15

Unbeknownst to my beautiful, meddling sister, Kai and I exchanged phone numbers when she excused herself from the table that day after the art gallery and we’ve been texting and talking on the phone every day since.

Though I was initially worried that my attraction to him had more to do with getting back at Vaughn, all of my doubts have since vanished. I honestly haven’t thought about Vaughn in ages and I don’t know if it’s related, but I haven’t felt this happy in years. I don’t think I realized how genuinely stressful our relationship was. Not having to worry about if he’s with another woman or if I’m enough for him has lifted a weight I didn’t know I was carrying.

Now I’m light and breezy and I can’t stop checking my phone. It’s the only thing keeping me from freaking out about the completely over-the-top party that Delilah, Bailey, and Ella are planning for my birthday.

I’ve forced Kai to send me approximately five thousand pictures of the glass he’s blown, the food he’s cooked, and the travels he’s been on. He’s asked me to send pictures in return, but the killer spreadsheets I create and Iowa selfies just aren’t nearly as exciting.

I’ve always known I wasn’t leading the most thrilling life, but it’s become abundantly clear that I’m just flat-out boring. As far as self-realizations go, it’s a pretty sad one. I’m almost thirty and I need something in my life other than work. And now, thanks to the magic of the internet, I found a local art studio that offers classes for adults.

Usually I spend a solid week overanalyzing everything I’m considering to make the best, most informed decision possible before I commit to anything. But I guess Ella really is rubbing off on me because I signed up for the class right away. She would be proud of me if she knew, but I haven’t told her because I know she’d want to come with me. And where Ella is all creativity and feelings, I am…not. I kind of want this class to be just for me.

At one point my mom thought I might be colorblind because the art I brought home from school was so bad. That was embarrassing when I was ten, and at twenty-nine I don’t need my loud-ass sister to witness this embarrassment.

I walk into the building ten minutes before my class is scheduled to start. Some people are standing around, chatting enthusiastically about the pieces they’re creating, while others head to the door, quietly nodding their goodbyes to one another. Little kids sprint down the hallway, shouting at their parents to keep up. The mix of different ages, ethnicities, and genders reassures me that talent also must be diversified. I might not be good, but I doubt I’ll be alone.

I check in at the front desk and the older woman with a sharp gray bob and a kind smile points me toward the room my sculpting class is located in. She tells me where I can find aprons and to sit wherever calls to me. Obviously, the only place “calling” to me is the far back corner. The fewer witnesses to this clay massacre, the better.

I pull my phone out of my purse and take a picture of my workspace to send to Kai.

Finally going to have something art adjacent to send to you. It will probably be closer to trash adjacent, but I’m trying! Will need generous applause and encouragement. Thank you in advance.

I wait for him to respond, but when no bubbles pop up immediately, I open Instagram and scroll mindlessly until class begins. I don’t go on the app often, so when I do, it’s like a gold mine of ridiculousness, free entertainment, and food videos that almost convince me to cook instead of ordering out. As time ticks by, I don’t know why I do it, but I search Delilah’s name.

Even though I still have (almost) no interest in joining Real Love, I can’t help but be curious about what it could be like if I did decide to say yes. Delilah’s out of town again and it seems like she’s gone more than she’s home. I don’t love airports or airplanes, so this adds to my reasons Real Love is not for me. But then I look at her pictures of her out and about in LA and New York and I waver.

I watch her stories. Little clips of this new glamorous life of hers flash by in fifteen-second intervals. There are videos of her getting her hair and makeup done, still photos of her with entertainment reporters that even I recognize. Her feed is covered in boomerangs of her sipping martinis and photos of her smiling huge at someone just off camera. I was right, she’s never looked happier. I didn’t think I wanted it, but now I’m not so sure. What would it feel like to live as if I had no worries? Could I have a version of myself where my mom’s approval wasn’t even a blip on my radar? Where my skin glowed and smile gleamed?

Thankfully for me though, before I’m able to tumble too far down that rabbit hole, an older woman wearing mustard-yellow gaucho pants with a rainbow-patterned sweater walks in and grabs the attention of everyone in the room. She has bright red lipstick on lips that—if the lines surrounding her mouth are anything to go by—are always curved up. Her long blond and gray-streaked hair is pulled into pigtails with blunt bangs covering part of her forehead. She’s every art teacher stereotype rolled into one, and it’s glorious!

“Hello, I’m Sue.” She stops next to my desk area and extends her hand. Her fingers are devoid of any jewelry and her nails are caked in clay, but when I put my hand in hers, I’m pleasantly surprised by how soft her skin is.

“Hi, Sue, I’m Maya.” I smile wide as I return her handshake. All of the nervous energy I’ve felt since signing up transforms into pure excitement.

“Beautiful name.” She releases my hand and takes a step back, returning some of the personal space I didn’t notice she’d entered. “I saw you on the list of students; it’s lovely to place a face to the name. Is this your first time sculpting?”

“Very first. I do have to warn you though…” I pause, cringing a little as I think to past “art” projects of mine. “I’m not the most artistically gifted person in the world. So please be patient with me.”

She narrows her eyes and her hands go straight to her hips. “Nonsense! There is no such thing as good and bad art. There’s just art that we’ve put our hearts into and art that we haven’t. I’m going to teach you how to create with your heart.”

“I think I love you.” My eyes bug out of my head and I slap my hand over my mouth, mortified that I just spoke those words out loud.

I really need to get away from Ella.

But instead of kicking me out of the class and immediately inquiring about a restraining order, Sue throws her head back and begins to laugh.

“I think I love you too,” she says when she’s managed to stop laughing. “This is going to be a fun session.”

She winks at me before walking away and calling out to a person sitting across the room.

I tuck my phone back into my purse and instead focus my attention on the supplies set out in front of me.

Sure, no matter what Sue thinks, I will probably still suck at this. But at least I’m branching out and trying something new. And how badly could that really go?

---

—

I think I might be the first student to convince Sue that leading with the heart is not enough.

The “face” in front of me looks more like an abstract rendition of Mount Rushmore…before we stole Native land and eventually desecrated it in the name of patriotism. I know what I want to create, but there must be some serious misfiring between my brain and my hands because, woof, it’s bad.

The door opens behind me and a group of children wearing plastic-coated aprons covered in paint begin to file into the room.

“Little Picassos!” Sue shouts in a way that even though it’s my first time hearing the phrase, I know she uses it frequently.

“Hi, Ms. Sue!” tiny voices call back warmly. Giggles and the sound of small feet running on the tiled floor fill the room.

I ignore the hopeless slop of clay in front of me and watch as they pile onto Sue, wrapping their dirty little fingers around her legs. Sue, who has smiled the entire class, even while lying straight to my face about my “art,” smiles impossibly brighter.

“Excuse me,” a child says. “Did you make that?”

The young girl has a bow roughly the size of her head clipped to the top of her curly ponytail. Her brown cheeks are flushed pink, the glow that only comes with youth sparkling along in her eyes as she aims her huge grin showcasing a missing front tooth at my blob of clay.

Geeez.

Even she can tell I missed the mark here.

“I did.” My voice goes up a few decibels, the way one does when talking to a small child. “It’s my first class and I don’t know if I’m very good at this.”

She looks up from my disaster piece, her brow furrowed and confusion written all over her face. “Why not? I think it looks like a superhero.”

I tilt my head and squint, trying to see what this little motivator next to me sees.

“See, there’s the cape.” She points her tiny finger at what she sees. “And there’s her hair, and that’s the smile, so I know she saved the world.”

I follow along, viewing my work through her sweet, innocent eyes and letting her excitement change my perspective.

“Come on.” She grabs my hand when I don’t respond fast enough. Her grip is surprisingly strong for such a small human as she pulls me out of the room. “Mr. K has glitter that will make it even more better!”

I resist the urge to correct her grammar because even I’m not that big of an asshole and instead trail behind her as she pulls me through the hallway. She tells me all about her favorite colors and the “super special” glitter that will be perfect for my unintentional superhero.

“Ms. Sue taught me this summer and she said that glitter makes everything better.” I’m not sure if she’s taken a breath since she started talking. “And she’s right because my mommy said that glitter is forever and ever and will never leave our house no matter what.”

The pride in her voice makes me think she didn’t quite understand what her mom was really saying about the glitter, but I don’t burst her adorable little bubble.

“So now I put glitter on all my art. Mr. K taught me how to make a necklace with a heart made of glitter. I can show you.” She pushes into the room, never easing her grip on my hand. I only vaguely wonder if I should warn her mom that she might need to work on the stranger danger talk. “Mr. K! Can my new friend have glitter for Ms. Sue’s class? She made a superhero that needs sparkle.”

I don’t know if I should be entertained or slightly embarrassed by my new little friend’s investment in my sculpture…and I never find out.

“Maya?” The same voice I’ve been unable to avoid in my dreams—and apparently reality—pulls my attention away from the curly haired girl guiding me farther into the room.

“Kai? Wh-what are you doing here?”

Okay, so I can’t lie. When I looked up art classes, I searched for glassblowing classes first. I only decided against them because I thought the chances of running into him would be too high and there would be no way to deny that I was being a total stalker. I assumed sculpting would be safe territory.

“I work here,” he says, stating the obvious.

I guess I thought wrong.

My new friend is watching us closely, her eyes following our sparse conversation like a Ping-Pong ball.

“But you do glassblowing…this isn’t glassblowing.” I also state the obvious and it’s not lost on me that in moments like this, it’s a small miracle I’ve been able to achieve any levels of success at all with my conversational skills.

“You’re right.” He glances down at the little girl standing very quietly by my side. I’m sure he thinks this is a very elaborate setup. “But I do seem to recall telling you that since I sell my art, I had to find other creative outlets.” He says it with a tease in his voice and looks down at her with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, and I’m pretty sure my ovaries shimmy. “Working with kiddos like Sofia here makes it even more rewarding.”

When he says her name, I realize I hadn’t asked her that yet. Even my social skills with children could use work. That’s not saying much for me.

Sofia’s already round eyes double in size and her mouth falls open. “You get a reward for teaching us? Like treasure? Stickers?”

I bite back my laughter, loving that she sounds equally excited for both treasure and stickers.

“Not that kind of reward.” Kai’s bright blue eyes wrinkle in the corner and his dimples pop out. “Seeing all the art you make and getting to help is the reward.”

“That’s not a reward.” Sofia’s shoulders slump and her bottom lip sticks out. “A lollipop could be a reward.”

“She’s not wrong,” I tell him, suddenly thinking I need to stop at the gas station on the way home for a blow pop. And then my cheeks must flush scarlet because my mind—very rudely—drifts off to other things I could suck on…

“So where’s this magic glitter?” I shout, and even though sweet Sofia probably thinks I’m just very excited about sparkle, I’m worried Kai can read the dirty thoughts floating around in my brain. If I would’ve known I’d be seeing him so soon, I would’ve rethought sending him a few more-than-flirty texts last night.

Go to art class, I said. It will be fun, I told myself.

Lies.

“Oh! It’s back here!” Sofia has lost all interest in whatever was happening between Kai and me. She takes hold of my wrist and yanks me to the side wall covered with cabinets and very organized shelves.

Kai follows us over, not saying a word as Sofia grabs a little stool and climbs up until she’s eye level with more glitter than I have ever seen. Even as an adult with a slight aversion to glitter, I’m excited. I mean, is it possible to be in the vicinity of this much sparkle and not be happy? Don’t think so.

“Mr. K.” She glances over her shoulder and my stomach drops to my shoes with images of my young friend tumbling backward off the stool. “Where is the special mix that I like to use?”

“Let me see.” Kai moves to the shelves and his hand lightly brushes the small of my back as he squeezes past me.

I’m sure I’ve been touched more by strangers trying to get past me in the produce section of the grocery store. But right now, from that almost nonexistent touch, my arms are covered in goosebumps and chills waltz up and down my spine. I lean into the cabinet behind me, worried that my legs might actually give out from how tightly clenched my thighs are.

This is why I shouldn’t be allowed in public…or around hot people. My body doesn’t know how to act.

Kai moves around a few bottles of glitter and rhinestones until he unearths a silver tin labeled Sofia’s Mix in the far back corner. “Here we go.”

I know she’s only a small child, but part of me wonders the power she wields to have her own can of glitter here. My respect for this little firecracker skyrockets. It’s not lost on me that she will rule the world one day.

“Thank you!” Her already high-pitched voice rises more than a few decibels as she hops off the stool and runs to what I assume is her work space. She sits in her tiny seat that maybe half of my ass could fit on and pulls off the lid, staring at the glitter like it is actual gold shavings.

“I wish anything made me as excited as glitter makes her,” I whisper to Kai, not wanting to disturb Sofia’s moment.

“This is the reward,” he says. “Spending time around kids forces you to enjoy the little moments.”

“I can totally see that.”

“Plus, you know—” His voice drops to a whisper and he leans close enough that his perfect mouth grazes my ear. “Texting you makes me more excited than glitter ever could.”

I’m in a dusty room covered in glitter and paint with a small child only feet away; I should not have the urge to throw someone on the table and rip their clothes off. But thanks to the magic of Kai, that’s exactly how I feel. My knees are wobbly and I can’t get my breathing under control. I know if I turned my head just enough, his lips would be back on mine.

And I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.

But of course, I don’t do it. I don’t do anything but stand in silence, watching Sofia get lost in her treasure.

I wonder when I stopped finding joy everywhere I looked. Was there one definitive moment that snapped me out of childlike, blissful joy at the small things in life? I don’t know when I decided to be more Warren Buffett than Oprah Winfrey or why I decided to stay in Iowa and study finance instead of going to the school in New York City with the amazing broadcast journalism program.

I wish I could say it was one thing. But the truth is, I think occasions I don’t even remember might’ve shaped me the most. All of those instances where I ignored what brought me joy and placed everyone else’s happiness over mine turned me into who I am today. A person staring in awe—and maybe with a little jealousy—at a little girl I don’t even know, as she dives wholly and unapologetically into what makes her happy. Even if it’s just a canister of freaking glitter.

All while ignoring the overwhelming urge to kiss the man beside me breathless.

“Hey.” Kai’s warm hand squeezes mine. “Are you okay?”

I nod and hold tight to his hand. I don’t think I was okay before, but now, next to him, realizing that I still have my entire life to live the way I want to live it?

“Yeah.” I smile up at him, feeling happier and lighter than I’ve felt in ages. “I think I actually am.”

And even though I know it might not be the most appropriate timing in the world, I tip my chin up and touch my mouth to his. It’s quick, but efficient as hell.

He tugs on my hand and tucks me securely into his side. I’m acutely aware of every place our bodies touch. I’m convinced my favorite J. Crew dress will start smoking from the heat and electricity sparking along the entire right side of my body. “I really love it when you do that.”

Before I can respond, he drops his full, soft lips to my forehead and makes my world go Technicolor.

I hold my breath. Everything is so pure and perfect I want to live in this moment forever. I don’t want something silly like breathing to ruin it.

Being with Kai makes me feel different, special. I don’t think anything he does is meaningless. He makes even the smallest moments feel monumental. There’s reverence in every glance and every touch. Like I am somehow the most important person who has ever walked this earth and it’s his privilege to be with me.

And I’ve never felt that before.

With anyone.

The little voice cuts into my fantasy. “Is Mr. K your boyfriend?”

“Oh! Ummm…” I jump back, putting the appropriate amount of distance between Kai and me and instantly regretting it. “So is the glitter ready for me?”

I ignore Kai’s quiet laughter and the disapproving, more-than-a-little-disgusted look on Sofia’s sweet face.

“Yeah.” She points to the canister tucked beneath her arm. “Lets go show Ms. Sue before my mom gets here.”

This time, she doesn’t use her brute strength to yank me out of the room. She just starts marching, assuming (correctly) that I’ll follow. I look back at Kai and the memory of his touch causes my cheeks to heat.

“So I’ll see you later?” It’s more of a hopeful declaration than a question.

He nods, his dimple-popping smile lighting up his face. “Definitely.”

Go to art class, I told myself. It will be fun, I said.

Damn straight.

Good for me.