20. KAI #2
The naked figurine is lying on its side, propped on one elbow. The smirk on the face is unmistakable. And below the waist, she's sculpted anatomical detail that’s generous in both scale and specificity.
"Ava."
"What? This is art. Notice the muscles, the confident lounging posture? The faithfully rendered, proportionally accurate..."
Embarrassing heat is spreading on my face.
"Stop talking."
She leans in then smirks. "You're blushing. The stoic hockey captain is blushing over clay."
The instructor walks past, looks down at the table, and pivots to the far end of the studio without a word.
"You've broken the instructor."
Ava waves it off. "She'll survive."
I grab more material and attempt something female-shaped. It turns out looking like a traffic cone with a ponytail.
"Is that supposed to be me?" She picks it up, turns it over. "I look like a haunted carrot."
"It's impressionistic."
"It's criminal."
My next attempt at a figure finally produces something recognizably human. She’s standing, hands on hips, mouth open wide.
"That's you telling me my pasta needs more garlic," I say.
"My mouth does not do that."
"Your mouth does exactly that. Biscuit was there."
She grabs a ball of clay and throws it at my chest. It sticks to the front of my shirt.
She laughs, her head tilting back, the long line of her throat catching the studio light. The sound of her laugh fills the loft in a way that makes the studio and the quiet instructor at the far end disappear until there's nothing in the room but her.
My hands go still on the table.
This is what I'm afraid of losing.
Not the sex or the closeness or even the way she looks at me when she thinks I'm not watching.
This.
The uncomplicated joy on her face when she's laughing hard.
She catches me staring. Her laughter softens but doesn't stop, settling into a smile that pulls one corner of her mouth higher than the other. She tilts her head.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She studies me for a beat then looks away and starts on another piece.
"I'm making you with a massive forehead now," she announces. "Consider it punishment for being cryptic."
The massive-forehead version has its legs fully extended in opposite directions, stick raised overhead.
It joins the lineup beside hockey-butt Kai, scowling Kai, and naked Kai.
"That's physically impossible for any human skeleton," I say.
"So is your ego, and yet here we are.”
We continue creating different figurines.
By the time we’re done, her side of the table holds a small army of miniature Kais in varying states of dignity. Mine holds three lumpy Avas and the traumatized remains of several failed attempts.
We walk out carrying everything in a paper bag. The evening air smells like roasted coffee from below and something baked and sweet from the shop next door.
Her shoulder bumps mine on the sidewalk and stays there.
She is radiant. Guard lowered, laughter loose.
The sight of her like this fills me with sharp desire.
Dinner is half a block down in a small restaurant with no sign, just a green awning and soft light through the windows.
We order. She gets the short rib while I get the fish. Bread arrives warm and she tears into it immediately.
"Tonight was perfect," she says. "How did you find the studio?"
"I compared several options and eliminated the ones with group sessions."
"You vetted ceramics studios." She shakes her head, but her foot finds mine under the table and settles there. "You are the most romantic overthinker I've ever met."
"I prefer thorough."
"You prefer control. Lucky for you, it's working."
The candlelight catches the gold flecks in her eyes when she smiles. She picks at the bread, licks butter from her thumb.
I listen to her talk about her day, watch the way her hands move when she's passionate about something.
"Ava." I set my fork down. "I need to ask you something, and I need you not to steer us somewhere else this time."
Her chewing slows.
"Have you decided about what I asked you? About being my girlfriend for real."
Her smile fades.
She sets the bread down. Her fingers find the rim of her water glass and trace it slowly.
"Can we just enjoy tonight? We had such a perfect evening and I don't want to ruin it."
"How do you feel about me?"
She gives me a tight smile. "Kai, please. Not tonight."
“Every time I ask, you dodge. And I need to know why."
Her gaze drops to the table. Her left hand slides to her lap.
But she doesn’t answer.
The candlelight throws soft shadows across her collarbones. There’s a small crescent of clay still caught in the curve of her ear that she missed when she cleaned up.
But it’s her eyes that hold attention. Bright yet guarded. There has to be only one reason why those eyes can keep telling me they want me yet Ava wouldn’t bulge.
"Did I hurt you before the accident?" I ask. "Did I do something to you that I can't remember?"
She goes still.
The warmth drains from her face. Her fork rests against the plate where her fingers released it. Her eyes drop to her lap, and her left hand moves toward her torso before stopping midair.
The low, easy laughter of people in the restaurant suddenly becomes too loud.
"Ava. Look at me."
She doesn't.
The silence lasts long enough to become its own kind of answer.
"A yes would be easier than this," I say.
When she finally speaks, her voice is stripped of everything I depend on.
"Please don't ask me that."
No humor. No deflection. No warmth deployed like armor against the questions she doesn't want to face.
Just please don't ask me that.
“Ava…”
"It's not that simple, okay?"
"It's the simplest question I know how to ask. Did I hurt you?"
She picks up her water. The glass shakes against her lower lip.
I let it go for now, because pressing further means becoming the man I'm terrified I already was.
We finish dinner.
She talks about her new studio layout and a client who wants a chandelier made entirely of driftwood. She's funny, animated, trying so hard to return us to the version of tonight that existed before I opened my mouth.
I laugh where laughing is expected, but it sounds hollow. I eat food I can't taste.
But something has settled in my chest.
She can't tell me I didn't hurt her.
When the dinner is over, we walk to the car without speaking. She holds the paper bag of figurines against her chest, one arm wrapped around it.
The drive to her place is quiet. She watches the city scroll past her window while her thumb moves over the tiny clay Kai doing the impossible split.
I pull up to her building and turn the engine off, one thought hammering in my head.
She couldn't say no.
Whatever happened between us is ugly enough that she can’t talk about it.
But I’m going to prove to her I’m not that kind of man or I’ve at least changed.
Going home will just keep our relationship on limbo. It’s not like my apartment isn’t one huge reminder of Ava. She practically rebuilt and reintegrated it into my life.
So whatever happened, we’re settling it here.
No more delays.
"Thank you for tonight," she says, turning to face me. "The studio was the best date I've ever been on."
"You're welcome."
She watches me. I can see her searching for something to say that bridges the distance between how the day started and how it's ending.
She leans across the console and kisses me deeply, her hand finding the back of my neck and staying there. When she pulls back, her thumb traces the line of my jaw.
"Goodnight, Kai."
My eyebrows pull down into a frown.
“So it’s not okay to tell me why you won’t be my girlfriend. But it’s okay for you to kiss me whenever you want.”