Chapter Twenty-Five
The only person Maggie’s ever taught to knit was Piper, and that was so long ago. After all these years, stitching is as natural
to her as breathing. Now, facing the room full of men, it’s hard to get into the headspace of someone who doesn’t know a single
thing about it.
They’re crowded together in a small room on the second floor. The space is packed with bins of yarn and knitwear hanging from
a rack, but Belinda’s using the Purl for a Shetland Hap workshop. Aidan helped set up a folding table and chairs. The only
reason they can all squeeze in is because Barclay and Cole bowed out.
Volunteering to run the workshop had been impulsive, and she holds Aidan Danby entirely responsible. Being around him makes
her feel spontaneous. Carefree. It’s a dimension of her personality that was dormant during the years of intensive parenting.
Now, she feels it still there, humming beneath the surface after all this time.
So now that she’s gotten herself into this teaching situation, she tries to remember what helped her learn.
Really, most of what she remembers is love at first stitch.
She’d tried other crafts before, like beadwork and needlepoint.
But knitting immediately felt different.
It was an instant source of happiness. And even though the men sitting around that table are just there for kicks, she feels a certain responsibility introducing them to knitting.
Maybe one of them will feel the way she did. She’d find that very gratifying.
“Okay, so starting a knitting project, you have to get your yarn on the needle, and that’s called ‘casting on.’ There’re a
few methods for this and the one I’m going to teach you is called the long-tail cast-on. The tail is part of what forms the
stitches, so you need enough length to cast on all your stitches.”
One of the guys asks, “How do I know how much tail I need?
“As much as you can get,” Scott says. Clearly, he takes after his grandfather. Ignoring the comment—and the laughs it elicits—she
continues.
“A general rule is to estimate about one inch of yarn for every stitch you want to cast on. Okay, so follow what I’m doing
here and I’ll come around to help after I explain it: First, make a slip knot. Leave a tail that’s long enough for your project,
then make a loop and pull the yarn through. Place the slip knot on your needle and tighten it a bit—it shouldn’t be too tight,
or it’ll be hard to work with.” She’s doing the cast-on as she explains it and it’s a challenge to go slowly enough for them.
“Spread your thumb and index finger apart and drape the yarn over them. The working yarn goes over your index finger, and
the tail goes over your thumb. Your hand will look like a Y shape, with the yarn stretched between your fingers.”
The most interesting part of the situation is how obvious it is to her that none of the guys are willing to ask questions
or admit their mistakes—even though some of them can’t seem to get any further than making the slingshot shape with their
forefinger and thumb.
“Remember, pick up from the thumb, go around the index finger and pull through.”
Maggie demonstrates the cast-on again, walking around the table and discreetly making individual suggestions to keep the guys on track.
If Lexi were there, she knows she’d tell her something like, You don’t have to help them that much.
It’s still a competition. But the rest of the knitters are busy taking Belinda’s class, and Maggie’s not thinking about the competition; teaching successfully
would be a personal win.
It’s been a long time since she tried something new or challenged herself. Her job at Denim has become rote, and it’s been
years since she thought about finding work that might be more rewarding. Maybe it was time to start looking again. But then,
she couldn’t leave Elaine.
This was just her vacation mind getting the best of her. Everyone on vacation thinks, at some point, I wish this was my real
life. But that’s not how things worked.
“Remember—it’s impossible to get better without making mistakes. So if you go through this whole class without making a mistake,
then you’re not knitting.” She remembers hearing this when she was a beginner, and it was liberating. Then, remembering Belinda’s
advice from the lace class, she adds: “There’s a reason stitches can be unraveled.”
If only things were as simple to fix in real life.
Piper meets Hannah Elise by the Adirondack chairs, outside on the lawn between the inn and Bucks County Playhouse. The light
is changing, the sun dipping lower and casting everything in an almost violet hue. The fleeting warmth and quicksilver beauty
of the moment feels like peak autumn, the perfect backdrop for the knitwear Hannah Elise wants to video. This makes it harder
for Piper to break the news that she doesn’t want to do any more posts.
“I don’t want to sound like an ass, but doing social reminds me of work,” she says.
“And that’s a bad thing? If I were you, that’s all I’d be thinking about out here. I’d trade jobs with you in a second.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re insanely passionate about this stuff. That’s why I follow you.”
“This ain’t my day job, babe.” Hannah Elise bends down and opens her pink Away suitcase filled with carefully folded knitwear.
She shakes out a cute striped bucket hat and hands it to Piper. “I made it for you last night.”
Piper smiles, but shakes her head. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Not at all. It’s a little thank-you for your help yesterday. No strings attached. And as for being passionate—yeah, I’m passionate
about crochet. But you think I want to be spending my weekend with a bunch of middle-aged women looking to party like it’s
1999? Mama has to pay the rent.”
Piper bobs her head like, Of course. Totally get it. But she never imagined Hannah Elise wasn’t enjoying herself, and the fact that the weekend is just a J-O-B to her is a letdown.
“But—silver lining: I met you,” Hannah Elise says.
It’s flattering to hear, but she can’t get on board with her cynical attitude towards the retreat.
“I think this place is kinda perfect,” she says.
Hannah Elise frowns at her unironic enjoyment of the weekend. Piper feels the need to compensate so she changes her mind about
recording. “I guess I have time to do a few videos.”
“You’re the best,” Hannah Elise says. “You don’t even have to change into the clothes—just pick something out of the bag and
hold it up when I give you the cue.”
Piper crouches down and looks through the knitwear, deciding between a pair of chevron patterned bellbottoms and a Granny
Square cape. When she straightens up again, she sees Cole walking toward them.
“Hey. What are you doing out here?” she says when he’s close enough to hear.
“I need to talk for a sec.”
“How’d you know where to find me?”
He turns and points to the second floor of the inn. “I didn’t. But I was looking out and saw you two. Sorry to interrupt,”
he says to Hannah Elise.
Hannah Elise passes him a scarf. “No problem. I could use some male representation. Put this on?”
He takes it distractedly and turns back to Piper. “Listen, I have to bail on the camping tonight.”
“Really? I already told my mother and she agreed to go. Did your dad say no or something?”
Cole shakes his head. “It’s not him, it’s me: I need some space. But I think your mom should still go. But since I’m not,
you should hang back, too.
“Why?”
“Because if you go, then there’s no chance they’ll spend time together. It will be just you and your mom having a romantic
night under the starts.”
Piper gets it; he’s probably right.
“Hey, you two: I’m going live,” Hannah Elise says. She tilts her chin up, talking to the phone screen. When she turns the
camera lens on Piper, she gets right with the program and holds up the chevron-patterned pants.
“Piper, will you try those on for us later so we can see what they look like with someone actually wearing them?” she says.
On the spot, Piper says, “Sure . . . but in the meantime, everyone can see Cole wearing this scarf.” She takes it from his
hands and arranges it around his neck.
“For the record, this is nonconsensual audience participation,” he says. Hannah Elise keeps going, not missing a beat. Piper
tries on a bucket hat, and she and Cole mug for the camera.
Hannah is wrong about the weekend.
She’s going to have to find a way to convince her mother to go camping tonight. Without her.
Maggie is deep into her explanation of the knit stitch when she hears the distinctive bell of the hot chocolate cart. The
guys don’t know what the ringing signals and she doesn’t volunteer the information. If they leave, she suspects some won’t
come back. And now she feels invested in seeing how many of them, if any, will leave the class knowing how to get stitches
on the needle.
Belinda pops her head in.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But if you feel like a little break, the hot chocolate cart is in the lobby.”
The guys run out like kids at the recess bell.
“That might have been a mistake,” Maggie says.
“A little sugar never hurt anyone,” Belinda says, passing her a hot Genevieve takeout cup. Maggie knows from yesterday it
holds the nuttiest, earthiest, most delectably sweet cocoa imaginable. By the end of the weekend, she’s going to be addicted.
“How’s it going in here?”
“I think at least a few of them are getting the hang of it.”
“Good!” Belinda says. “But how are you? I actually wanted to give you a break in case you needed it.”
“You didn’t have to call in the heavy artillery just for me,” she says, raising her cup. “But I appreciate it.”
“I can’t take all the credit. Max summoned the cart.”
“That’s sweet,” Maggie says. “Literally.”
“Yes, well, he can be charming. I’ll give him that.” But she doesn’t look charmed. “Do you mind if I sit in for the remainder
of the workshop? I won’t say a word.”
“Oh. Sure.” The idea of it makes Maggie feel self-conscious, but she can’t say no.
“I just ran into Barclay Cavanaugh. He asked me to officiate this little exercise here—to check in on the guys’ progress. He’s quite enthusiastic about the competition you’ve started.”
Technically, Aidan started it. “I didn’t really expect it to become this whole big thing. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? It’s delightful. You know, I’ve been doing these retreats for so many years now, but every one somehow surprises me.
They’re all fun in their own ways, all unique. But today was definitely a first.”
Maggie smiles. “I’m glad you’re okay with it.”
“This weekend is a happy accident. Like I said, the double-booking was a mistake. I’m just relieved it turned out this way.”
“Maybe you can plan double weekends like this in the future. It could be a public service to dispel the myth of the granny-in-the-rocking-chair
knitter.”
Belinda’s expression clouds. “I wish I could.”
Before Maggie can ask what she means by that, Belinda checks the time on her phone and offers to round up the guys so Maggie
can finish the workshop.
“I’ll go with you,” Maggie says, hoping she might catch Piper. But as they’re walking out, Aidan appears at the top of the
stairs.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks.
“Um, sure,” she says, glancing at Belinda, who reaches over and gives Maggie’s arm a gentle squeeze.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
When she leaves, Maggie turns to Aidan and asks, “What’s up?”
“Cole and I had an argument at the axe place. That’s why he’s not here.”
She’d been so caught up in what she was doing, she hadn’t noticed Cole was missing. Maybe because Piper didn’t come along,
either.
“Before that happened, he told me about inviting Piper camping. But now he’s not coming. So I wanted to let you and Piper know the plan is off.”
“No camping?” Maggie is surprised by how disappointed she feels. It would have been fun—and Piper seemed so enthusiastic about
the idea. It was so unlike her to suggest it in the first place.
“Well, I’m still going with the rest of the guys. But without Cole, I figure Piper won’t be interested, and without Piper,
you won’t want to go. And I get it. The whole plan sort of loses its symmetry.”
“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” she says hopefully. “He might just need a reset.”
Aidan shakes his head. “I know Cole. He’s stubborn.”
“You know what? I’m still up for the campout. I’m sure Piper is too.” She’s sure of no such thing, but it was Piper’s idea.
“Maybe if we stick with the plan, Cole will come around.”
Aidan considers this. “You could be right. That’s not a bad idea.”
She nods. “Absolutely. We need to set a good example. A plan is a plan.” Just like Piper said at breakfast. How could she
argue with that?
He smiles. “Okay. I like your attitude.”
She likes his too. But that’s not why she’s going camping tonight. Is it? No. She’s going because Piper suggested it, and
she wants to keep up the day’s momentum. Maybe it’s Cole Danby, maybe it’s the novelty of the bushcraft activities, but Piper
seems less preoccupied about Ethan. Maggie can breathe a little easier. If Piper can just roll with things for a few more
days, Maggie will have the chance to talk to Ethan in the city—and take back what she said about waiting to propose.
Crisis averted.