L: WE ARE SO EXCITED. Like twenty minutes? Is that okay?
Twenty minutes. "Okay then," I say out loud, to no one.
M: I'll meet you there.
I set the phone down and look back at Magnolia, who has been watching me eyebrows raised.
"I have to go," I tell her. "I'm sorry, I know we were in the middle of talking."
"Where are you going?"
"Polly's Pottery." I'm already getting up, pulling my hair back where the oil is still sitting in it and making a mental note to wipe my hands before I touch anything that can stain. "Lucy just asked me to go with her and her mom."
Magnolia goes very still for a moment as her eyes widen, and then she sets down whatever is in her hands and looks directly at the camera. "Lucy Keller. Dakota's little sister."
"Yes."
"And their mom." The way she says it, is annoying as fuck because it's like she's implying that something much bigger is happening.
"That's what I said." The tone I use is bored so that she can't read more into it than she already has.
She blinks. Then she smiles, slow and bright and entirely too knowing for someone who isn't supposed to know anything yet. "Okay," she gives me a shit-eating grin.
"Don't," I tell her.
"I'm not doing anything," she argues, trying to seem way more innocent than what she is.
"You're doing the face."
"I don't have a face."
"Magnolia," I groan, pulling her name out with an exaggerated sigh.
"Go paint pottery with Dakota's mom and sister, Molly." She picks her project back up, the smile still sitting on her mouth. "I'll talk to you later."
I disconnect the FaceTime before she can say anything else.
Polly's Pottery is tucked downtown a few streets over from The Café . The windows are painted with little handprints and sunflowers, and there's a chalkboard sign out front that says Today's special: flower pots and good company. I've driven past it a hundred times and never actually gone in.
Lucy spots me the second I push through the door, and she does what she always does, which is light up like she's been waiting for me specifically. "You actually came," she says, like she was genuinely worried I wouldn't, which makes something in my throat go a little tight.
"I said I would." I pull her into a side hug and then look over her shoulder to where Mrs. Keller is standing at the display of unpainted pieces along the far wall, turning a tall vase over in her hands. "Hey, Mrs. Keller."
She sets the vase down and gives me a warm smile. "Molly, honey, it's Patty. We've known each other too long for anything else."
"Patty," I repeat, and it feels natural in a way I wasn't sure it would. This is my friends’ mother. I don’t call them by their first names. It feels sacrilegious.
The three of us spend a few minutes walking the shelves, and I end up with a wide, shallow bowl that I have some vague idea of doing something geometric with, though I don't fully commit to that until we've settled at one of the tables with our brushes and our palettes and small cups of water. Patty has chosen a tall mug, which tracks for her. Lucy has chosen a piece that is wildly ambitious for an afternoon project, a large oval platter that she has apparently decided she is going to cover entirely in a detailed wildflower pattern, and she is approaching it with the kind of confidence that says failure isn’t an option. She’s so much like Dakota, I can’t help but grin at her.
“How’s work going?” Patty asks. “I admire the fact you work in healthcare. I kind of always wondered what it would be like to be a nurse, but it intimidated me.”
“It intimidates me too,” I laugh as I start the painting process. “Some days everything goes perfectly, there aren’t scary moments where a baby’s heartbeat dips, and the mother has trouble delivering the baby. Other days it’s all scary, and stressful.” I sigh with a lift of my shoulders. “But seeing these new lives enter the world? It’s totally worth it. You always kind of wonder what those babies will end up being.” I stop, a smile on my face. “It’s an honor to be a part of that.”
Lucy is painting with her tongue pressed lightly between her teeth, the way people do when they're concentrating, and for a stretch of time the three of us are quiet as we all concentrate.
Then Lucy looks up from her platter, directly at me, with the expression of someone who has been sitting on something and has finally decided the time is right.
"You know," she starts, in a conversational tone that does not fool me for one single second, "Dakota can call it whatever he wants, and you two can take all the time you need to figure out what the label is." She dips her brush, considers the tip of it, and then looks back at me with those eyes that see absolutely everything. "But I'm going to be calling you my sister-in-law sooner rather than later, and I just want you to know that I'm already happy about it."