If you’d told me two weeks ago that I’d be sitting in a pottery studio with my four brothers, I’d have accused you of being crazy. But here we are, with gray hands and stiff with clay and some strange-looking creations in front of us.
Cora is beaming like we just gave her the greatest gift, and I understand her reaction completely. Sharing something you love and passionate about is like opening a piece of your soul into the sunshine. When I exhibit my work, it feels great to make sales and receive praise, but watching my family respond positively is always the part I feel the deepest. I know if Mom was still alive, she’d be so proud of everything we do, even the malformed pots we’ve produced today.
Danny huffs, dropping his head to one side to stare at the mass of clay in front of him. For a man who spends his life being pretty, he hasn’t managed to imbue his ceramics with the same aesthetic. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he says.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Cora says.
“But it doesn’t look the way I imagined it in my head.”
“It rarely does, even for me,” she smiles. “But sometimes, when it gets fired, magic happens.”
“It needs more than magic,” I snort. “It needs a crash cart.”
“Fuck off, Alden. We’re not all artists, you know.” Danny pushes off his seat.
“Hey. I don’t work in this medium,” I say. “The last time I touched a piece of clay was at art school.”
“Clay and metal, same fucking difference,” he grumbles.
“It’s not about perfection, Danny,” Cora says, which will be hard for him to hear because he’s all about setting impossible standards. “It’s about producing something that reflects you in some way.”
“Nothing about this pot is a reflection of me,” he moans. “Look at it.”
“I don’t know. The lumpiness reminds me of your bonehead.”
Danny shoots me a withering look.
“And the stumpiness is like your sense of humor,” Tobias says.
“Fuck all of you.”
“Boys,” Cora says in a low voice. “All this negativity is going to seep into your clay. It’ll make your pots crack.”
“You don’t seriously believe that?” Of course, Mark would be taking everything literally.
“I do.” Cora leans against the wall, surveying the scene with a smile playing on her lips: Four huge men hunched over a mishmash of shapes, and one scowling at his misshapen offering like he wants to toss it at the wall. I bet she’s regretting the day she suggested this, but I’m not. Seeing what she does and how much she loves her work has been eye-opening . We’re not that dissimilar, and the discovery adds another layer to the friendship we’ve all been developing. “Clay can feel your energy. I can’t create when I’m in a bad mood. Nothing goes right.”
“Yeah, you guys seriously fucked with Cora’s mojo when she moved in with you,” Naomi says from the corner. Charli hums in agreement, and shame floods over me. We hadn’t thought much of all the pranking and disagreements, other than Cora had started it. Apart from the bad smell it left in my closet and my day of wearing inappropriate footwear, it didn’t affect me much. Oh, and the ranch milk and toothpaste!
“She’s forgiven us for that,” River says confidently. My eyes flick to Cora, wanting to check her response to his confidence. She smiles, but I think I see a little flicker of something that isn’t reassuring. I don’t know. I get that the basis of her resentment toward us is deep-rooted. I don’t think River understands that she might be happier talking to us and spending time without fighting, but there might still be a lingering disquiet. In her position, I’d hate that my mom was with the man who wrecked my family. Forgiving that part would seem impossible, and maybe that’s how she feels too.
“Her mojo has definitely returned,” I say. “Those vases are spectacular.” I point to the shelves in the corner where Cora’s latest creations are stored. They’re colorful and exuberant. Exactly the kind of thing I’d have imagined the girl in front of me would create.
Today she’s wearing ripped denim dungarees and a lime-green cropped shirt that reveals the skin at her waist. On her feet are custom Converse that she’s painted to match the designs on her vases. She’s a walking explosion of color, which is in total contrast to me.
My work is stark and metal, polished and harsh, monotone and dramatic. I live in black. Black jeans and shirts. Black combat pants and tees. At most, I have a few gray items.
Cora’s my antithesis, my opposite in so many ways. But that seems just to make my stepsister more intriguing.
Is that gross? I know there’s a whole genre of porn associated with stepsibling relationships, but we haven’t grown up with each other. And none of us are referring to the fact that our parents are getting married. She’s just another woman, as far as I’m concerned, but she could feel very different.
Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’m the oldest in this family, and I have to be the one that keeps us on the straight and narrow. Cora’s a temptation that needs to stay just that.
“Just keep going,” Cora says. “Spend another five minutes refining what you have while I use the bathroom, and then I’ll show you what we need to do next.
As soon as Cora disappears, I leave my skinny, sculptural vase and grab my phone, heading to the storage area. “What are you doing?” Mark asks, his eyes narrowing.
“Taking some pictures. Don’t say anything, but I’m sure I can get the buyer I work with to take a look at these, maybe even stock them.”
“Are you serious?” Tobias says.
“Absolutely.”
“You should definitely do that.” Mark stands to watch me take as many shots as I can while Cora’s out of the room. He turns to Naomi and Charli. “Can you keep this under wraps? Just until Alden finds out for sure if his contact is interested in talking to Cora?”
They glance at each other, sharing some unreadable communication. “I guess,” Naomi says.
She obviously doesn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from Cora, which makes her an awesome friend in my book. “I’d rather not make promises I can’t deliver,” Alden says from where he’s kneeling on the floor, working on getting the best angles for the images.
“I get that,” Charli says. “Anything you can do to get her work out to a wider audience would be awesome. I hate seeing her struggle so much. The longer it goes on, the more confidence she loses in what she’s doing. But she deserves all the recognition. Her stuff is way cooler than most of the stuff in the department stores.”
“It is,” I say, standing quickly, conscious that Cora could return at any moment.
And I’m right because I’m only a few steps away from the storage shelves when she reappears. “Everyone finished?” she asks breezily.
“Yep,” we all say, except Danny, who’s still frowning at his disappointment of a pot.
“Great.” She smiles and nods as though she’s happy at an afternoon well spent. I, for one, have had an awesome time working in a new medium, and it’s given me some ideas about juxtaposing clay and metal in my future work. “Now, I’m going to show you what happens next.”
We’re back home before three pm, and I head straight to my room, hooking up my phone to my computer and downloading all the images I took at Cora’s studio. I spend some time altering lighting and cropping the pictures to ensure the ceramics look their best. Then I open a new email, typing my contact’s address at the top and attaching all the images.
Hey Siobhan,
I’ve discovered a new talent who hasn’t yet been scouted by any other mainstream retailers. I thought you’d like an opportunity to view her work before she gets snapped up by a competitor. Her style mixes vibrant colors with unusual form to create exuberant works that draw the eye and is pleasing to the observer.
I’ll be happy to introduce you to Cora once you’ve taken a look.
Regards,
Alden
I send it before I have a chance to internally debate whether it’s a good idea or not. Naomi and Charli were on board, and they are Cora’s friends. Still, a small nagging doubt hangs in my mind. What if she feels that I’m interfering? What if she hates that I’ve gotten involved?
I guess I’ll have to face that possibility if Siobhan gets back to me with as much interest as I’m expecting. Cora deserves success, and I hope she’ll accept a helping hand to get there.
