Page 50 of Dante
A wildfire in California. A political scandal in Washington. A celebrity divorce that everyone seems to have opinions about.I scroll past all of it without really reading. The words blur together.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Mom.
I stare at the screen. Her contact photo—a picture from last Christmas, her wearing that ridiculous reindeer sweater Dad bought her—stares back at me.
I sigh and answer.
"Hi, Mom."
"Marina! I was just thinking about you." Her voice is bright. Too bright. The voice she uses when she's worried but trying not to show it. "How are you feeling? You sounded tired this morning."
"I'm fine. Just a long day."
"Are you eating?."
"I ate." Not a lie. I had half a granola bar this morning.
"Good, good." She pauses. I can hear her moving around her kitchen. Dishes clinking. "You'll never guess what Linda did."
Linda. Her best friend since college. The woman who shows up at every family gathering with a new conspiracy theory and a casserole that no one wants to eat.
"What did Linda do?"
"She signed up for a pottery class. Can you believe it? At her age. She says she's going to make her own dinnerware set."
I settle deeper into the couch. "That sounds nice."
"Nice? Marina, she's sixty-three years old and she's never made anything in her life. Remember the scarf she tried to knit for your father? It had four arms."
"I remember."
"And now she thinks she's going to be some kind of artist. She showed me pictures of the bowls she wants to make. They look like something from a horror movie."
I let her talk. This is good. This is safe. Linda's pottery disasters are exactly the kind of conversation I need right now. Normal. Mundane. A world where the biggest problem is a lopsided bowl.
"She's already bought a kiln," Mom continues. "A kiln, Marina. For her garage. Her husband is furious. He had to move his entire workshop to make room for it."
"Mmm."
"And she's talking about selling them. At the farmer's market. Can you imagine? People are going to think they're buying fruit bowls and they're going to get... I don't even know what to call them. Abstract nightmares."
My phone buzzes against my ear. A text notification.
I pull the phone away from my face to check. Unknown number.
I miss your curses
I stare at the screen.
That asshole.
"Marina? Are you still there?"
"Yeah, Mom. Sorry. Just got a text."
"Oh, is it work? I don't want to keep you if you're busy."
