My crooked clay bowl collapsed just as Roslin showed me a photo from Sheldon’s bachelor party. One look told me the man I’d trusted for seven years had planned more than drinks with his friends. Then a video arrived, and before the club closed, I made two changes to the future he’d expected to have.
“That bowl looks like it’s trying to escape.”
Roslin leaned over my shoulder, examining the clay wobbling beneath my hands.
“It’s abstract.”
“It’s leaning, Keira.”
“That’s part of the abstraction.”
“It’s abstract.”
My sister laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her own bowl.
There were six of us at the pottery studio, drinking sparkling lemonade and making objects that would probably never survive a dishwasher.
It was exactly the bachelorette party I’d wanted.
There were six of us at the pottery studio.
Sheldon had chosen something considerably louder.
