Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters (16 page)

“Someday,” she said again, setting the table for one.

After supper, she washed the dishes, checked the phone for a dial tone to make sure it was working, and decided to unwind before bed by quilting for a little while. After taking her sewing machine from the closet to the kitchen table and retrieving her cutting board from beneath the day bed, she laid the quilt top in
progress on the floor and pondered it from atop a chair. “Somehow everything in my life ends up being about food,” she murmured, frowning thoughtfully at the blue circles appliquéd on a background of white and brown. There was no escaping it. What she had intended as an abstract arrangement of circles of varying sizes and hues set against two contrasting forms in brown and white now resembled nothing so much as a cascade of ripe blueberries falling from an overturned bucket into a pool of rich cream. At least it would complement her strawberry pie quilt, her eggs Benedict quilt, and her chocolate soufflé quilt. If anyone asked, she would say that the resemblance was intentional. She could claim the quilts were a series: Quilts from the Kitchen.

Not that anyone would ask, since it was unlikely that anyone would ever see them. Anna had shown her quilts to Jeremy and his girlfriend once, but since Summer moved out of his apartment and into Elm Creek Manor, Anna rarely saw her anymore.

She wouldn’t show her quilts to Gordon, either. Gordon knew she quilted but wasn’t interested—although it might be more accurate to say that her quilting perplexed him. After he told her that she was too intelligent to spend her time stitching away pointlessly, she had learned to conceal her quilting projects as soon as she heard his key in the lock. When he had quoted some eighteenth-century woman’s essay denouncing women who had nothing better to do than sit around “stitching upon samplers,” Anna had felt wounded. The wound had stung even more when Gordon had added that Theresa taught that insulting essay in her creative nonfiction class.

Gordon’s roommate Theresa had been a part of their relationship from the beginning. Even on that first night as Anna and Gordon talked in the kitchen while the rest of the English department enjoyed dessert in the other room, Gordon found ways to bring Theresa into the conversation. When he did it again on their first official date at the coffee shop, Anna asked him if he and Theresa
were dating or if they had broken up. He laughed and said that he and Theresa were “special friends,” but they had never had a romantic interest in each other. “Romantic love is mere biochemistry, anyway,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. Anna nodded to indicate that she understood, though she wasn’t sure she did. It seemed a rather cynical attitude for a first date.

More than fourteen months had passed since then, and Anna had yet to meet the mystery woman. She felt certain she would recognize Theresa if she saw her, though. She must be brilliant and alluring; nothing else could explain Gordon’s preoccupation.

Anna envisioned a tall, willowy, raven-haired woman with artistic hands and haunting eyes. Since she was a poet, she probably dressed all in black, or maybe she draped herself in yards of wildly colored ethnic print fabric. Theresa definitely wouldn’t be twenty pounds on the wrong side of plump, like Anna, and she would never fear that her boyfriend was ashamed of her job or her lack of a graduate degree or her double-digit dress size. No, Theresa’s mind would be focused on loftier affairs.

“But she probably can’t even boil water,” Anna said aloud.

She waited until it was too late for Gordon to call. Only then did she put away her quilting, turn out the lights, and go to bed.

When she woke the next morning, Anna decided to take her day off seriously and eat a meal prepared by someone else for a change. She considered going to the Bistro, a favorite spot for breakfast and lunch for local residents and college faculty, a popular student hangout in the evenings when the bar opened. She would probably run into some friends there, so she would not have to dine alone. L’Arc du Ciel was another possibility; although the most exclusive restaurant in town far exceeded her usual budget for dining out, their Sunday brunches were sublime and she could pick up a few ideas.

She quickly settled upon a far less gastronomically pleasing option, but one that had become her favorite dining spot nonetheless: Chuck’s. She tucked a tablet of graph paper and a pencil into her purse and walked a few blocks down the street to the restaurant that would hopefully one day be hers.

She ordered a chocolate cappuccino and a blueberry muffin, seated herself at an inconspicuous corner table, and, while she waited for her breakfast, drew a floor plan of the restaurant on the graph paper. Since she had never been in the kitchen and could see very little of it through the window where the cooks placed orders for the servers to pick up, she left that part of the drawing blank. By the time her breakfast arrived, she had sketched a rough blueprint of the dining areas and entryway. As she ate, she studied her drawing and compared it to her surroundings, drawing new lines and erasing others. She would remove the counter and the seven stools to make room for more tables. Where the order-up window was now, she would install a brick oven, as much for atmosphere as for cooking. She would replace the wood paneling with off-white stucco to brighten the room and make it more inviting. The entry should be extended to create a small foyer between the outside door and the door to the dining room. Currently there was only one door, and it led directly outside. That wasn’t a problem now, in midsummer, but she recalled from previous visits that in less temperate weather, every new customer brought in the cold and sometimes even drifts of snow. In January she had seen customers leave rather than take a table near the door.

A merry jingle reminded her of another change she would make—lose the bell over the door. It was fine for a diner, but not for the intimate but friendly, elegant yet casual restaurant she intended to create. She added a quick note to her drawing, then glanced up in time to see the couple who had entered. As the man smiled at the woman and gestured to an empty booth, Anna went motionless from surprise. He was Gordon.

Instinctively, she put her graph paper on the floor beside her chair and set her purse on top of it. She held still as the couple approached, and when Gordon’s expression didn’t change, she realized that he had not noticed her.

“Hi, Gordon,” she said when they had almost passed her table.

Gordon stopped short. “Anna? Well, hello. What a surprise.”

“Yes. It is.” Anna tried not to stare at his companion. This couldn’t be Theresa, the mysterious, glamorous Theresa. This woman was shorter than Anna and not much thinner, and wore thick glasses with black plastic rims. Her frizzy brown hair hung almost to her waist and was held away from her face with an elastic band. A bit of white fuzz clung to her left eyebrow.

Gordon turned to the woman. “Theresa, this is my friend, Anna. Anna, this is my roommate, Theresa.”

“Nice to meet you.” Theresa leaned forward and extended her hand.

Awkwardly, Anna shook it. “Nice to meet you, too, finally. Won’t you join me?”

Gordon glanced over his shoulder. “Actually, we were justä”

He broke off when he saw that Theresa was already pulling out a chair and sitting down. He shrugged and took the seat beside her.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Theresa,” Anna said. “All good, of course.”

Theresa’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Really? From whom?”

Anna paused. “From Gordon, of course.”

“Oh.” Theresa flashed him a quick grin before returning her attention to Anna. “How do you and Gordon know each other?”

Anna looked from Gordon to Theresa and back, puzzled. “Well, I’m sure Gordon’s already told you how we met at an English department function, and since then we’ve been seeing each other—”

“All over campus,” interrupted Gordon. “Just like this morning. That’s what happens at a smaller college. Wherever you go, you see people you know. Right?”

“Right,” echoed Anna, uncertain.

Theresa rested her elbows on the table and scrutinized her. “So, which department are you in? Are you a grad student or on the faculty?”

“Neither. I’m a chef for College Food Services.”

“Anna graduated from Elizabethtown College,” added Gordon quickly. “You’ve probably heard of it. It’s highly regarded for an undergraduate liberal arts education. Anna hasn’t decided upon a graduate school yet.”

Anna looked at him, speechless. She had already completed all the post-baccalaureate study she needed at the Culinary Institute of New York.

“It’s often best to take time off before returning for a graduate degree.” Theresa sat back, a fond smile playing on her lips. “For three years after I earned my A.B. in English Language and Literature from the University of Chicago—”

“Summa cum laude,” interjected Gordon.

Theresa rolled her eyes. “If you must. Summa cum laude from the University of Chicago, I wandered the continent with some of my more hedonistic friends. It was a wonderful opportunity to explore my own depths, gather grist for the mill. But now it’s back to work. What degree are you going for, Ann?”

“It’s Anna. Actually, I don’t really need a graduate degree for my work.”

Theresa pondered that briefly. “I suppose I don’t, either, technically. You either are a poet or you aren’t; no amount of training can modify the soul. If I want to teach at the university, however, I have to have my MFA. That’s the system. That’s the price we all pay.”

“An MBA would be useful, right, Anna?” Gordon persisted.

“I guess so,” said Anna reluctantly. “Marketing, management—sure. An MBA would be helpful, I suppose.” She looked at Gordon to see if she had said the right thing. He smiled his thanks, visibly relieved.

Somehow she managed to get through the rest of the encounter. Gordon and Theresa drank seemingly endless refills of coffee until they were wired from the caffeine. Anna sat quietly as they talked to each other, laughing at each other’s jokes, gossiping about departmental politics, discussing writers she had never heard of whose works she had never read. Finally it ended, and she was able to walk home, alone and very annoyed.

It was after ten o’clock at night when Gordon finally called. “Anna, about today.”

She broke in before he had the chance to make excuses. “Why haven’t you told Theresa about me?”

“Why should I have told her?”

“Because we’re involved, and she’s your roommate and a friend. My friends know about you.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“I prefer to keep my personal life private.”

Her throat tightened. “You’re ashamed of me because I’m not in graduate school. Because I’m not going to be some tenured professor in an ivory tower some day.”

“How could you say such a thing? That’s ridiculous. I also might add that it’s not fair of you to resort to cheap stereotypes about academics.”

“Not fair? Do you really want to talk about not fair?”

“Anna—”

“Gordon, I’m proud of my career. I’ve worked and studied very hard to get where I am. What I do is just as creative as Theresa’s poetry.”

“I know. I know. I was an idiot. I was wrong. After breakfast I told Theresa all about us. She liked you. She thought you were great.”

“Am I supposed to feel honored?”

“I said I was sorry. Can’t you forgive me?” said Gordon. “How can you not forgive me after I admitted I was wrong?”

He persisted, and eventually she gave in. He wanted to come over and continue the apology in person, but she refused. She was too tired to make up in the way he meant, and she had to get up early the next morning.

Conflicting work schedules kept them apart for the next two days, but on Wednesday, Anna hurried home from her lunch shift at South Dining Hall and baked Gordon a seven-layer chocolate hazelnut torte as an apology for her outburst on the phone. She packed it carefully in a bakery box and walked to campus to catch the bus to the east side. Having never visited his apartment, she had needed to look up his address in the campus directory and check the bus schedule to see which route to take. His answering machine picked up when she called to let him know she was on her way, but she decided to go even though he was not there. He usually went home for supper, so he would probably arrive before she did.

As she rode the bus, her purse on the seat beside her and the cake box balanced on her lap, she began to have second thoughts. Uninvited and unexpected might not be the best way to make her first visit to Gordon’s apartment. Whenever her friends expressed their bewilderment at his failure to invite her over after fourteen months of presumably exclusive dating, Anna had always managed to find a plausible excuse for him, but the encounter at the diner had left her rattled. Maybe she should leave the box outside his door. Or maybe she should get off at the next stop and take the first bus back toward campus. Surely Gordon would come to see her within a few days, while the torte was still reasonably fresh. She could wait until then to present it.

But she was his girlfriend. She pulled the wire to signal her approaching stop and got off the bus. They had been dating for more than a year. Surely a guy wouldn’t complain if his girlfriend
of almost fourteen months decided to stop by his apartment, especially to make up after an argument, especially bearing a seven-layer chocolate hazelnut torte.

She found his address and climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment. Theresa answered her knock.

“Hi,” Anna said, forcing a smile. “Is Gordon home?”

“Not at the moment.” Theresa glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure. “Do you need something?”

Anna kept the smile firmly in place. “I’m Anna. Gordon’s girlfriend? We met Sunday at Chuck’s Diner?”

“Oh, right, right.” Theresa opened the door wider and waved her in. “Did you want to wait for him to get home? I think he has office hours until six.”

“That’s all right.” Anna looked around the cluttered room. Books and newspapers were stacked on every horizontal surface. “I’ll just leave this in the kitchen and go.”

“Good enough.” Theresa led her into the adjacent kitchen and cleared a space on the counter. “I would have cleaned up, but Gordon didn’t mention you were coming.”