Work.
Marriage.
Pregnancy.
Household responsibilities.
Now, for the first time, I was doing something simply because I wanted to.
My first attempt at making a bowl was terrible.
The clay collapsed three times.
I got it on my sleeves.
In my hair.
Even inside one shoe.
Eventually, I produced a crooked little bowl that leaned noticeably to one side.
The instructor tried to sound encouraging.
“You have very enthusiastic hands.”
I laughed.
When the bowl was finished, I glazed it blue.
The same shade as the flowers on my childhood bedroom wallpaper.
I placed it on the kitchen windowsill.
It wasn’t perfect.
But I’d made it myself.
One Saturday in December, Elon came to visit Sophie.
He noticed the bowl.
“Did you make that?”
“Yes.”
He picked it up carefully.
“It leans.”
“It does.”
He examined it.
Then smiled.
“I like it.”
He put it back on the windowsill.
