Adult Assembly Required, page 28
Laura had started grad school, but only had classes during the day, which was extremely fortunate. It meant her evenings were free for Enrichment, and once a week she, Nina, and Polly would get together and try something Nina had come up with. This led to several major discoveries. The first of these shouldn’t have been a surprise, which was that Polly was an excellent surfer. As Polly was a Long Beach native, it made a certain amount of sense, but the biggest surprise was how shocked Polly herself had been.
“Sure, I’ve surfed before,” she said, having coasted onto the beach still on her feet and with both earbuds in place. “But I don’t remember anything about it.” She’d shrugged. “Mind you, I don’t remember anything between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, so maybe I picked it up then.”
Laura, on the other hand, had waded into the waves feeling smug and overconfident and had to be rescued twice by the lifeguard, who may have been a little too quick off the mark, honestly. Both times Laura had been rolling around under the waves for fewer than ten seconds, wondering if this was drowning and if she was ever going to see dry land again, when the lifeguard appeared, towing her to shore in a passable impersonation of a helpful dolphin. Not that she wasn’t grateful, but his lack of faith in her ability to bob to the surface was a little embarrassing.
A second discovery was that Laura enjoyed pottery, a craft she’d never tried before. The introductory class had an inauspicious start, as the first thing that happened when the three women walked into the studio was that Polly leaned nonchalantly on a rack of drying pots and started a chain reaction of falling and crashing that resulted in a very tall, very fragile vase getting knocked off a table halfway around the room. As everyone in the studio had stopped to watch the disaster parade of momentum and gravity move its way through space and time, the vase had a moment of complete silence in which to gracefully topple to the floor and shatter into a billion jagged pieces.
Polly, being Polly, waited until the last tinkle had died away and then said, “Oops, we’re here for the pot throwing class—I guess I started early,” which no one found funny except for the three of them, and the teacher didn’t really warm up to them until the second class. However, at that point she realized Laura was a bit of a ceramics savant and forgave them everything.
Polly never really took to it, and Nina found the whole process too “sticky,” but Laura went back on her own regularly and produced a surprising number of mugs and dishes. All the animals had new matching food bowls, and she was working on a birdbath for Bob’s water feature. She had also mastered the Heidi-style braid buns, which turned out to be a kick-ass look on her and kept her hair out of the clay. She also acquired a number of thin cotton men’s dress shirts, which she wore for pottery class, and which for some reason drove Bob quietly insane with lust. He was much better at hiding his feelings than Laura was, but he did make an effort to be home on the evenings she went to the studio. He would look forward to the moment she walked in the door, her sleeves rolled up, thin shirt streaked with clay, hair coming loose and wild, and feel a kind of joy in her beauty that he never got tired of. He loved how willing she was to acquire new skills, how brave she was in tackling her challenges. He wished for half her courage, because maybe then he’d be able to tell her how he felt.
* * *
• • •
One day toward the end of October, Laura was in the garden lazily throwing a ball for Herbert. She was pleased to discover she could still run after the dog while wearing the boots she’d found at the thrift store recently, and the vintage jeans turned out to be as comfortable as sweatpants once you got used to them. She was just daydreaming about maybe putting the same boots under a summer dress when her phone rang and she answered it without looking, a decision she regretted as soon as she heard her mother’s voice.
For once, though, her mother sounded uncertain.
“Uh, hi, Laura?”
Laura confirmed her existence, glad her mother couldn’t raise her eyebrows at the Visit LA: It’s a riot! shirt she was wearing.
“Um,” said her mom, a syllable Laura wasn’t sure she’d ever heard her use before, “we got your package.”
Laura blushed. “Oh yeah? That came quickly.”
“They’re . . . lovely. Did you . . .” Again, massive hesitation. “Make them?”
Laura giggled nervously. “I did, yes.”
“Oh.” Her mom was silent.
Laura frowned. “It’s fine if you don’t like them,” she said. “I just started, I’m sure I’ll get better at it.”
“No,” said her mom. “No, I love mine. You never made me anything before.”
And then, unmistakably, she sniffed.
“Mom, are you OK?” said Laura, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” said her mom. “I was just touched that you made me a mug with ‘Mom’ on it, isn’t that a normal response?” Her tone got noticeably sharper. “I believe it’s appropriate to have maternal feelings of pride when one’s offspring does something nice.”
“Well, sure,” said Laura. “I’m, uh, glad you like it.” She added, “Did Dad like his?”
“I think so,” her mom replied. “He filled it with coffee and took it with him to class.”
“Wait, instead of his ‘Hummingbirds Do It While Hovering’ mug?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” said Laura.
There was a pause. Then her mother said, “So, how’s it going out there?” She coughed. “We miss you, you know.”
“You do?” Laura bit her tongue, wishing she hadn’t sounded so surprised.
But her mom didn’t get annoyed. Honestly, if Laura had realized how effective handmade items were going to be in creating family rapprochement, she would have been knitting socks for years. “Yes,” said her mom, “we do.” She took an audible breath. “I’m thinking of maybe coming out to visit in early December, what do you think?”
“I think that would be great,” said Laura, surprised to discover it was true.
Hanging up, Laura found herself smiling, looking forward to telling Bob about the conversation. She also wondered what her therapist would make of it. After the first night at Dodger Stadium, Laura had taken a deep breath and reached out to one of the therapists on Maggie’s list. Although they’d begun by focusing on her trouble with driving, they’d quite quickly widened their scope to include other aspects of Laura’s life, including her childhood. Now talking to Shannon was another highlight of her week. Shannon was the softest, gentlest person in the world, carefully listening to everything Laura said, then smilingly asking accurate, incisive questions that crowbarred years of accreted defenses. It was occasionally painful and often exhausting, but Laura felt herself lightening with every session. She and Bob had gone back to Dodger Stadium several times, and now she drove all over the parking lot without a problem.
Laura wasn’t quite sure where she was going . . . but at least she felt she was getting there.
* * *
• • •
That evening Bob came to dinner looking like the cat who got the cream. He was the last one to arrive, and everyone else was already fighting over the corn bread.
“I’m going to Ithaca,” he said excitedly, pointing at Laura. “You were right!” He sat down and snagged the last piece, despite a final lunge from Polly, who had a thing for corn bread.
“I was?” asked Laura, tipping her head to one side. “About what?” Ithaca rang a bell; what had that conversation been about?
“You joined the army?” guessed Polly.
“You’re going to beauty school?” suggested Anna, grinning.
“You won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay?” asked Libby.
“I’m trying to get into grad school”—he was grinning from ear to ear—“and they invited me to come out for an in-person interview and tour of the gardens.” He turned to Maggie. “I really didn’t think my application would go anywhere, or I would have mentioned it earlier, sorry.” He looked at the piece of paper. “Not sure why I printed out the details, but I guess I was so surprised I needed to see it on paper.” His face was flushed, his eyes were sparkling, and Laura felt her tummy sink. Ah yes, that’s right. Grad school.
Maggie was smiling. “This is very exciting news. Tell us everything.”
“It’s thrilling,” said Polly. “You should probably give me that corn bread in celebration.”
Bob ignored her and handed Laura the printout. “See? I never would have done it if you hadn’t encouraged me.” He noticed she had her hair in the single long braid he longed to undo every time he saw it, and that she was wearing the tiny hummingbird necklace she so often did. He couldn’t help noticing; she was his favorite thing to look at, and he did it as much as he could. It was painful, but he couldn’t help it.
Laura smiled and read the letter. She looked up at him. “You did it yourself, I didn’t help you at all.” This was true. After their first conversation about it, on the day of the earthquake, it had never come up again, and Laura realized she hadn’t pursued it. She’d been so wrapped up in her own concerns, she hadn’t thought about his at all. Epic friendship fail. She handed the piece of paper back to him, and smiled. “You deserve it, I’m sure they’ll welcome you with open arms.” I certainly would.
Bob looked at the letter again, and a frown crossed his face. “I hope I can do it.”
“Of course you can,” said Laura emphatically, putting down her knife and fork. “Don’t doubt yourself! You’re smart, you work really hard, you have loads of experience already, probably a lot more than the other students, and you have fantastic ideas that will really make a difference! You’re going to have a great time and they’d be really lucky to have you.”
She looked around and realized everyone else was staring at her.
“Wow,” said Polly, picking up her juice and taking a sip. “Don’t hold back, say what you really think.”
“Yeah,” said Anna, “I wish I had a cheerleader like that. Jeez.”
Maggie said nothing, just leaned down to pet Daisy and hide her smile.
Laura looked at Bob, who was blushing. “Uh, thanks,” he said. “I’m not as confident about my chances as you are.”
Laura was a little bit embarrassed, but wasn’t about to back down. “You’ll see,” she said quietly. “It’ll be great.”
Bob shrugged. “Well, this is just an interview. I’m going to be gone for a couple of months, though. Edward hooked me up with a friend of his who’s developing some new kind of soil additive, and I’m going to help her with it for a while.” What he didn’t say was that he’d been finding it increasingly hard to be around Laura and had leapt at the chance to get some space. He needed to work out what he wanted, who he wanted, and in fact, who he wanted to be himself. He’d thought everything was settled in his life, but then Laura showed up and made it both better and worse. “Her experimental farm is in Massachusetts, so I’ll go there after the interview.”
“Crap,” said Polly. “Who’s going to take care of the garden? Who’s going to feed Pearl?”
“Not to mention Bob and Patrick,” added Libby.
Bob had built his water feature, a koi pond, and Maggie had run out and bought three fish to live in it. They’d grown suspiciously fat, and Bob had accused multiple people of feeding them on the sly.
“Someone who can be trusted,” said Bob firmly. “Someone with self-control.”
“Not me,” said Polly. “I’m not good at self-control, and they hate me.”
Asher laughed. “Because you lean over the pond and scare them.”
“Not intentionally,” replied Polly. “I’m giving them advice.”
“From your experience as a fish?”
Polly nodded. “I grew up on the beach, remember?”
“Which is exactly where fish do NOT want to be,” said Asher, who’d gotten more relaxed about his feelings for Polly, despite the fact that they’d only grown deeper and stronger the longer he knew her. He wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t go out with him, but he was hoping she’d eventually change her mind. She woke something in him, something lighthearted he thought he’d lost forever. Something silly.
Polly shrugged and finished her dinner, pushing back her chair. “Thanks for dinner, Maggie. Congratulations, Bob, I guess this means I get my dog back?” She stood up. “I’m going out, see you guys later.” She was dressed, unusually for her, in sweatpants and a T-shirt with a pigeon on it. Her hair was caught at the nape of her neck in a loose bun, and the whole effect was relaxed but incredibly pretty.
“Date?” asked Asher, completely failing to sound casual.
“Friends,” said Polly.
“You have a lot of friends,” he said.
“True story,” she replied, leaving the room.
There was a pause as Asher gazed after her.
Laura cleared her throat. “Ash, why don’t you tell Polly you like her?”
He looked around at the table. “I did, kind of,” he said. “I asked her out over the summer and she said no.”
“Ask her again,” said Bob. “If she says no again, you’ll know, and you can start getting over it.” I’m familiar with the process, he thought to himself, and you might as well begin immediately.
“Plus, she might say yes this time,” said Laura.
Maggie cleared her throat. “Yes, it’s a good idea to tell someone when you’re interested in them, rather than pretending you’re only friends.”
“Or roommates,” added Anna.
“Especially,” added Libby, “when everyone else can see how you feel and it’s driving them all a little crazy that you’re not acting on it.”
Then all of them looked at Bob and Laura, who were completely oblivious and still nodding at Asher.
Even he raised his eyebrows at them, but then he smacked the table and got to his feet.
“I’ll do it,” he said, and left the room.
Laura was excited and looked around the table. Everyone was staring at her.
“What?” she said.
* * *
• • •
Polly was halfway down the driveway when Asher caught up with her.
“Wait,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”
Polly turned and smiled at him. She loved his face, the way it moved all the time, changing constantly in reaction to the things she said and did. It made saying and doing things so much more amusing.
“Polly,” he said, in a rush, worried he wouldn’t get it out otherwise, “are you seeing someone?”
She frowned, and shook her head. “No, I’m hanging out with friends.” She looked at her phone. “I have to go . . .”
But Asher had a head of steam up.
“Because here’s the thing, Polly. I had that whole thing with whatsername . . .”
“Madeleine?” said Polly, raising her eyebrow. “The one who broke your heart and destroyed your confidence? The one you hid from for several years in another country? The one your mother would like to run out of town?”
“Yes, that one,” said Asher impatiently, “but this isn’t about her, it’s about you.”
“You were the one who brought her up.”
Asher felt himself losing the thread. “I know, but you don’t make me feel like she did.”
Polly frowned. “I don’t make you feel like hiding in a foreign country? Uh . . . thanks?”
“No,” he said. “Why do you always do this?”
“Do what?”
“Confuse me.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, I seem to do it a lot, though.”
Asher reached out and took her hands in his. “Polly, you’re incredibly attractive.”
“True,” said Polly.
“But that’s not what I love about you. I love that when I’m with you—assuming you’re not driving me insane with confusion—I feel happy.”
Polly stared at him.
He frowned; he wasn’t getting his point across. “Like ‘last day of middle school, favorite song on the radio with the sun shining and the windows open’ kind of happy, like anything could happen and I would be fine with it.” He dropped her hands and ran his hands through his hair in a familiar way. “Which is another thing about you. I never have any idea what you’re going to say, you’re like a different person every day but at the same time you’re always yourself.”
There was a silence as Polly digested this. It was a lot to digest.
He wasn’t done. “And that’s why I want to go out with you. I want to go everywhere with you and see what happens.” He looked at her for a long time. “I know you said no before, but I really needed to ask you again.”
Polly looked away, clearly trying to make a decision. “Look, your mother is one of my favorite people, so I’m going to take a chance that the apple is at least in the same orchard as the tree.”
Asher nodded.
She took a deep breath. “The answer is still no.”
Asher stared at her. “It is?”
“Yes, but I’m going to tell you why. I can’t go out with you because I’m an alcoholic in my first year of sobriety, and you’re not supposed to date anyone until you’ve got at least a year.” She shrugged. “It’s not a rule or anything, it’s a strong recommendation.”
There was a long silence. Asher’s mouth dropped open a little. “But . . . you don’t drink.”
Polly stared at him for a full thirty seconds.
“Oh,” he said eventually. “You used to.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. I drank all the time, I drank too much, and I couldn’t stop on my own. Now I’ve got nearly ten months of sobriety and things are so much better I cannot even tell you, but that’s because I’ve been taking all the suggestions I’ve been given by my friends in the program, and my sponsor, and I’m not going to buck the trend by going out with you even though I really want to.”
