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Authors: Clare O'Donohue
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to?” I asked.
“He’s just interested in quilting.” Kennette jumped out of the car, all enthusiasm and excitement.
I could see Oliver get out of his car, straighten his jacket, and move toward the shop. Kennette stopped him, and he smiled and seemed to be listening, but I could see him glancing toward the shop door.
What is he up to? I asked again.
Oliver and Kennette walked into the shop before I even got out of the car. A part of me wanted to avoid the train wreck that was almost certainly about to happen, but then—as is the case with actual train wrecks—curiosity got the better of me. I knew I had to see this through, so I went inside.
“These really are magnificent,” I heard Oliver say from the back room.
I walked to where I could see Oliver, Kennette, and my grandmother looking at the quilts that hung on the back wall.
“Oliver is a big fan of quilting,” I said, a bit too sarcastically for Eleanor’s taste. I could feel the disapproval boring into me.
But Oliver apparently didn’t notice. “Great art is great art, regardless of the medium,” he said and turned to face another wall. “Amazing. May I touch?”
“Of course. Quilts are meant to be touched,” Eleanor said.
“That’s the thing I love about quilting. It’s so unpretentious.”
“It can be,” Eleanor laughed. “But, believe me, we have our prima donnas too.”
Oliver smiled at her, and for a moment seemed to stare into her eyes. Eleanor must have noticed it too, because she did something I’d never seen her do before. She blushed.
“This is your work?” he asked, pointing to a large winding ways quilt that hung on the wall. “It’s really magnificent. I love your use of bold colors and this design is so exciting.”
“It’s actually a classic pattern,” Eleanor explained.
“It’s got so much movement. But that’s due to your use of color,” Oliver gushed as he moved close to the quilt. “And the workmanship is really something. I can tell that I’m in the presence of a master.”
I looked at Kennette to see if she shared my nausea at all the blatant kissing up. Of course Kennette was eating it up as much as Eleanor.
“Does anyone want anything? Coffee or anything?” I asked, looking for an excuse to get out of there.
All three of them turned to me, smiling.
“Lovely. Black, if you don’t mind.” Oliver walked toward me. “But my treat.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a hundred-dollar bill without even looking at it.
“Kennette, you want something?” I asked. She was staring at Oliver as if he were George Clooney.
“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want to help me get the coffee?”
“No. I’m fine.”
I looked over at my grandmother in the hopes that she was still a little sane, but Eleanor wasn’t looking at me either. She was smiling at Oliver, who was—and this is where things started to get weird—smiling right back.
“My grandmother has a boyfriend.” I slammed the hundred-dollar bill on the table as soon as I walked into Carrie’s coffee shop, which was still very much in the midst of remodeling.
“Eleanor?” Carrie looked up from cleaning.
I heard something fall in the back room, and Natalie came running out, a mop still in her hand. “What did you say?”
“My art professor followed us to the shop today.”
“Us?” Carrie interrupted.
“Kennette, the girl I take classes with.”
“She’s going to work at the shop.” It was Natalie’s turn to interrupt. “My mom told me about her.”
“How come I don’t know about her?” Carrie asked.
“I forgot to tell you,” Natalie answered. “She takes classes with Nell and she wears funky clothes and she’s very nice. At least that’s what my mom said. She sounds interesting.”
I threw my hands up. “She’s not as interesting as this,” I shouted. “Oliver, the art teacher, he followed us to the shop and is now in there hitting on Eleanor.”
“How do you know?” I could
“He’s just interested in quilting.” Kennette jumped out of the car, all enthusiasm and excitement.
I could see Oliver get out of his car, straighten his jacket, and move toward the shop. Kennette stopped him, and he smiled and seemed to be listening, but I could see him glancing toward the shop door.
What is he up to? I asked again.
Oliver and Kennette walked into the shop before I even got out of the car. A part of me wanted to avoid the train wreck that was almost certainly about to happen, but then—as is the case with actual train wrecks—curiosity got the better of me. I knew I had to see this through, so I went inside.
“These really are magnificent,” I heard Oliver say from the back room.
I walked to where I could see Oliver, Kennette, and my grandmother looking at the quilts that hung on the back wall.
“Oliver is a big fan of quilting,” I said, a bit too sarcastically for Eleanor’s taste. I could feel the disapproval boring into me.
But Oliver apparently didn’t notice. “Great art is great art, regardless of the medium,” he said and turned to face another wall. “Amazing. May I touch?”
“Of course. Quilts are meant to be touched,” Eleanor said.
“That’s the thing I love about quilting. It’s so unpretentious.”
“It can be,” Eleanor laughed. “But, believe me, we have our prima donnas too.”
Oliver smiled at her, and for a moment seemed to stare into her eyes. Eleanor must have noticed it too, because she did something I’d never seen her do before. She blushed.
“This is your work?” he asked, pointing to a large winding ways quilt that hung on the wall. “It’s really magnificent. I love your use of bold colors and this design is so exciting.”
“It’s actually a classic pattern,” Eleanor explained.
“It’s got so much movement. But that’s due to your use of color,” Oliver gushed as he moved close to the quilt. “And the workmanship is really something. I can tell that I’m in the presence of a master.”
I looked at Kennette to see if she shared my nausea at all the blatant kissing up. Of course Kennette was eating it up as much as Eleanor.
“Does anyone want anything? Coffee or anything?” I asked, looking for an excuse to get out of there.
All three of them turned to me, smiling.
“Lovely. Black, if you don’t mind.” Oliver walked toward me. “But my treat.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a hundred-dollar bill without even looking at it.
“Kennette, you want something?” I asked. She was staring at Oliver as if he were George Clooney.
“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want to help me get the coffee?”
“No. I’m fine.”
I looked over at my grandmother in the hopes that she was still a little sane, but Eleanor wasn’t looking at me either. She was smiling at Oliver, who was—and this is where things started to get weird—smiling right back.
“My grandmother has a boyfriend.” I slammed the hundred-dollar bill on the table as soon as I walked into Carrie’s coffee shop, which was still very much in the midst of remodeling.
“Eleanor?” Carrie looked up from cleaning.
I heard something fall in the back room, and Natalie came running out, a mop still in her hand. “What did you say?”
“My art professor followed us to the shop today.”
“Us?” Carrie interrupted.
“Kennette, the girl I take classes with.”
“She’s going to work at the shop.” It was Natalie’s turn to interrupt. “My mom told me about her.”
“How come I don’t know about her?” Carrie asked.
“I forgot to tell you,” Natalie answered. “She takes classes with Nell and she wears funky clothes and she’s very nice. At least that’s what my mom said. She sounds interesting.”
I threw my hands up. “She’s not as interesting as this,” I shouted. “Oliver, the art teacher, he followed us to the shop and is now in there hitting on Eleanor.”
“How do you know?” I could
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