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“It’s when a loop falls off the knitting needle,” I explain. “If you keep going without fixing it, you’ll create a split in your whole piece, like a run in a pair of a tights.”
“But itisfixable?” Millie asks.
“Yes, if you use a crochet hook to carefully—well, it doesn’t matter how.” I say. “My problem is that I never went back to fix the original misunderstanding with Austin. And so much time has passed that I have this huge rip in an otherwise beautiful piece.”
“So, you have to go back,” Millie says, nodding.
“And pick up the stitch. I can fix it,” I say, trying to convince myself. Because it’s not just my job on the line anymore.
It’s my heart.
Across the room, Austin is chatting with a group I don’t recognize. He sees me, and waves, saying something to the chic-looking woman beside him.
She follows his gaze, looking over at me curiously. Then she frowns.
And my heart stops.
“No…” I whisper, getting a terrible intuition.
“What?” Millie asks, but I don’t reply. I’m too busy watching the woman turn back to Austin, shaking her head. I’m not a lip-reader, but even I can make out the words she says to Austin. Words that bring my whole world crashing down.
‘That’s not Jennifer Walker’.
Austin laughs, still disbelieving, but the woman keeps talking. Emphatic. Shaking her head.
He frowns and looks back at me again. Our eyes lock, across the room, Austin’s expression changes, to one of confusion—and betrayal. And just like that, my little white lie finally catches up with me.
He knows.
