Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Suzie
Two days. That's how long it takes for the road to drag me out of one life and deposit me, road-weary and hollow, into another.
When I pull into the parking lot of the apartment building that houses the interns and resident artists for the Museum of Glass, exhaustion wraps around me like a thick fog. My eyes sting from too much driving and not enough sleep. The ache in my chest hasn't loosened its grip, but at least now I have distractions—bags to unload, rooms to fill, a new life to build from scratch.
The apartment is small but cozy, with large windows that overlook the museum courtyard. The air inside smells like freshly painted walls and new beginnings. I stand at the threshold, bags hanging off my shoulders, and take a shaky breath.
This is it. My fresh start.
I drag my bags inside, the wheels of the suitcase bumping over the floor, and drop my things by the door. For a long moment, I just stand there, trying to let it sink in. The silence is heavy. Too heavy. My thoughts flicker to Pete and Dexter, uninvited but insistent. It shouldn't. But I probably shouldn't have gone home with them in the first place.I’ve received numerous unanswered texts and calls from what I can only assume is Dexter’s number. And even though I know I should have blocked him too, something inside me just couldn’t do it.
The first thing I do is unpack my sketches and the few plans I have for pieces to work on. These are the only things that feel solid right now. The only things I can rely on.
I stack them up on the kitchen counter, reassuring myself with their familiar presence. Glass, at least, has never let me down.
When I've unpacked just enough to feel semi-functional, I grab my phone and check the time. I need to head over to the museum and hot shop to get a lay of the land before I start work in the morning. The residency comes with full access to the furnaces and workspaces, and if I'm lucky, the work will keep my mind too busy to wander where it shouldn't.
I opt to walk the short distance to my new place of employment. It's a pleasant stroll, and I can see the stunning Mount Rainier, which feeds my artist soul. I finally step into the doors of the museum and it smells like molten silica and ambition. The hot shop is a cavernous space, alive with the hum of furnaces and the rhythmic tap of tools. It's a strange comfort—chaotic, loud, and familiar all at once.
I'm greeted by Bobby, the studio manager, who gives me a warm smile and a quick tour. He has an easy, calming presence—mid-thirties, with tattoos winding up both arms and short auburn hair tucked behind one ear.
"You must be Suzie. Glad you made it. You're a bit earlier than we thought," he says to me, an affable grin on his face.
"Oh! I know, sorry. I came in a bit earlier than planned, and thought I'd come check things out before I start tomorrow."
He grins at me. "I like it. Someone that needs to be prepared. We'll get along just fine." He gestures toward the gleaming equipment. "This will be your playground for the next few months. We'll get you set up with a workbench and locker. Do you need anything specific?"
I glance around the space with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "No. This is perfect. So very perfect. I can't even begin to express my gratitude to you and the museum for giving me this chance."
"Great! You're welcome to poke around today if you want. We keep things pretty relaxed, so as long as you clean up after yourself and do the few tasks required of you, we shouldn't have any problems."
Bobby hands me a set of keys and points toward the lockers in the corner. I thank him and take a moment to soak it all in.
This is my dream. What I've worked for.
But instead of pure excitement, there's a knot of nerves twisting in my gut.
What if I can't do this? What if the ghosts I thought I left behind follow me here?
Pushing my doubts away and brushing them off as a lack of good sleep, I spend the rest of the afternoon prepping my station and mapping out ideas for the gallery showing. The hum of the studio and the glow of the furnace soothe me more than I expected. It's been too long since I lost myself in the rhythm of glassblowing, and I can already feel the itch in my hands, eager to create something new.
My dads built me a workshop at home, and I could have been doing this there, but it wouldn't have gotten me the exposure this residency will.
By the time I get back to my apartment, it's dark outside, and exhaustion pulls at me like an undertow. I should have probably used my time to find a shop and get some provisions, so I settle on some leftover road snacks for my dinner.
As I sit cross-legged on the floor, chewing mechanically, the weight of everything starts to settle on me. I've spent so long running—from memories, from heartache, from the two people I don't want to be thinking of. And now, in the quiet of my new home, the emotions I've kept at bay start creeping in.
I pull out my phone and swipe through a few texts from Monte, Lo, and Annie. Each taking the time to check in, and make sure I arrived safely.
Annie:
I miss you already, babe. Hope you're settling in okay. Call me if you need to vent... or talk about you-know-who.
Monte:
So proud of you. Let us know if you need anything.
Lorcan:
We love you, sweetheart. Knock them dead.
Their words warm me, but they also remind me of what I've left behind. I hesitate, my thumb hovering over Pete's blocked contact. The urge to unblock him is overwhelming, but I know it's a trap.
I force myself to lock the phone and toss it onto the couch as if the distance between us could sever the temptation. Tomorrow will be a new day. I just need to sleep—let the exhaustion win for now. But as I drag myself off the floor and head to the bedroom, my mind refuses to quiet.
Even after a long shower, it's still racing around. I take the time to make the bed with some fresh linens and sigh at the comfort the cool sheets offer as I slide beneath them. The room is dark, the only light coming from the distant glow of lights from outside my window. I roll to my side, clutching a pillow to my chest, as if squeezing it tight enough might keep my mind from spiraling.
What if it all falls apart?
The thought slinks in, unbidden. What if this dream I worked so hard for, lost everything for, turns to ash?
I'm reminded, once again, of my breakup with Pete. He'd overheard me talking to Ethan, telling him how I was going to turn down the internship in London.
He was so mad. Furious at me for being willing to give up a dream to stay with him. And no matter what I said, or did, he wouldn't listen. Told me he was done with me and my childish ways and wasn't interested in pursuing things with me further.
And here I am again. Faced with the reality of choosing my dream over the man that still holds my heart. Of choosing my career over the possibility of more with Pete and Dexter.
The knot tightens in my chest, a familiar companion to my thoughts. I let out a slow breath and close my eyes, willing myself to sink into sleep. I shove the pillow under my head and roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. I shouldn't miss them. I shouldn't miss any of it—it was just one night, dammit!
One night, and the promise of so much more.
I left for a reason. I have to remember that. I wanted this.
I turn onto my side again, my brain still buzzing. I'll figure it out. One way or another. I'll find my footing, and if I fall, at least this time, no one will bear witness to my stumbles.
With that thought lingering in my mind, I finally start to drift off. The hum of the furnaces from earlier feels like a distant lullaby, lulling me into a restless sleep.
Tomorrow is another step. And maybe, just maybe, it'll be the first step toward something I don't have to run from.