to relax the knots between my shoulder blades. I pick up the French novel I’m supposed to be puzzling through, but for once, the words do little to comfort me.
“You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.” I startle at the hand on my shoulder, almost knocking my teacup off the table.
“Crap,” I mutter, making a grab for the table to settle it.
“I’m sorry,” says a woman with bright red hair in a thick braid down her back. She’s wearing overalls and a tie-dye shirt that seems to work quite well with her hair.
“I’m good.” I smile.
“I’m teaching a graphic arts technique in the corner over there,” she says, pointing to a group of tables that have been pushed together to form a large clutter of table space, “and it’s free. So if you want . . .”
“I suck at art.” I shrug.
“Ha! That’s exactly what every single person said before they joined us. This is actually using words and quotes to make art. I’m Rebecca, by the way.”
Words. Quotes. My favorite things.
But she’s probably a religious freak, or she wants me to come live on her commune, where they grow pot and have massive orgies.
Except the other people look remarkably normal.
“There’s no catch,” she calls over her shoulder as she makes her way back to the group. “I’m in art school, and this helps me develop my teaching projects. Today we’re making mugs with quotes on them. The store is providing us with the mugs at cost so it’s only two bucks a mug. Or you could just hang out and learn the technique and then it’s free.”
I stare at the group. Four women and two men, all somewhere near college age. What’s the worst—
“Hey, Abby, mind if I join you?”
I apparently chose the most popular cafe in Merritt. Lucky me, because Drew is now standing over my table, his once-attractive long poet hair now looking like he should have washed it before he left the house this morning.
Ew.
“I was also coming in to work on French, so maybe we could work together. I mean, I know you’re technically with Zeke, but it can’t hurt to stretch yourself.”
The words individually are probably okay but it’s the way he licks his lips at the end of the sentence that makes me feel like I need a shower now too. “I’m actually moving over there to learn this new art technique.” I smile, my dry lips catching on my teeth. “But you’re welcome to the table.”
And then I pack my stuff in record speed and practically sprint to the corner, where I grab a chair and thrust it between two normal-looking women. It’s a tight squeeze but it puts me with my back to Drew, which is exactly what I want.
At first I’m content to watch Rebecca describe the process. Some of the others are looking through the books of quotes she’s provided, but I’m just happy not to have to make excuses as to why I can’t sit with Drew.
Except it really does seem very easy. She’s using a computer program to generate different fonts and combinations of fonts, and then we simply trace them on the mugs, outline them with the colored Sharpies she’s brought, and the guy behind the counter at Tea and Sympathy will bake them in the oven for the half hour necessary to set the designs. The woman beside Rebecca, another art student, is helping someone create a drawing of one of the wild things from Maurice Sendak’s picture book to accompany the quote “We’ll eat you up—we love you so” on a dinner plate.
And while I’ve agreed to be the courier back and forth to the counter, bringing the mugs to be baked, after the third trip, I buy myself two sea grass–green mugs. Worst case? It’s four dollars down the drain.
And maybe I can make something for Alice. Something to make things right.
I don’t let myself think about it too much. Flipping through the quote books, I scan for keywords that describe Alice. Passion. Drive. Creativity.
I read through the quotes and some of them are okay. Some of them could probably work, and I make a list of those. But none are quite right.
Then I think back to the awesome black-and-white striped tights she wore to the poetry reading last night. The look on her face before she left, shoulders back, determined to make it through. The look on her face when she came home, all light and bright and filled with joy.
And