Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters (21 page)

“Should we invite Theresa and Jeremy to join us? Theresa enjoyed meeting Jeremy. She’s considering asking him out.”

“That’s nice,” said Anna, wondering if she should warn him. “But I meant just the two of us.”

“In that case, I can’t make it tonight. What’s your schedule like for the rest of the week?”

“Um, well, let me see.” Anna took her pocket calendar from her purse and checked. “I have the usual weekday things, a dinner Saturday evening, and a brunch on Sunday.”

“I’m busy every night next week. How about the next Saturday?”

“I’m free.”

“Let’s do something special a week from Saturday, then. Just the two of us.”

“Great,” she said, pleased. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You know I’m the spontaneous type. Surprise me.”

“Oh.” Her pleasure vanished. “Okay.”

“So it’s a date?”

“Sure. A week from Saturday.”

Anna hung up the phone with a sigh. At least he wanted to have a special evening, just the two of them. It didn’t matter who planned it.

By Tuesday evening she still had not decided how to spend their Saturday evening date. She was in the kitchen making a mug of cocoa and pondering her options when Jeremy knocked on the door. She was glad to see him, since they had hardly spoken since the double date. “I’m making some cocoa,” she said, inviting him inside. “Want some?”

“Hot cocoa in summer?”

“People drink hot coffee in summer,” she said, a little defensive. She shouldn’t have to explain her chocolate addiction to someone who loved it almost as much as she did.

He shrugged. “Good point. Sure.”

She cleared the kitchen table of her sewing machine and fabric while the kettle boiled, then fixed two mugs of cocoa and carried them to the table. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Jeremy sat down and took a sip. “This is great. How did you make it?”

“Are you serious? It’s the powdered mix from the grocery store.”

“You don’t put anything extra in it?”

“No.”

“It never tastes this way when I make it.” Jeremy took another
drink, then set down his mug. “Have you heard anything from Elm Creek Quilts?”

“Not yet. Why? Should I have heard something by now? Did Summer mention something?”

“She hasn’t said a word. That’s why I’m curious.” He took another sip, and she had the sudden impression that he was stalling for time. “I also wanted to see how things were going with you since the date with Theresa wasn’t exactly a resounding success.”

“Things are fine,” said Anna, stirring her cocoa. “In fact, Gordon suggested we go out Saturday and celebrate my job interview.”

“You mean the job interview you had last week?”

“He’s been busy. And that’s just as well because I’m having trouble thinking of where we should go.”

“
You’re
having trouble.” He mulled it over. “If he wants to celebrate your successful job interview, why doesn’t he just take you out? Why should you have to plan everything?”

“That’s the way we like it,” said Anna. “Gordon says it’s sexist if he makes all the decisions.”

“I see,” said Jeremy. “When’s the last time he made any decisions of this type?”

“Well—”

“When’s the last time he did anything special for you?”

Anna took a sip, but the cocoa felt like chalk in her mouth. She set down the mug and met Jeremy’s skeptical gaze evenly. “He wrote me a poem a few weeks ago. A sonnet.”

“A sonnet?” echoed Jeremy. “I thought Theresa was the poet.”

“She is,” said Anna, hiding her sudden distress. “But Gordon knows a lot about poetry, too. Don’t forget he’s working on a Ph.D. in English literature. Anyway, why are you so upset about this? It’s not any of your business.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Jeremy stood up and pushed in his chair. “None of my business. But I still can’t stand to watch him use you.”

He left the apartment without another word.

Anna watched him go, heart constricting. Jeremy didn’t know what he was talking about. He was completely out of line to insinuate that Gordon had not written the sonnet himself. Theresa
never
would have written a romantic poem for Gordon to give to Anna.

She knew it was a flimsy bit of evidence on which to place her trust.

Something about Jeremy’s strange visit made her resolve to make her special date with Gordon a romantic evening at home. She would prepare for him the most elegant meal in her repertoire—at least, the most elegant meal that he would like, she could afford, and her minuscule kitchen could handle. She would adorn the table with fresh flowers and tall candles and play his favorite classical music in the background. Afterward they would go for a starlit stroll, observing the beauties of late summer on the campus grounds and sharing intimate conversation. When they returned they would curl up on the sofa with cappuccino and biscotti, and she would ask Gordon to tell her about his latest discoveries in the library and his progress on his thesis. He would love it.

She planned the menu and went well over her budget shopping at the organic market on Campus Drive. Hoping to appeal to Gordon’s spontaneous side, she told him only that he should arrive around seven o’clock on Saturday.

All that day she worked, baking and preparing, cleaning and arranging, until she was satisfied. An hour before Gordon was due to arrive, she set the table and changed into her dressy black capris and a pink silk blouse. At seven, she lit the candles, turned on the CD player, and admired the scene. It was perfect. Gordon would be overwhelmed.

She jumped at a knock on the door, even though she had been
expecting Gordon and he was right on time. She hurried to answer, struck by a sudden wild fear that he had brought Theresa along, and a second fear that Jeremy would happen to step out into the hallway just in time to witness everything. She flung open the door, eager to usher Gordon inside before Jeremy saw them.

Gordon stood in the hallway, entirely alone and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt from a Canadian Shakespeare festival he had attended five years before.

He looked her up and down. “You dressed up. I didn’t think you wanted me to dress up.”

“That’s okay,” Anna said, waving him inside. “It doesn’t matter.” She led him into the apartment and gestured to the beautiful table. “What do you think?”

He took in the flowers, the candles, the music, and the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchenette. “Anna, kitten, you did all this for me?”

“No, I called a caterer. Of course I did it.”

Gordon shook his head. “You must have worked all afternoon on this.”

She shrugged, smiling, and went to the oven. “Everything’s about ready. Five more minutes for the entrée and then we can eat. Do you want to pour the wine?”

He followed her into the kitchenette and took her hands in his. “Anna, you shouldn’t have done all this.”

“Of course I should have.” She freed one hand and touched his face, delighted with his reaction, which was even stronger than she had hoped. “We wanted to have a special date, right?”

He took her hand again and for the first time she noticed the regret and concern in his expression. “I know, but I feel tremendously uncomfortable about this.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Anna, I can’t bear to think that you feel I’m shoving you into some traditional gender role. I don’t want you to conform to a
stereotype of womanhood out of some misguided belief that it’s what I want for you.”

“I just thought you might want a nice dinner.”

“I do. But I don’t think you should have to cook it.”

“But I’m a chef. I don’t understand what’s wrong about me cooking for you. You’re a literature student and you wrote me a poem.”

“It’s not the same thing.” He steered her out of the kitchenette. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll cook for you.”

“But—”

He raised her hands to his lips. “Please. Let me do this for you.”

She thought about the days of planning and preparation, and about the delicious meal going to waste in the kitchen. She remembered Jeremy’s criticism. What would he think now, with Gordon at last offering to do something special for her?

“Please?” he implored.

“All right,” she said in a small voice. “Let me turn off the oven and clean up first. Will you wait for me outside?”

Gordon agreed and kissed her swiftly, grinning with relief. “Sure, okay. I’ll be out front. Don’t be long.”

After he left, Anna stood fixed in place until the oven alarm roused her. She took the beef tenderloin en croûte from the oven, turned off the burners beneath the sautéed vegetables and the wild rice soup, and covered the chocolate mousse cake. She shouldered her purse, blew out the candles, and went across the hall to knock on Jeremy’s door. Jeremy looked surprised to see her, but Anna didn’t give him a chance to ask questions. “I made supper for me and Gordon, but we had a change of plans. We’re going to his place. You should come over and eat so it doesn’t go to waste. Or take it to your place and I’ll get the dishes later. Maybe you can call Summer over, too. Wait—better not. It’s beef.”

“But—”

“Please lock up when you leave.” Anna hurried down the stairs before she had to explain further.

Gordon was cheerful and talkative as they drove to his apartment. When they arrived, Theresa was sprawled out on the living room floor, wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans frayed at the ankles. Anna felt prim and overdressed.

“Hey, Theresa,” said Gordon. “We’re going to make dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Sure.” Theresa climbed to her feet. “What are we having?”

Gordon shrugged and turned toward the kitchen. “Beats me.”

Anna followed, and as Gordon and Theresa pulled open cabinets and the refrigerator joking about how little food they had in the house, she leaned against the kitchen counter and watched them. Finally Gordon found a box of macaroni and cheese and held it up triumphantly. Theresa applauded and laughed, then dug up a dusty pot, rinsed it in the sink, and set water on to boil. As the pasta cooked, Gordon and Theresa bantered back and forth about department politics, but this time Anna made no attempt to follow the conversation. They had no colander to drain the macaroni, so Gordon tried to pour out the water in small trickles through a tea strainer, which sent Theresa into gales of laughter. Gordon and Theresa added margarine and milk and powdered orange cheese to the pasta, then stirred it all together and placed the pot in the center of the table with much ceremony. Anna found a diet soda in the refrigerator for herself and chose a seat at the end of the table. Gordon took the other end, and Theresa sat on his right.

Anna had not eaten since breakfast, but she found herself with no appetite. She took small bites of the rubbery pasta, forcing herself to smile and nod at appropriate intervals. Then suddenly, desperately, she wanted to leave the room.

“Will you excuse me?” she said. They broke off their conversation long enough to acknowledge her departure.

“Down the hall to the left,” Theresa called after her. “You passed it on your way in.”

Anna went to the bathroom and turned on the fan to drown out the noise from the dining room. She went to the sink to splash her face with water, and when she closed her eyes, she pictured the evening she had originally planned. She saw herself and Gordon gazing at each other over the wild rice soup, feeding each other bites of tenderloin en croûte, sighing with pleasure as the wineglasses reflected the candlelight.

She opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The water had made her makeup run, and the towel racks were empty.

She sighed and blotted her face dry with tissues.

She left the bathroom, but instead of returning to the dining room, she turned in the opposite direction. She strolled down the hallway studying posters and photographs, touching a picture frame, fingering a plastic bowl of potpourri, allowing the laughter and talk to fade into the background. Each step took her farther from the dining room, and each step made it easier to continue. Then she was at the front door, which shut out the noise completely when she closed it behind her.

She descended the flight of stairs and left the building. She paused on the sidewalk to inhale deeply, and although the August evening was only pleasantly cool, she detected the scent of a wood-burning stove. The end of summer meant fewer salads and berry desserts, more meats and cream sauces. Harvest dishes—pumpkin soup, apple cobbler. Turkey with cranberry cornbread stuffing. Gnocchi in mushroom broth. When she opened her restaurant, she would design her menu around the four seasons, using locally grown organic produce and her own secret recipes, refined from years in the college’s huge kitchens and her own tiny kitchenette.

Chuck’s Diner was open until ten. Tonight she would take a
table for one, order a sandwich, and plan. One day that restaurant would be hers, and on the night of her grand opening, she would look back on this evening and marvel that she had ever allowed anyone to convince her to trade wild rice soup and beef tenderloin for powdered orange cheese pasta.

R
ussell met Elaine at the Torchlight Run at Seafair. He had run the race every year since relocating from Indiana, but this was the first time he had signed up as part of a team from work. A coworker had talked him into it, insisting that Russ was the computer systems engineers’ key to finally snatching victory from the marketing department’s team, whose names had been engraved on the winners’ bronze plaque in the employee lunchroom three years in a row. A techie team had never won, except for the year that an overly competitive manager in the software division had hired three college track stars as summer interns, which didn’t count.

The self-appointed coach of Russ’s team told him and their other two teammates that their best strategy was to stick together, shadowing the marketing guys until the last four hundred meters, when they could sprint ahead to the finish line. Rather than hold their faster runners back, Russ thought they each ought to strive for a personal best time and gamble that their average would beat the marketing guys’, but he saw some merit in staying together so they could push one another. Then he spotted Elaine a few yards away in the pack, and all thoughts of the competition vanished. He instinctively slowed to get a better look.