14. April
Chapter 14
April
Three months later …
A fter a long day at work, I slap on a hydrating face mask and open my laptop. After months of neglect, I decide to log into my Pinterest account. As I scroll through Pinterest, I begin deleting the vision boards I’d made for the wedding—thankfully, one we hadn’t planned yet. A task I’d been avoiding. One by one, images of idyllic garden ceremonies, lace dresses, and white rose floral arrangements disappear.
I’ve always loved roses, especially yellow ones; they were my mum’s favourite flower. Lucas, however, always brought me white roses while we were dating. I never had the heart to tell him that white roses felt lifeless to me, as though their stark colour drained the personality from the bloom. What’s the point of a white rose? They’re far too fragrant and beautiful to be so sterile.
With my mother in mind, I feel a surge of determination to start fresh and create a new board. One for myself, with things that make me happy. One brimming with vibrant roses, cats, ceramics and pastries. As I piece together my collage of cheerful images, I flutter around the kitchen, gathering a small teapot, a mug, and some milk before setting the tea to brew.
It’s Friday night, and lately, weekends have started to haunt me. As time has passed, I’ve grown to dread them. Other than hitting up Portobello Market on Saturday mornings, I don’t do much else. I usually keep to myself and read or watch TV. To be honest, it gets lonely. Even with the support of my wonderful friends, there are moments when the silence feels heavy, and I find myself wishing there was someone else—someone who could fill the space Lucas left behind.
Perhaps a hobby would be helpful.
A photo of a delicate, hand-thrown vase catches my eye, and I start to wonder if I could get back into ceramics. The thought feels both daunting and exciting.
Could I do it again?
Would it bring me the peace and happiness it used to when I would shape clay with my mother?
A knock on the front door pulls me from my daze. Pushing my tea aside, I swing the door open to find Anna and Gemma grinning on the stoop.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around them. “I wasn’t expecting you!”
Gemma lifts a bottle of red wine with a smirk. “We thought girl time was in order.”
“Perfect! Let me grab some glasses.”
They follow me into the kitchen, gathering around the island while I reach into the cupboard for three long-stemmed glasses. Gemma uncorks the bottle with a sharp twist and pours us each a generous amount.
“Cheers,” Anna says as we clink our glasses together. We bring the wine to our lips, and the first sip is nothing short of heavenly. “Mmmm,” we all groan in unison.
As I lift the glass to my lips for a second helping, I notice Anna carrying a large paper bag. I raise an eyebrow and gesture towards it with my glass. “What’s in the bag?”
“Well,” she says, dragging out the word. “That’s sort of why we’re here.”
“What?”
Anna places the bag gently on the counter, sliding it towards me with a cheeky grin.
“Okay, now I’m worried,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Just open it!” Gemma urges, practically bouncing on her toes.
Lowering my glass to the counter, I grab the bag and pull it open with both hands. Inside, I spot a long rectangular box nestled amongst the tissue paper.
“You guys got me a gift?” I say, glancing between them. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Oh, I think we did,” Anna replies, her grin widening.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and one-handed, I pull the box from the bag. Flipping off the lid, I freeze, staring at the contents with wide eyes. My fingers curl around the wine glass as embarrassment sweeps over me.
“You bought me a sex toy?” I blurt, my voice catching somewhere between shock and utter horror.
Gemma beams, practically glowing with pride as I lift the toy to inspect it. “Not just any old toy—a deluxe one. Look! It’s got a part for your G-spot and a suction bit for your clit. This baby is top of the line.”
“Okay, Dildo Baggins,” I say, holding it up between my thumb and forefinger, dangling it between us.
“It’s a vibrator, actually,” Anna chimes in, her grin widening. “ One Toy to Rule Them All! ”
We burst into laughter. “I honestly don’t know whether to be thankful or mortified that my best friends bought me a sex toy.”
“Thankful. Definitely thankful,” Gemma says, shooting me a wink.
We spend the rest of the evening indulging in wine and picking at the small cheese board I’ve thrown together, catching up on our workweeks and laughing over Gemma’s latest dating disaster.
“And then he sent me a photo of his finger shoved up his ass—in his work bathroom, no less,” she finishes explaining. Anna and I cringe so hard it feels like our faces might get stuck that way.
“So,” Gemma says, changing the subject as she swirls the last of her wine, “what are you both up to tomorrow?”
“It’s me we’re talking about,” I say with a shrug. “I’ll probably be drowning my sorrows in a bottle of red and binge-watching Netflix with Basil.”
“As delightful as that sounds,” Anna chimes in, “Mason has a work dinner tomorrow night, and I say we make the most of my free evening.”
“It’s like you read my mind,” Gemma says, pressing a hand to her heart.
“Girls’ night?” I ask, glancing between them.
“I’m thinking the Mayfair Lounge,” Anna says, smirking.
“Absolutely,” Gemma and I reply, raising our drinks.
With grins all around, we clink our glasses together.
It’s Saturday morning, and the sun pours in through the windows, filling the room with a comfortable warmth. I stretch my tired arms and rise from bed to get ready for the day. Saturdays have become my favourite since Gemma and I became friends. They’re somewhat of a ritual where we grab a takeaway coffee and stroll through the busy Portobello Market.
I usually did this while Lucas was out on his morning hike. Afterwards, we would often meet to do something together, whether it was lunch, a movie, a drive through the countryside, hunting for books in charity shops, or exploring new exhibitions at galleries. Although my afternoons now look entirely different, I’ve still got my special mornings with Gemma, which I’m incredibly grateful for.
I have a little more spring in my step this morning after spending last night sifting through images of pottery and ceramics. Perhaps today I’ll stumble across some ceramics that spark inspiration and rekindle that old flame.
After a quick shower, I brush my teeth, spray dry shampoo into my hair, and run my fingers through it. I slap on some colour corrector and a layer of black mascara to try to hide my under-eye bags, which are definitely not Chanel.
Next, I put on my baggy jeans and black jumper, slip into my sneakers, feed Basil, and head out the door. I jump in the car and fire off a text to Gemma, letting her know I’m on my way.
I try to make the most of the sunshine when it dares to grace us, this hasn’t been the warmest spring. So, I wind down my window and let the breeze kiss my skin while I crank up the music, singing along at the top of my lungs. Wild weekend, I know.
I pull up to Gemma’s flat and find her waiting on the stoop, bundled in her cosy puffer coat. When she spots me, she leaps to her feet and jogs to the passenger side before swinging the door open and dropping into the seat.
“It’s freezing! Why is your window down?”
“Because it’s spring. The sun is shining!”
“So? It’s still cold. Put it up!”
I shake my head but roll the window up as Gemma fiddles with the temperature dials on my dashboard, blasting warm air through the vents.
“I need coffee so badly. I had the worst night.”
“What happened?”
“Okay, so remember that Kevin guy I met on that kink app?”
“Yes …”
“Well, he came over last night, and we ended up having sex.”
“Classic.”
“No, that’s not it,” she says, shaking her head before dropping her head into her hands.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t be.” I smirk, giving her a side-eye.
Catching up with Gemma is never dull. She leads the most interesting, fun life, exuding a confidence and dominance I can only admire from afar.
“He asked me to stick a mini vibrator up his ass,” she mumbles from behind her hands. I quickly turn my head to face her, wondering if I’d misheard.
She sighs. “It got stuck and wouldn’t come out, so I had to take him to the A&E at 1:00 a.m.”
I definitely heard correctly.
“No!” I gasp.
“Yes! It was so fucking awkward!”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t know whether to stay with him. We literally hadn’t met before, so I kind of just dropped him off in reception and said goodbye. He went for a hug when I leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. All the while, he’s still buzzing from the vibrator in his ass. It was a total disaster. I ended up just giving him a pat on the shoulder and walking out.”
And for the first time in months, I laugh. I really laugh. Tears stream down my face, and my stomach muscles ache as I gasp for air, trying to steer. Gemma joins in, filling the car with a joyous sound. It’s a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness that I hadn’t realised I so desperately needed.
I squeak out, “It’s all for the plot, Gem.”
“I don’t think I’ll see him again,” she says through her gasps.
“No,” I say, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I don’t think so.”
She turns to me, scanning my face intently.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s just … nice to see you smile,” she says, the corners of her mouth curling up.
I glance at her, feeling a warmth spread through me. “It feels good.”
We spend a beautiful morning together laughing and shopping. We both leave the market with a bag of goodies each, happy with our small treasures. Gemma stocked up on incense, candles, and crystals, and I walked away with a pair of handmade clay mugs.
I feel so inspired after our visit to the markets that, once I drop Gemma home, I pull my old pottery wheel and materials out of the shed. Dusting off the surface, I clear away years of debris and spider webs before setting myself up in the courtyard. I’d expected a wave of grief or guilt to hit me as I revisited my love for ceramics. But instead, I only feel comfort. The hum and thud of the wheel is soothing as it spins, and the clay is cool between my fingers. My foot works in sync with my hands, almost on autopilot, and I press and pull on the clay. It’s messy and imperfect, a product of being out of practice for so long, but for the first time in years, it feels like a step towards healing. It’s been a good day.
Eventually, I head upstairs for a hot shower, letting the water wash away the mess of clay before getting ready for the evening ahead.