky now and I did everything I could to avoid feeling unsure or like a second thought in most areas of my own life.
So, after staring at the bouquet for far too long, and starting to feel resentful that was how I was spending my Saturday, I pulled out my phone and opened the dating app. I didn't dare look at the messages on there, too afraid to get sucked into what used to be my favorite game as it was now a form of self-flagellation. With a deep breath that didn't satisfy, I hovered over the option to see other potential matches.
The idea of matching with another person just for the immediate yet quick lived rush of dopamine and adrenaline didn't feel like a sufficient way to address how I was feeling. Maybe it was what I wanted, but definitely not what I needed.
I opted for a walk around my neighborhood.
January was nearing its end and it hadn't rained for a few days, but the sun remained in hiding leaving the air crisp. I slipped into a pair of tights before putting on my long denim skirt, then squeezed into an olive colored turtleneck and threw on an oversized thrifted sweater, tucking the bottoms of both into the waistband of the skirt. I put on my chunky tennis shoes, grabbed my headphones and tote bag and locked the door behind me.
Walks always managed to clear my head. Not only was I still preoccupied with Pedro, though it seemed more pronounced now which put me in a foul mood, but I was also stressed about the upcoming exhibition at work. I only had two weeks before the show and being in that space was incredibly draining. I knew the end result would be worth it, and putting the concept together was exhilarating but the pre-show logistics always proved to be messy and chaotic.
I was hoping for a distraction and one that was Pedro shaped would be ideal, but not being able to see him reminded me to get my priorities straight. It was important for me to be self-sufficient, especially in terms of self-care. So instead of putting on my playlist I had named 'pink pansies' I chose to put my favorite songs on shuffle. The algorithm settled for Jealous by Eyedress. My eyes involuntarily rolled and I skipped, landing on Pink Moon by Nick Drake. After walking down the few steps that led up to my door I chose to turn left with no end destination.
I hadn't gone this way in quite a while but as my feet carried me forward my gaze drifted towards the houses that lined the street. I found solace in the eclectic mix of Victorian, Craftsman and Modern architectural styles. The details and ornamentation changed with each address. Some had dead yards, wrought-iron fences and protective dogs, others had lawns and brand new cars in the driveway. My favorites were the brightly colored houses with an abundance of plants. I saw a few people and shared a tight-lipped smile or a slight nod of my head, but the sight of a dog always resulted in me lowering my headphones to ask if I could say hello.
Thirty minutes passed by quickly and I could feel my own personal cloud start to lift, though the ones in the sky remained. I knew it'd be another thirty minutes to walk back but I wasn't ready to spend free time indoors yet, so I continued.
One of the upcoming houses, clearly a split unit, had two garage doors and one of them was open. Normally, I averted my gaze always under the assumption that someone was inside. It felt too personal to look into someone's space that way. I don't know what it was about this one particular garage, but I felt my feet falter.
A quick glance wouldn't hurt.
I lowered my headphones as I took in what appeared to be a makeshift studio space. The wall opposite of me had a few wooden shelves with books and a few ceramic pieces. Every inch of the table that lay underneath the shelves was covered; a few packages, a little sign, vases of various sizes, paint and a copious amount of pottery tools.
Further down that wall was another, longer table. This one held a small kiln and several bags of clay, all varying in color. In front of this table was a potter's wheel. The other wall consisted of more of the same; an abundance of vases with some painted while others were bare, another shelf lined with pieces, boxes of supplies, some pottery tools, a few stools and a tool chest.
"Hi." I heard a voice call from behind me.
Startled, I jumped a bit and turned to see the man I assumed to be the resident of the space. He was tall with broad shoulders, dressed in an olive sweater and dark work pants covered in splotches of clay.
"Hi, sorry." My voice meek as a swath of pink spread across my cheeks. I was embarrassed to be caught peering into his space without him present.
"No need to apologize." He said as he slipped past me and put some oranges down on the edge of one of the work tables, "Unless you were planning on stealing something."
"No," I let out an uneasy chuckle and tried to look at him. The blush deepened when I saw the relaxed smile on his face and realized he was joking. "Just on a walk and it caught my eye, I guess."
I stumbled through my excuse, trying not to soak in every detail of his face like I did his space. It was unavoidable. A mop of wavy black hair rested on his head, his brown eyes were framed by round glasses, a strong jawline covered in a thin layer of stubble and a mustache rested above plump lips.
He let out a gentle laugh, probably detecting my nervousness and said "I run a small pottery company."
I watched as he sat down on one of the stools, turning slightly to grab an orange from behind him. His hands quickly worked to peel it as he looked at me.
"How's your walk been?" He asked before popping a few slices into his mouth.
"Fine, thanks." I had the thought that I should excuse myself, tell him to have a good day or something along those lines but I couldn't help it when my gaze drifted to the finished pieces on the shelves. Curiosity got the best of me and I heard myself ask, "Mind if I take a look?"
He finished chewing and shrugged, "Go right ahead."
I started to take a step forward and then stopped myself. The blush crept in again and I chewed at the corner of my bottom lip. I felt awkward and unsure if I should step inside. The space was small and cramped, probably why he liked to keep the garage door open. I didn't want to crowd this stranger and come off as nosy.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I don't want to interrupt you if you've got to get back to work." Self-consciously I tried to give myself an out while respecting him and his space.
He shook his head as if what I said was ridiculous, "You're fine. I was taking a break anyway." Then he laughed lightly, "Come on in."
He was friendly in his disposition and I was grateful he didn't seem to mind my sudden onset of ineptitude. An inviting smile painted on his face before he popped a single slice into his mouth.
"Thanks." I replied quietly, carefully making my way inside to get a closer look. There were a lot of crudely painted skulls, some with snakes coming out of the eyes while others wore cowboy hats with cigarettes dangling out of their lipless mouths. Some of them were in the shape of cowboy boots with cactus' painted on the side. It was a playful take on southwestern art.
"I'm Dan, by the way. Don't think I've seen you around before."
"Oh sorry, I'm Emi. I don't live in this neighborhood but close enough, I suppose." I couldn't seem to shake how flustered I was. Didn't help that when I looked at him I could feel the rapid flutter of my heart underneath the multiple layers I was wearing.
"Glad you made it out here. Want some?"
I turned to see his ring covered hand extend the last few slices of orange sitting inside the peel. My eyes met his and I felt like I could swim in those warm pools of brown all day.
"Uh, sure." I reached out and gingerly took them, trying not to let our skin touch. "Thanks."
I was beginning to think that I felt so uneasy because this entire situation caught me off guard. I've met many artists in my line of work, of course, but I was always prepared to meet them. Stumbling upon Dan and his little studio was not at all what I expected to happen when I set out for my walk. I didn't know which version of myself to be; art curator or nearby neighbor.
There was a pause as I chewed. I felt the urge to fill the silence almost immediately.
"Do you show anywhere?" I asked as I finished chewing, my hand coming up to cover my mouth and my cheeks as I felt a new wave of embarrassment wash over me.
He chuckled again as he watched me, a crooked smile forming. Perhaps to settle his own nerves he looked down and combed his fingers through his hair. "Not unless you count Instagram."
"Larger audience than a gallery, I suppose." I said tersely, my own prejudice towards the social media app coming through my words. I would much rather remove myself completely from that world but it was impossible when it was necessary to promote shows. I didn't see the benefit of it, but others at the gallery swore up and down it made a difference.
Dan's brows pinched together in confusion momentarily before he laughed again. This time it inspired a laugh of my own.
"Sorry," I said, realizing he had yet to see my face clear of embarrassment which only exacerbated it. "not judging you, just not a fan of the platform."
"Hey, I'm right there with you. I'd much rather be showing at a gallery, or selling at an art show, but I quit my job a couple months ago to focus on ceramics so I'm still new to all of this." He gestured to the messy studio space around him, laughing again.
I admired how easy it was for him to find humor in the littlest things. I'm sure it's difficult to leave stability behind to pursue a creative passion and I could feel a new weight in my chest. I wanted to be able to give him that experience of showing his work in a gallery. I knew it wasn't just my call, but I felt this odd sense of responsibility to help him.
"What do you do, Emi?" He fiddled with one of the rings on his hand, his question pulled me out of my quiet reverence. Our eyes locked, his were bright and curious.
"Try my best to be a good human being, I guess." I offered with a small smile, looking down at my own feet. I didn't want to talk about work just yet. I'd like to build rapport first, see more of his art, test the waters at the gallery before giving an empty promise.
He laughed again, "I meant for work but I like that answer."
Something shifted in the way he was looking at me. Sure he had been cordial, gentle even, and smiling throughout our interaction...but this felt different. Almost as if he wasn't just unbothered by our conversation but that he wanted more. I wasn't opposed to it, but I didn't know what to make of it either.
We stood in shared silence for a moment before I spoke, "Well, nice to meet you, Dan. Guess I should leave you to it." I didn't know what to do with my hands so I fiddled with the strap of my tote back.
"Lovely meeting you, Emi." He nodded, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment before speaking, "Hope to see you around."
His words triggered a rapid fluttering in my chest and a new wave of blush across my cheeks. I cringed internally when I noticed him noticing.
"You too." I squeaked out before swiftly turning and walking away.
I felt like I was in high school again. The walk home went by quickly and wasn't nearly as restorative as the walk I was taking before I knew Dan existed.
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Hellooo! NEW CHARACTER ALERT. What do y'all think of Dan the pottery man?
I know this version of Pedro is in no way affiliated with the real Pedro, but I try my best to bring out his positive qualities (there are so so many). That is to say, don't worry. Pedro is still in the picture, just need some bumps in the road to spice things up a bit.
I also started writing a new story with Pedro as the love interest, though it's a bit different than this. Still an alternate universe where he isn't a worldwide celebrity. Kind of a slow burn, actually. If you feel like checking it out let me know what you think!
I feel like I say this every chapter so if you are binge reading this I apologize lol. But Thank you so much for taking the time to not only read my story but vote and comment. I cannot express how grateful I am that this brings people joy, that they've fallen in love with these characters, or that they look forward to new chapters. Definitely more than I could have imagined when I started writing.
LONG AUTHORS NOTE but basically, I'm going to try and upload the next chapter by the start of next week. Sending so much love to all of you <3