Page 9 of Sweeter

“I could ask you the same thing. How does everything not seem pointless or fake?”

It’s like asking why art exists, or why love feels good. The question is so big it tears at the corners of my brain. I settle for poking him again. “Because it isn’t! Life is fun and weird and always changing andhow long have you felt like this?”

Will tilts his head so his face is half in shadow. “A while.”

“Have you gone to see someone about it?”

“I’m not depressed, I just don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve got the money to do anything, but nothing interests me.”

“But everything issointeresting!” I say, still baffled. “You’re at a sugar baby commiseration party having taken six drinks to the face!”

He smiles, teeth flashing in the dark. “Okay, so this is interesting, but what about the rest? How do I get back on track?”

“You’re asking me?”

He chuckles. “You’re the artist. Don’t you all know the secrets of the universe?”

Over Will’s shoulder, I see the sugar babies nudging each other and smiling at us. They can see where this is going and so can I. I feel bad. Why do I get a date out of this shitty evening and not them? But, before I can move away, the song changes into a gentler, electronic one. Will’s hands slide up my waist and we sway back and forth, slow dancing. I know that if I look up, he’ll kiss me, and as electric as the thought is, I keep my eyes on Will’s collarbones.

Molding porcelain into cups takes twenty minutes—especially if you’re not too fussed about the shape. The firing is what makes ceramics such a lengthy process. A kiln needs days to harden possibility into certainty. It requires precision. Heat. Deliberate action.

A cup has been thrown between Will and I, all I have to do is put it in the kiln. Yet, I’m not kissing him, I’m swaying and thinking and thinking and swaying.

Will lowers his mouth to my ear. “I think you’re fucking fascinating.”

All at once, I know why I can’t kiss him. What he’s saying strikes a familiar chord and that chord is‘fix me, manic pixie dream girl. Make life worth living with your artsy vagina.’They played it once a week in Portland. It was my version of Wonderwall. Only, I could shake off the bearded mama’s boys. Will is something else. An All-American tech bro whose Achilles heel isn’t ‘having a PS4 controller welded to his hand’ but ‘debilitating success.’ So intriguing. So handsome. Such a dangerous move when I need to focus on not being broke.

“Marley?”

God, I want to say yes. ‘Yes, William Faulkner, I will heal you with my magic pussy. I will pour loveliness into your mouth until you know the world is too hilarious and terrible and gorgeous to be boring.’

But that’s impossible. I’m not magic, and neither is my pussy.

“I can’t fix you,” I say. “Whatever you’ve lost, you won’t find it in bed with me.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “Bed? Who said anything about bed? I’m saving myself for marriage, thanks.”

I laugh. Will laughs too. He’s got a great laugh, clear and hard. How many girls have there been since he designed Hellfire? Lots, I’m betting. He’s got that look. Did any of them feel the gray dusting him? Did they pull away or want to make him better? The latter, I’m guessing. The call to fix the broken bird is strong, and so is Will’s beauty. I squint, trying to see his eyes, but Will’s hat is shadowing his forehead. I stand on tiptoe and pull the cap off his head. Bar light bathes his face, turning his hair to gold. I want to put my fingers through it. Kiss him, feel him.

Will’s arms tighten around me. “I know I said I’m committed to celibacy, but I’d make an exception for you.”

But you’re bored, I think.And I can only be new once. What about tomorrow, Will? What about my bills and your grayness? We can fuck, but who’s going to save us?

I poke him in his muscly abdomen. “You don’t need a lover; you need to not be bored with life.”

“Things can be two things.”

“Not these kinds of things. You don’t want us to hurt each other, do you?”

His face grows solemn. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Then how do we make something good out of this surprise connection?”

Will sways us back and forth, looking thoughtful. “We could have a bath?”

“Be serious.”

“I am! I do my best thinking in the bath. Also, I smell like old wine.”

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