He looked different without the BMW.
Not poorer.
Smaller.
He stood outside my door holding the broken gift box.
I stared at it.
“Where did you get that?”
“Mom took it from your bag yesterday when you weren’t looking.”
Of course she had.
He held it awkwardly.
“I brought it back.”
Kendall appeared behind me.
Gage saw her and looked away.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then he said, “I shouldn’t have thrown it.”
Kendall waited.
He shifted his weight.
“I was showing off.”
Still she said nothing.
“My friends were there.
The box wasn’t really my style and I thought…”
He stopped.
“You thought making me look stupid would make you look cool,” Kendall said.
Gage looked at her.
“Yeah.”
Her voice remained calm.
“Did it?”
He didn’t answer.
That question did more damage than anything I could have said.
Finally he looked at me.
“I need help with the shop.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because even after losing the BMW, even after showing up with the broken box, he still could not get through an apology without arriving at money.
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“I apologized.”
“You admitted what you did.
That isn’t a payment receipt.”
“I’m trying here.”
“Then keep trying when there’s nothing in it for you.”
He looked at Kendall again.
“Can I fix the box?”
She glanced at the cracked lid.
Then at the new design on her laptop.
“No.”
His face changed.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m fixing it.”
He nodded slowly.
Then he placed the box on the table and left.
The pottery shop did not collapse overnight.
That was important.
Real consequences rarely arrive as one dramatic explosion.
They came as smaller things Gage had never learned to manage.
He arranged rides.
He called customers himself.
