It’s today, the meeting in the park with her old friend. Another attempt to reconcile and repair after so much sad and hurt. There will be awkwardness and too many coffees she thinks, but she can’t really imagine what it will be like because of how things have been. She wonders if her friend will kiss her hello and whether they will cry or go very quiet. This friendship, she thinks, is like a broken pot. When a crack first appeared in it they both neglected it, so the crack got bigger, the vessel more damaged, much harder to fix. There’s no invisible mending possible here, but there’s this Japanese technique that she thinks of. It’s a wabi sabi thing that embraces imperfection and celebrates impermanence. The Japanese fix their pots by filling the crack with resin and powdered gold. Instead of trying to disguise the crack they lavish attention on it. The crack becomes the most beautiful part of the pot this way. Maybe today they can mend the crack between them with gold, make the flaw something to admire. There’s a chance here, she thinks. This could be good.