Polly never really took to it, and Nina found the whole process too “sticky,” but Laura went back on her own regularly and produced a surprising number of mugs and dishes. All the animals had new matching food bowls, and she was working on a birdbath for Bob’s water feature. She had also mastered the Heidi-style braid buns, which turned out to be a kick-ass look on her and kept her hair out of the clay. She also acquired a number of thin cotton men’s dress shirts, which she wore for pottery class, and which for some reason drove Bob quietly insane with lust. He was much better at hiding his feelings than Laura was, but he did make an effort to be home on the evenings she went to the studio. He would look forward to the moment she walked in the door, her sleeves rolled up, thin shirt streaked with clay, hair coming loose and wild, and feel a kind of joy in her beauty that he never got tired of. He loved how willing she was to acquire new skills, how brave she was in tackling her challenges. He wished for half her courage, because maybe then he’d be able to tell her how he felt.

•   •   •

One day toward the end of October, Laura was in the garden lazily throwing a ball for Herbert. She was pleased to discover she could still run after the dog while wearing the boots she’d found at the thrift store recently, and the vintage jeans turned out to be as comfortable as sweatpants once you got used to them. She was just daydreaming about maybe putting the same boots under a summer dress when her phone rang and she answered it without looking, a decision she regretted as soon as she heard her mother’s voice.

For once, though, her mother sounded uncertain.

“Uh, hi, Laura?”

Laura confirmed her existence, glad her mother couldn’t raise her eyebrows at the Visit LA: It’s a riot! shirt she was wearing.

“Um,” said her mom, a syllable Laura wasn’t sure she’d ever heard her use before, “we got your package.”

Laura blushed. “Oh yeah? That came quickly.”

“They’re . . . lovely. Did you . . .” Again, massive hesitation. “Make them?”

Laura giggled nervously. “I did, yes.”

“Oh.” Her mom was silent.

Laura frowned. “It’s fine if you don’t like them,” she said. “I just started, I’m sure I’ll get better at it.”

“No,” said her mom. “No, I love mine. You never made me anything before.”

And then, unmistakably, she sniffed.

“Mom, are you OK?” said Laura, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” said her mom. “I was just touched that you made me a mug with ‘Mom’ on it, isn’t that a normal response?” Her tone got noticeably sharper. “I believe it’s appropriate to have maternal feelings of pride when one’s offspring does something nice.”