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“Tess!” She broke into a smile as she came forward to hug me. “Wow. What a surprise!”
I’d known Dawn for as long as I’d known Donal. She’d been in most of the same classes as us and part of our extended friend group from elementary through high school. Dawn and I had both gone on to Northwestern, although I’d started a year later because of my deferment. We hadn’t crossed paths all that much while we were there, but I’d attended her wedding shortly after college. Since then, we’d kept in touch on Facebook—which was how I knew she’d opened this shop after her divorce last year—but it had been ages since we’d seen each other in person.
Funny how that worked. Lives got busy, friends grew apart, and the next thing you knew, ten years had passed since you’d seen someone even though you both lived in the same city.
“The store looks fantastic,” I told her. “It’s so welcoming and cozy.”
She looked pleased as her gaze wandered around the space. “I can’t take all the credit. Angie helped with a lot of the decorating.”
“That’s great,” I murmured, keeping my smile fixed firmly in place.
I’d served on our ten-year and twenty-year high school reunion committees with Angie, who’d been Dawn’s bestie since sixth grade. Let’s just say Angie and I didn’t see eye to eye. We’d had diverging visions for the reunions and had clashed over every little decision. She was the main reason I’d resigned from the committee for our upcoming thirty-year reunion. Not to be petty, but I’d rather walk barefoot over a field of Legos than plan another reunion with Angie Ellis—and I didn’t doubt the feeling was entirely mutual.
Dawn gave me a knowing look, no doubt aware of the friction between us. “So what brings you here? You didn’t just come by to admire the store.”
“I need some knitting help, actually.” I pulled the tote bag off my shoulder and held it open for Dawn. “I found an old half-finished project I started back in high school, and I’d like to see if I can finish it. I’ve got all the yarn still, but I don’t have the pattern anymore—or the needles.”
Slipping on a pair of reading glasses, Dawn reached into the bag and pulled out a corner of the blanket for a better look. “This shouldn’t be too tough to recreate. Let’s take it over by the window and spread it out.”
I followed her to the couch next to the older woman I’d spoken to. We sat down and Dawn removed the blanket from the bag, unfolding it across her lap.
She glanced over at me, her eyebrows drawing together. “It’s a baby blanket?”
“Yes.” I knew what she wanted to ask, so I saved her the trouble. “It’s what you think it is.”
Dawn was the only other person I’d told about my pregnancy back in high school. I hadn’t planned on telling her, but she’d found me puking my guts out in the school bathroom one morning not long after I’d broken things off with Donal. When she’d tried to convince me to go to the nurse’s office, I’d ended up confessing everything to her. She’d kept my secret for me and tried to be my friend during those dark, lonely months, but I’d been so ashamed of my predicament that I’d kept her at a distance—just like I’d pushed Donal away.
“I started knitting it when I was pregnant,” I told her. “I planned to give it to the baby, so she’d have something to remember me by after she was adopted. But I never finished it.”
The older woman was still knitting in the chair beside me, and I knew she could hear every word of our conversation, but the steady click of her needles never slowed or faltered.
“And you want to finish it now?” Dawn asked gently.
I nodded. And then I told her about Erin and how she’d found me. When I finished, Dawn reached out and squeezed my hand.
“Are you going to give her the blanket when it’s done?”
“I haven’t decided. For now, I just want to see if I can finish it.”
“You should give it to her,” the older woman said, speaking up for the first time since we’d sat down.
I looked down at the variegated pastel blanket. Both the colors and the pattern were extremely eighties, and not in a cool, retro way. It was a lot of dusty pinks and mint greens that struck me as ugly now. “It’s a little dated, don’t you think? I’m not sure she’d actually want to use it for the new baby.”
“Doesn’t matter. People always like to know that someone was thinking of them.”
“Linda’s right,” Dawn said. “The real beauty of a handmade gift is the effort that went into making it. Every stitch represents a moment spent thinking about the person it was made for.”
My hand smoothed over the old stitches I’d knit a lifetime ago, still not sure I wanted to give it to Erin. But I could figure that out later. “First I actually have to finish the thing.”
“I think we can help you with that,” Dawn said. “What do you think, Linda? Any chance you can figure out the pattern for Tess?”
“Give it here.” The woman finally paused her knitting, laying her needles down as she gestured for us to pass her the baby blanket.
I handed it over and she peered at it, pulling the fabric taut between her wrinkled thumbs as she clucked her tongue. “This shouldn’t be too hard.”
Linda got up, leaving her own knitting behind, and carried the blanket over behind the counter.
“So,” Dawn said, slipping her reading glasses off again. “How’s Donal taking the recent developments? I assume he knows?”
