Shelves and shelves of ceramic pots and vases and clay mugs with fat handles lined the walls of the pottery class. Brokenhearted, Beth stayed long after everyone else had left, spinning the clay at the wheel, pulling the loose clay as it spun to form the bottom of a teapot. Her hair was in a pony-tail and her apron was covered with dry powdery clay from where it had splattered. She cried and cried, tears falling into the teapot as it spun, mixing with the wet clay.

When it was done she added a thick handle and a spout, still sobbing uncontrollably. She carefully placed the teapot into the kiln beside the lid she had already made and the two tea cups. Then she closed the door. After it was fired she painted it with blue glaze and put it back in the oven.

When the tea service was ready she had her father over for tea. The first sip he drank caused him to burst into tears. He was so ashamed he left without saying a word, crying all the way down the hallway to the elevator.

On a pretense of going over some financial documents, she got her ex to have tea with her the next day. His eyes were cold and he regarded her with a pompous smirk. But when he had a drink of tea from the blue teapot he was reduced quickly to a blubbering baby.

Beth went through all her family and friends like this. After a particularly loud episode her neighbors complained to the landlord. When he came to the door, she invited him in for tea and he broke down like all the others. She comforted him and he fell in love with her. The two moved in together and have been inseparable since.

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