Page 6 of Square Waves (Big Fan #2)

V

I show up for our drinks date five minutes early, and at first, I’m not sure I’m in the right space.

Willa’s been a talented artist since we met in elementary school, but a few years ago, her career really took off.

She started selling her ceramics on TikTok as a side hustle, her customer base grew steadily, and then, bam, Goop put one of her serving platters in their gift guide, and she sold out of everything on her site instantly.

She’s spent the last eight months scrambling to catch up with demand; now she’s opening a bona fide storefront/ community space: Somewhere she can sell her own stuff and also host pottery workshops and parties and feature other artists’ work.

Or at least that’s how she described it to me over text.

When I first moved away for college, we used to FaceTime weekly, but over the years, that’s evolved into random texts and voice notes and rare moments of serendipity when we’re both free at the same time so that those exchanges can take the shape of a conversation.

Luckily we’ve always maintained the same sense of closeness and ease—an ability to pick back up where we left off.

When she told me her shop would be on Fourth Street, I pictured the sleek retail section that’s sprung up in the last decade: near the Warby Parker store, maybe, across from the Aesop.

Instead, I’m six blocks away, in front of what looks like a barely converted warehouse.

The only real sign of life is that the front door has been freshly painted a bright geranium red.

I knock and then wait. And wait. And wait.

After a couple minutes, I’m about to call when the door bursts open, and there she is: Willa Daniels, in all of her glory.

Her hair is barely restrained by a bandanna.

Her brown skin is clear like she’s never had a zit—which she hasn’t, at least on my watch.

She’s covered in a fine layer of what I think is sawdust and flecked all over with clay.

She looks great—she always looks great—but her dark-brown eyes have circles underneath them.

A goofy smile breaks across her face when she sees me.

She opens her arms for a hug. “I can’t believe you’re really here!

How long were you knocking? I was just in the back and didn’t hear you; I really lost track of time.

Someone from Elle was here earlier—did I tell you they’re doing a profile?

—which is so cool, but I thought the interview was going to be thirty minutes, and it ran two hours, and my day just got kind of. .. fucked.”

She’s always bubbly, but she also sounds a little frenetic. Frantic, even. “Should we reschedule?” I offer. “If you’re too tired...”

Willa looks at me like I’m being crazy. “Oh my god, no, we have to get drinks. I’ve been here for like twenty-four hours straight at this point, and I don’t think—I’m not sure I had lunch?

” She looks like she genuinely doesn’t remember, which is distressing.

“Also, I’m not gonna let you leave Berkeley before we’ve fully, properly caught up.

I did the math, and it’s two fucking years since the last time we saw each other in person. ”

I flinch. I haven’t been avoiding my hometown per se, but there haven’t been many occasions that have demanded my presence, and I haven’t made it my business to do anything about that.

Most holiday celebrations happen with extended family in Philly, so I’ve had a whole litany of excuses to keep me on the other coast. It might be closer to four years since I’ve been back, but I’m not gonna remind Willa of that.

“Too long,” I say and squeeze her forearm.

“Wanna give me a quick tour before we leave, or will that just stress you out more?”

“No, no, come inside. Just watch your step—I had my sister here earlier to help paint, and she brought her kids, so I can’t guarantee there aren’t still stray monster trucks lying around.”

She turns and waves me inside. “The space was completely raw when we signed the lease. Bryce”—Willa’s boyfriend—“refinished the floors himself and installed all of the tile in the bathrooms. It’s really been so crazy, Cass.

I learned how to caulk? And install dimmers?

But it is amazing to be able to make the space exactly how I want it to be. ”

I follow behind her, taking it all in. I’m equal parts proud and jealous, and my instinct to hide from both feelings kicks in.

I can see why she fell in love with the space, even though it’s still kind of a mess.

Overhead skylights make up for the lack of front windows, and the early evening sun streams onto the wooden planks under my feet.

But I can also see uneven patches and drips where her nephews probably distracted her makeshift painting crew.

There’s no furniture yet or lighting fixtures.

In one corner of the ceiling, there’s a cluster of dangling wires that looks potentially life-threatening.

She has two and a half weeks until opening, twenty days to make enough inventory to stock the store and also make the space look like.

.. a store. I have a feeling she’s going to need every one of them.

“Is it just you and whatever family members you can rustle up to help you?” I ask.

“Bryce is here on weekends, but his job’s hellish during the week,” Willa says. “Some friends come in when they can. And, actually, I hired someone. He’s been a huge help.”

“That’s so fancy!”

“Oh, it’s not that fancy.”

“It is to me! An employee!”

She smiles fondly. “He barely listens to me.”

“No. You’re the boss! Is he a CCA student? An arty local? Where did you find him?”

Willa looks more amused by this conversation than she should. “You can come see for yourself,” she says. “Then we’ll go.”

She gestures to a door propped open along the back wall, and as I step across the threshold, I mostly see more chaos.

The floor is covered in bags of clay, boxes of brushes, and glaze chemicals.

Half of the tables hold pieces in progress covered by loose plastic sheeting.

A central workspace is laid out with more boxes plus tools and notebooks.

One corner holds the kiln; across the room from it is a pottery wheel.

Willa became known for her hand-pinched pieces but has started to throw more lately, in part to keep up with demand.

There’s a person angled over the wheel. His dark head is bent in concentration, and long, nimble fingers carefully shape a mound of wet clay.

He’s wearing a cutoff tank top, and his arms flex as he gently urges the material out and up to make the beginning of what looks like a cup.

A tattoo winds up one forearm, across his biceps.

A tattoo I know. A tattoo I had to resist the urge to lick last night.

“Hey, Lee. Look who’s here,” Willa calls out, a little too much honey in her voice.

He looks up, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, I find myself unexpectedly face-to-face with Leon Park.

Of course. Of course this is happening. Willa never did understand why I hated Leon so much; they stayed friends even after she and Zeke broke up.

And he would be the kind of guy who would be up for helping Willa out with this job, as long as she’s lenient with his hours, depending on the surf report.

You just put “flexible schedule” on your list of future job requirements , the voice in my head starts before I tell it to shut the fuck up.

Then Leon shakes his hair out of his face, and I realize that the specks I saw last night weren’t paint—they were bits of dried glaze.

I would ask what I’m being punished for if the answer wasn’t so obvious.

The pottery wheel is still turning in brisk, even circles, but Leon’s hand clenches, and the vessel he was shaping collapses beneath it. He looks down at the mess and scowls. “Well that’s done,” he says. He stands up and wipes his palms on his jeans. My eyes linger on the wet patches on his thighs.

The feeling of being caught off guard makes me feisty. “Hi, Leon,” I say too brightly.

“Hi.” He turns his back to me as he goes to the sink to rinse his hands. Then he turns around again and regards me coolly. “What are you doing here?”

It’s impossible not to feel glaringly self-conscious. Does he already regret what happened last night? Or worse, does he think I showed up here, like, to see him?

I try desperately to figure out how to convey that I’m as shocked by this turn of events as he is. “Does Leon really work for you ?” I ask Willa in a thin, demanding tone. I wince as I see how it lands.

He narrows his eyes and answers before she can. “Sorry, is that too plebeian for you, Cassidy?”

I instantly feel like shit. If I had any fantasies that one night of spectacular sex would change the tenor of things between us, they’ve been thoroughly shattered.

We haven’t been in each other’s presence for five minutes, and we’re back to the status quo: feints and jabs.

Polite smiles doing nothing to mask irritation and aggression.

Willa looks back and forth between us and sighs.

“This is why I didn’t warn either of you about this.

I was hoping that you could just... be normal about each other for once.

Clearly too much to ask. But yes, Cassidy, Leon works with me.

Leon, Cassidy and I are about to take off to get a drink.

Two more minutes, and then you can go back to ignoring each other for the rest of eternity. Okay?”

“Fine with me,” Leon grumbles.

“Me too,” I say.

Willa rolls her eyes. Then, to Leon, she says, “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s the—” He gestures with one hand.

“Oh right, the cabinetry gig. That’s fine. I’ll manage.”

Leon nods and goes back to the wheel. Willa grabs her purse off a chair and turns to me. “Let’s go?”

Judging by the way the bartender greets Willa at the bar a few blocks from the shop, she’s already a regular.

I grimace at the sight of a martini on the cocktail menu and opt for a glass of pinot noir.

Do like the locals do. When we settle ourselves into a velvet-lined booth, I consider telling Willa about last night with Leon—ten years ago, it would already have been out of my mouth—but then Willa leans her head back and sighs deeply. She really does look tired.

“For real, how are you holding up?” I ask.

Willa keeps her eyes closed. “Fine.”

“Okay, but I gotta tell you, you’re not being very convincing.”

She opens her eyelids, lolls her head toward me, and smiles. “You just caught me at the end of a long day. And Leon being out tomorrow—it’s going to make things harder. That’s all.”

“He has another job?” I venture in the most neutral tone I can muster. It’s the natural next question, is all.

“I mean, I can’t pay him much. That he’s working for me is practically a favor at this point, and I’d be completely screwed without him. I gave him some equity in the business, so if we’re ever profitable, he’ll have a stake. But for now, he’s still picking up carpentry jobs to make ends meet.”

I nod, but internally I steel myself against even the idea of giving him any credit. I appreciate that Leon is doing Willa a solid, but if I know him, soon enough, he’ll be on to the next, and it’s likely to leave Willa in a pinch.

“What do you have to do tomorrow?” I ask.

“Painting. That’s the first thing, getting those walls finished.

They were supposed to be done today, but obviously they’re not yet, and until the paint dries, Leon can’t install the shelves.

Once they’re in it’ll help me figure out where the pedestals are going to go—but those have to be painted too.

Fuck, I forgot about that. And that’s not even getting into the electrical stuff, which Leon swears he can do himself, but he’s not licensed, and I can’t have someone getting electrocuted in my space, you know?

So I’ve got a guy coming, but it’s going to be a few days, and—anyway.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to give you my entire to-do list.”

I nudge her with an elbow. “I came to hear how you’re doing, so if that’s how you’re doing, then that’s what I’m here for.”

Willa fluffs her hair and gives me a smirk. “It’s all very glamorous, as you can see.”

“It is! I mean, you’re a working artist! How many people can say that?”

Willa lets out a long sigh. “I know, I know. I am trying to keep sight of that. I’m definitely working. And I know you get the intensity.”

“I do. Which is why I’m actually on sabbatical right now.

It felt like too much to get into over text, but I needed a break.

” I say it with my usual practiced smile-and-laugh, like I’m humble-bragging about a windfall of PTO.

There would have been a time when Willa would have seen right through my act, but I’ve been away for long enough that she doesn’t—or if she does, she doesn’t say so.

My stomach squirms with discomfort. I feel like an asshole, lying to her so baldly.

Somehow, it’s even worse that she’s not questioning it.

“Oh, wow! What are your plans?” she asks.

“You know, I don’t really... have any.”

As I admit it, an idea takes shape in my mind. It’s obviously a bad one. It would involve doing exactly what Tilly told me to avoid. And probably bring me back into contact with Leon.

But , the excuse-making part of my brain reasons, she just said Leon won’t be there tomorrow. And if you help for one day—that’s not a big deal, is it? You can rest for two and a half weeks after that.

“What if I came in to help tomorrow?” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it.

Willa’s face lights up. “Oh my god, really? That would be amazing, Cass. I can’t pay you, but I’d buy you lunch or something.

I have a bunch of inventory that all needs to get priced and input into the SKU system, and if you could help me with the painting and then do that for even just an hour—or two—”

I laugh. “You have me all day.”