Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters (17 page)

Anna set down the box. “It’s a surprise.” She lifted the lid and let Theresa peek inside.

Theresa’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I get it. Chocolate for love, right?

That’s great. Too bad it’s not heart-shaped. Gordon loves the irony of bourgeois kitsch.”

“It’s not a quiche. It’s a chocolate hazelnut torte.”

Theresa burst into laughter. “Oh, Anna, you’re priceless. I can see why Gordon likes you.”

Anna’s smile felt tight and strained. She had said something wrong, or funny, or both, but she wouldn’t let Theresa know it was unintentional.

“Where did you get this?” Theresa asked, inhaling the delicious aroma. “That bakery on the west side?”

“No, I made it.”

“Really?” She shook her head in regret. “You’re so lucky. I wish I had time to bake. I haven’t cooked in years. I’m always too busy.”

“I’m a chef. It’s what I do.”

“Oh.” Theresa nodded. “That’s right. But you’re really just, like, a lunch lady, right? Not a real ‘chef’ chef, as in a restaurant, right?”

Anna could not think of a reply that would suffice.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Theresa added. “Someone has to feed the students’ bodies while we feed their minds, isn’t that so?”

“There’s a lot about what you said that isn’t so,” said Anna. “I’m not a server on the cafeteria line, if that’s what you think. I develop recipes, direct the cooks, supervise my student workers—and that’s just in the dining halls. I also prepare banquets and special events, sometimes for the provost himself.”

“Of course you do,” said Theresa encouragingly. “You absolutely should feel good about what you do. Never forget that every contribution to the academy is important, from the president to the lowliest custodian.”

“I do feel good about what I do,” said Anna. Something in Theresa’s tone, in direct contradiction to her words, suggested that she should not.

“Absolutely,” said Theresa again, nodding.

They stood there looking at each other in strained silence. Anna couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she stammered something about having to catch the bus and left.

As she rode home, she felt tears of embarrassment and anger gathering. How dare that woman make her feel inferior? Theresa was “too busy” to bake; important people like her never had time to cook for themselves. Only insignificant people like Anna could afford to waste time over pots and pans. People with doctorates hired people like Anna to save themselves from such menial tasks.

“You’re really like, just, like, a lunch lady, right?” Anna muttered, imitating Theresa. “Not a real, like, ‘chef’ chef, right?” For a poet, Theresa was amazingly inarticulate. She was also a snob, and Anna hated that she had been too surprised to defend herself properly. What was worse, though, was the sinking suspicion that if Gordon had been there, he would have agreed with every word Theresa had uttered.

They were perfect for each other.

Anna ought to face the facts: She and Gordon were a mistake. She had never doubted herself or her life choices before they got involved, but now she did little else. What precisely did he find so offensive about Anna’s cooking and quilting? She was hardly a throwback to the Dark Ages just because she enjoyed traditionally female pursuits. She was not about to stop voting and driving and she defied anyone to try to stuff her into a corset. Admittedly, Gordon and Theresa knew much more about feminist theory than Anna ever would—their English department offered entire courses on the subject—but it hardly seemed very liberating to expect Anna to become ashamed of her talents just because they did not meet other people’s expectations.

What on earth was wrong with being a chef?

Gordon had known what she did for a living from the very first. Why had he asked her out if he was ashamed of her? Unless those feelings had come along later, courtesy of Theresa’s influence.

Anna walked home from the bus stop dejected and lost in thought. Jeremy, descending the apartment stairs in a rush, almost ran into her. “Sorry, Anna,” he said cheerfully, but a second glance stopped him short. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Anna just shook her head.

“What did Gordon do now?”

How did he know? She never complained about Gordon to him. She had a sudden, frantic worry about the thickness of the
building’s walls. “It’s nothing like that,” she said. “I’m just—I don’t know. I’m just tired.”

“Uh huh.” He leaned against the banister, studying her. “Maybe you’re tired of Gordon.”

“I’m not tired of him, but maybe I am tired of some of the things he does.”

“What’s the difference?”

She did not want to pursue this line of questioning, knowing where it would lead. “There must be a difference. What a person
is
is not the same as what they
do
. ”

And that was precisely what Gordon would never understand.

Jeremy still looked concerned. “If you ever need to talk—”

“I know. You’re right across the hall.” She continued upstairs. “See you, Jeremy. Thanks.”

Upstairs, she checked her answering machine—Gordon had not called—and washed her cake pans and batter bowls in the tiny sink. She had a sudden craving for a rich dessert and wished she had kept the torte for herself. Gordon would not appreciate it. He and Theresa would make it the subject of a research paper for an academic journal: “Tortes and the Chauvinistic Female in Contemporary American Society.” They would probably win an award and Anna would end up assigned to the English Department’s celebratory banquet.

Rather than make and devour an entire second torte, Anna brought out her sewing machine and worked on the blueberry quilt. Sending the fabric beneath the needle with the pedal all the way to the floor was as effective a form of therapy as eating, and much better for her.

A few hours later, she heard a pounding on the front door over the cheerful, industrious buzz of the sewing machine. She finished a seam and went to the door. Through the peephole, she saw Gordon standing in the hallway, his hands behind his back.

She resisted the instinct to rush around to conceal all evidence of her quilt. She opened the door. “Hi, Gordon.”

“Hi,” he said. “Thanks for the cake. Theresa and I tried it. It was delicious.”

She stood in the doorway, her hand still upon the knob. “I’m glad you liked it.” She could not care less what Theresa thought.

“May I come in?”

She let him enter, and after she closed the door behind him, he held out a bottle of wine and a ribbon-tied scroll. “For you. A token of thanks.”

Wine she recognized, but she eyed the scroll warily. “What’s this?”

He held out the scroll until she took it. “It’s a poem. A sonnet. I wrote it for you.”

“You wrote me a sonnet?” She untied the ribbon and carefully unrolled the paper. “That’s sweet. No one ever wrote me a poem before.”

“I hope you like it.”

She read the lines, trying to make sense of them. “Come, Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,” it began, and became even less clear as it went on. Maybe it was the old-fashioned language he had used, but the poem didn’t seem very romantic. It sounded more like someone complaining about insomnia.

Gordon must have sensed her doubt. “It’s about a man who begs for sleep to overtake him so that he’s no longer tortured by thoughts of the woman he cares for.”

“Thoughts of me torture you?”

“No, no. What I mean is, thoughts of not being with you, not being able to have you. Thoughts that you might be angry at me.” He gestured to the paper. “That’s why in the poem I’m so eager to fall asleep, because then I can dream about you.”

“Oh. ‘Livelier than elsewhere, Anna’s image see.’ That’s the dream.”

“Exactly.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on one side of her face, close to her mouth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home when you came over. Theresa said you left in a huff.”

“I did not,” said Anna. “And even if I had, I had every reason to, after what Theresa said.”

“What did she say?”

“She called me a lunch lady.”

“Did she?” Gordon considered. “Don’t you prepare lunch in the dining halls?”

“Yes, but my job title is not ‘lunch lady.’”

“Did you tell Theresa your job title?”

“I …” Anna tried to remember. “I think I told her I was a chef. I can’t remember.”

“If you can’t remember, how can you expect her to?” He kissed her other cheek, lingering. “Just forget it. Theresa loved the cake. I loved the cake. Let’s not fight anymore.” He kissed her on the lips.

She returned the kiss, and as she did, she reminded herself that she was annoyed with Theresa, not him. Gordon did love her, even if he never said it in those exact words.

Suddenly it occurred to her that she and Gordon both wanted the other to be something they weren’t. If it was wrong for Gordon, it was wrong for her, too. She had to accept him as he was and hope he would learn to do the same.

But how could she get Gordon to appreciate
her
for who
she
was? Distracting his attention away from Theresa couldn’t hurt. It was a pity Theresa didn’t have a boyfriend of her own. If Gordon saw that Theresa was happily involved with someone else, he might lose interest.

Maybe that was the answer: find someone for Theresa. But whom? Theresa would probably want someone well educated and interested in the arts, but most of the men Anna knew who fit that description were confirmed bachelors nearing retirement age or already married.

Except for one. The perfect one.

After that flash of inspiration, Anna was so eager to get started with her plan that she could not get rid of Gordon fast enough. As
she guided him to the door, he protested mildly until she reminded him about his upcoming candidacy exam, when he perked up and agreed that he ought to get to the library. She watched from the window as he strolled down the block and turned the corner; then she hurried across the hall and knocked on Jeremy’s door. Jeremy was the ideal prospective boyfriend—cute, considerate, smart, funny. If Anna were not already attached, she might ask him out herself.

Anna gave him her brightest smile when he answered the door. “Hi, Jeremy. Listen. I have a huge favor to ask.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Would you go out on a double date with me, Gordon, and Gordon’s roommate, Theresa?”

“Go where with whom?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask. Double dates can be awkward if everyone doesn’t know everyone else and blind double dates are even worse. But if you could do this for me, I would make it up to you, I swear. Chocolate desserts every night for a month.”

“Seriously? Every night?” Then he shook his head. “Wait. Hold on. Anna, you know I have a girlfriend.”

“But I thought …” Anna hesitated. “When Summer moved out, I thought you broke up. I thought she was going away to graduate school in a few months.”

Jeremy shifted his weight and shrugged. “She did, we did, and she is, but we’re back together and planning to stay that way. At least that’s what I’m planning.”

“Oh.” Anna considered. “Well, do you think she would mind?”

“I think she might.”

“What if all four of us agreed that we were just going out as friends?”

“Anna, you’re making my head hurt.”

“I’m sorry. I know this sounds strange, but Gordon has this—I don’t know what to call it—this strange fixation on his roommate.
Fixation isn’t the right word. He’s letting her influence him too much. I think it would be healthier if she met some other guys, and, and, maybe—”

“Found her own boyfriend so she’d leave yours alone.”

“Yes.” Anna gave him a feeble grin. “That’s it exactly.”

He tried to hide a smile. “So, knowing I’m already seeing someone, you want to hook me up with someone you don’t even like.”

“I wouldn’t have put it exactly that way.”

Jeremy laughed. “Anna—”

“I know. I’m out of my mind. But is there any way you could do it? You’re the most perfect guy I know.”

“For Theresa?”

“For anyone. If they had a contest, you would win. But even if you don’t become Theresa’s boyfriend—”

“I won’t. That’s a promise.”

“Even if you don’t, you’ll still show her that there are men other than Gordon in the world. You’ll encourage her to start looking around.”

He regarded her with amused patience. “Do you really expect me to believe anything you say after you call me the most perfect guy you know?”

He had to pick the most honest part of her request. “That’s not mere flattery.”

“So you say.” He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly curls. “Okay. I’ll do it. For you.”

“And for the desserts.”

“And for the desserts, sure. As long as there are no expectations beyond one night out.”

“I promise to present it as a night out with friends. Just friends.”

“All right.” Jeremy looked as if he regretted it already. “I hope Gordon is worth all this.”

“Of course he is,” said Anna staunchly.

“Anyway, I’m glad you came over. I have something to tell you.” He opened the door wider and beckoned her inside. His apartment, like all of those on his side of the building, was larger than hers, with two bedrooms and a substantially larger kitchen and living room. “Since Summer’s going away, there’s an opening for a quilt teacher at Elm Creek Quilts. Two openings, actually, since another teacher is leaving, too.”

“Really?” Anna watched as he dug into his backpack and took a sheet of paper from a folder. “Are they looking for someone whose quilts are similar to Summer’s? Because mine are sort of … different.”

“They’re unique,” he agreed, handing her the page. One glance told her it was ad copy. “Here’s what you need to know. I’ve already told Summer you might apply, so they’ll be looking out for you. I know it’s not the same as running your own restaurant, but it might be fun.”

“I’m sure it would be. Thank you.” She had told him once that she might look for a second job to help her build up her savings more rapidly, but she had not expected him to remember her offhand remark. Gordon did not even know of her plans, and Jeremy had already found her a promising lead.

Now she really owed him.

Back in her own apartment, she read the ad, carefully noting the job requirements. She never sewed anything by hand, but she could machine piece, appliqué, and quilt very well, at least in comparison to the quilts displayed at the Waterford Quilting Guild’s annual show in the college library. She always drafted her own original patterns, and as for possessing the ability to tolerate quirky coworkers, emotional turmoil, and the occasional minor disaster, she had finely honed that skill thanks to her years in professional kitchens. Seasonal work with a flexible schedule was exactly what she needed from a second job.