bowl.”
“Generous.”
She handed it to me.
It felt heavier than I expected, solid and cool, carrying the small irregularities my hands had made. I turned it over and found my initials beneath the base. The instructor had left them visible.
Sabrina watched me.
“You’re pleased.”
“I’m deciding.”
“You’re pleased.”
I looked at the bowl again.
“Yes,” I admitted.
She smiled.
At my apartment, I placed it on the little table beside the door. My keys landed in it with a clear ceramic sound. They stayed there, which exceeded every
