A Sewing Circle in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  "That doesn't sound like the Julianne I know," said Pip, who tore a piece of tissue from the roll and was daubing my nearly-escaped tears. "I've never known her to shrink from somebody in posh clothes, or because they have a bit of money ... or the looks of a proper model," she added, in afterthought.

  "Maybe that was the former Julianne," I suggested. "The current Julianne gets little lines in her face after a hard day."

  "Now, you stop that right now," scolded Pippa, who was busy digging through my handbag. "We'll touch your eyes up a bit, and you'll be fine. You're not going to let some posh model get the better of you, are you?"

  "No," I said. Doubtfully. I daubed away the escaped tear and sniffed hard to suck all natural streams and rivers deep inside and away from exits. "No, I'm not. I'll just take a minute to compose myself, and everything will be fine."

  "That's the spirit," said Pippa. "Here — lipstick. Hold still while I put just a bit of concealer on you." She daubed her finger below my eyes, no doubt trying to cover up any redness — or sleeplessness.

  I blotted my lipstick with a second tissue, then stood up and straightened my jacket, trying to pull my hair back from my face as Pippa ran a quick brush through the worst of its unruliness.

  "There," she said. "Perfect. Looks like a rich job from the Truro salon, if I may say." She pulled a hairpin from between her teeth and finished pulling back a few of my stray locks into a neatly-braided crown at the back, letting the rest flow freely. "That should do for tonight."

  "Thanks a million, Pippa," I said. I swept the last of the cosmetics into my handbag and put on my best confident smile. All right, so I wasn't exactly a supermodel, but it was definitely better than before. I squared my shoulders and tried to think positively about this evening.

  "Now, go out there and show the likes of Petal Price-Parker her place in this village," said Pippa, straightening her maternity blouse over her baby bump, and giving her own hair a little mussing with her fingers. She wrinkled her nose at the result, then shrugged her shoulders with an 'ah well' attitude.

  "I will." I waved goodbye to Pippa in the glass. A second later, my reflection was the only one in the bathroom mirror, as I snapped my handbag closed. Pippa was right. I needed to focus on the reality of things, not the worries springing up like weeds after a rough patch.

  I slipped into the chair beside Matt's in the dining room. "Sorry, I'm late," I said to him, softly, giving him my best smile.

  "Don't worry about it." He kissed my cheek in reply — he had shaved before coming to dinner, so no stubble against my jaw. I couldn't help but see he was also wearing a nice tie, a color of red that complimented his dark hair. I checked my thoughts quickly before I could wonder about the possible reasons.

  "I hope you guys weren't too bored waiting to order," I said to Petal, offering her a polite smile. To my chagrin, she looked even better up close than in the distance, when I had still been able to imagine her with some tiny flaws. Age had improved Petal in one of those miracles nature and good genes sometimes create.

  "Not at all," said Petal. "Matthew and I were merely reliving a few stories from the past. It's been quite awhile since either of us relived those days."

  "Almost six years," said Matt. He took a sip from his water glass. "The past tends to fall into its proper place quickly."

  Maybe this remark wasn't solely for my benefit ... to comfort me, let's say, that he didn't spend hours secretly thinking about those days. I crossed my fingers with this thought.

  "All this time, I'd been imagining him in Boston again," said Petal to me, with a soft laugh. "I see that your love of gardening is finally winning the battle against your academic side." She glanced at Matt over the rim of her glass.

  For a moment, I thought Matt actually blushed. "I found I loved Cornwall too much to leave it again," he said. "Even for an Ivy League position."

  "He taught for a semester in Boston, though," I said, trying to enter the conversation to make sure I wasn't a silent dining partner this evening. "Over two years ago."

  A waiter approached to take our order and collect our menus. In the background, the restaurant pianist began playing a soft, romantic tune. Between that and the candles on the table, it felt like an atmosphere meant for a date night. I shook away the image of Petal and Matt sitting together — alone — at this table that had rattled my self calm mere moments ago.

  "We really must catch up on each others' lives while I'm here," said Petal. "It's been longer than that since either of us knew the other. I'm sure more has changed than your career — and your love life, of course." She gave me another glance with this remark, albeit briefly. It felt like an afterthought, this reference to me, since she was obviously only speaking to Matt. I tried not to let my annoyance show.

  "I haven't had to imagine yours," replied Matt. "It was quite well documented on the covers of various magazines. You must be pleased, since I remember how much you wanted to be part of a runway show in Milan."

  I had never thought about Matt reading the covers of journals and entertainment gossip mags, sneaking a glimpse into the life his ex was leading. Maybe he thought about the past more than I realized. But it would be silly to let this bother me, wouldn't it?

  "The runway in Milan was exciting," Petal admitted. "But I am rather glad to be back in England."

  "Leading the simple life of Mrs. Price-Parker?" said Matt, raising one eyebrow with a smile.

  Petal hesitated. "Actually, it's Borroway again," she said, at last. "At least, it will be in a few more weeks."

  An awkward pause followed. Petal studied the tablecloth as if it was momentarily a very interesting object, while I tried not to look as if I had heard this news already.

  "I see," said Matt, softly. "I'm very sorry."

  "No, it's quite all right," said Petal, briskly. "At least one of us has found happiness. Julianne told me that the two of you are now married." She lifted her water goblet with a gracefulness I had always secretly envied about her.

  "That's true," said Matt. "Two years now." I felt his hand touch mine on the table, brushing against it, lightly. That's when I remembered what I had forgotten to do earlier today.

  "No wedding ring? I'm surprised at you, Matthew," said Petal. "I would have expected something quite nice for Julianne."

  She was noticing my bare left ring finger also. Matt's fingers had frozen in mid-caress just above the spot where my rings usually sat. Suddenly, I wanted to sink beneath the carpet for indulging in that little storm of anger in the guest room last night.

  My rings were in my shoulder bag, of course, where I had swept them this morning, along with my cell phone, hair clasp, and other hastily-gathered personal items. For the first time since the day Matt put the first one on my hand, I didn't have them on. Of all the stupid things to have happened today, this was the worst.

  "They're being cleaned," I said, using the brightest tone I could muster, and the quickest excuse I could think of. "Matt bought me a lovely set. I almost can't bear not to wear them ... but you know what happens when you wear something every day."

  I mentally pinched myself a second later for these words, since Petal might feel the sting of this statement: her dazzling diamond was absent tonight from her finger for the first time since I had seen her in the village.

  Matt had released my hand now. I made the mistake of meeting Matthew's eyes, and saw a hurt look in them. He guessed why I had taken off my rings — but he didn't know that it was an accident that I wasn't wearing them tonight. I tried to telegraph a pleading apology to him through my own.

  "I'm sure they're lovely. Matt always had quite good taste," said Petal. "The one he bought me was quite nice," she added. "Do you remember it?" she asked Matt.

  "I do." He looked slightly sad for a moment, or maybe that was my imagination. I hoped it was the latter one.

  Suddenly, I pondered why Petal wasn't wearing her rings tonight. Maybe it was because she wanted to grow used to their absence, once the divorce was final .
.. or maybe there was another reason Petal wanted them gone on this occasion. Bad, bad Julianne. Don't think it.

  "I've always felt guilty that I sold it in New York," said Petal, softly. "I should have given it back to you. That's customary, isn't it?"

  "I didn't want it back," said Matt, quietly. "You had every right to sell it, since it was yours."

  "Still," said Petal. "It was quite beautiful, that ring. I don't think I ever told you that."

  If there had been any moment at this table where I felt less included, this one was it. The look in Petal's eyes when she talked to Matt, the open knowledge that her marriage was crumbling ... nothing could make me less welcome in this review of their mutual past. Matt's expression didn't clue me in what he was thinking, since he lowered his eyes.

  I managed to change the subject. "How long did you live in New York before you came back to England?" I asked Petal. Smile, I told myself, firmly. Smile and be polite, even if I was feeling a trifle extraneous at this little dinner turned reunion.

  "A year and a half," she said. "Then I came back to London for a time ... then to Newquay." After this allusion to her life with Donald, the conversation fell short.

  "That's a lot of moving around," I observed, wishing I could think of something better to say than an inane comment on the inconveniences of traveling. "You must be an expert at packing by now," I joked. I had moved almost as many times as Petal in my adult life, I realized afterwards. Oh, well.

  "One learns to eliminate unnecessary possessions," said Petal. "That's the only secret, I'm afraid. I suppose the only essential thing to carry with me is my wardrobe."

  Well, it wasn't your fiancé, was it? a snarky little voice suggested in my head. I stifled it immediately — it seems I was battling all my worst instincts tonight. I felt relieved as the waiter arrived with our main course. Food was a good distraction, since I was famished. A few biscuits at the fete's grounds and a bite of one of Michael's muffins felt like ages ago.

  "I think we've all become experts at packing by now," said Matt, taking a sip from his water goblet.

  Packing, at least, was good neutral conversation territory. All three of us had stories on moving from one place to another, so it was the first time I managed to contribute something, a story about my own move to Seattle, which took three trips and led to a box of toiletries and cosmetics spilled down three flights of stairs in my dormitory. Matt's story steered clear of his first time in America, favoring one about his last living quarters in Boston.

  "Most of what I owned could fit in two boxes when I came back to England," said Petal, during her turn for sharing. "Even so, a few things creep in that one rather wonders about. An old pair of shoes one hasn't worn in years, or a box of biscuits, which I found at the bottom of my suitcase in London."

  "Sometimes it's things you forgot about ever owning," I replied. "Or stuff that belongs to somebody else." I had found one of Aimee's jeweled headbands, of all things, when I emptied the boxes from my old life in Seattle into the cottage's closet.

  "Speaking of which," Petal said, laying her fork beside her pasta in lobster and white sauce momentarily, "I found these when I was moving. Ages ago, of course ... but they're yours. Small as they are, I thought you should have them back."

  She handed Matt an envelope from her purse. It wasn't anything significant when he opened it — a pair of cufflinks, a folded-up sketch of some flowering plant, and a small photograph that looked older than the rest. It landed face-first on the table, and Matt lifted it up, revealing the image of a small boy. One with unruly dark hair and a serious, slightly frightened face looking into the camera.

  My taste for my stuffed pasta shells had completely disappeared at this point.

  "It's you, isn't it?" said Petal. "I think I remember you giving it to me years ago. You said you were six or seven, I think."

  A photo of Matt as a boy — the one thing I had always wanted. I had never seen one until now, although I had begged his sister Michelle to find time to unearth them from the buried box of family photos she possessed, and searched Matt's things for one, all with no picture as a result. And all this time, Petal had one in her possession, had it from the very start of their relationship. Carrying it in her purse this past week, even though she and Matt hadn't been involved for years.

  There was a flash of guilt and apology in Matt's eyes for the pain in my own. I was ashamed of myself as I looked away. Me, being furious and jealous over the possession of a crease-cornered photograph. It was a feeling which became disappointment, however, as Matt tucked the picture inside his jacket pocket. He swept the cufflinks and the sketch into his hand and put them away as well.

  That picture was mine. Irrational to claim it in this manner, I know, but I expected Matt to hand it to me, knowing what he did about my feelings. Why did he keep it?

  "Thank you," he said to Petal. "I'm surprised you still had ... I'm surprised they weren't tossed when you moved to London from New York." 'Anything of mine' were the original words, I imagined. I hoped he wasn't avoiding referencing their past ties just for my sake.

  "As I said, surprising things always seem to turn up when one changes their life," said Petal. She smiled. "I hadn't thought about those days for a very long time ... but here I am, sitting at a table with you tonight."

  And me, I wanted to scream. My polite smile was beginning to wear very thin at this point — there must surely be holes in it by now, and it was trembling weakly at its edges. I couldn't decide if Petal was deliberately making me feel like a third wheel at times or doing it by accident ... after all, her past in this place solely concerned Matt, whereas I had been a mere bystander for its final act. At this moment, I really didn't care which one. Either way, it felt wretched.

  "Life is full of surprises, isn't it?" I said.

  The waiter refilled our water glasses and brought a new bread basket to the table. Crumbling a few breadsticks might help distract me from my problematic mindset, I thought, as I took several slow sips of cool water to help me relax and refocus.

  "I'm only glad that this experience will be shared with someone familiar," said Petal. "I couldn't believe you hadn't been named as a judge for the contest already. Not the eminent Matthew Rose who could never resist a new breed of roses."

  "Ah, well, I assumed they would find someone capable of filling the spot nicely," said Matt.

  I felt confused. "Who did they find?" I asked.

  "Me," he admitted.

  "I'm afraid I rather talked him into doing it," said Petal. "The committee's spokesperson asked me to persuade him, and I obliged. There's certainly no one more qualified than Matt to do it ... and I must confess, I didn't really want a third stranger named to the panel."

  "Of course not," I said. So Matt's weeks of dodging the committee's persistence ended with a single request by Petal.

  Yet another awkward silence ensued. The waiter returned to offer us dessert menus. None of us accepted. The same for the offer of yet another glass of wine.

  "I can't have a second one and still enjoy a sherry later tonight," said Petal, as the waiter departed to bring our check. "And I shall need one, with all the rather dull 'shop talk' that I'll be exposed to by you and your colleagues," she said to Matt.

  I glanced at him. Matt's face changed colors, briefly. He cleared his throat. "I doubt we'll chat very long about the exhibition. A bit of catching up, and we'll undoubtedly all be exhausted by the mere thought of plants."

  "What's this?" My tone was as unconcerned as possible, although I felt completely the opposite.

  "A little cocktails engagement the horticultural society insisted upon tonight in the hotel bar," said Petal. "There was simply no escaping it, otherwise I would be soundly asleep by ten and avoiding my publicist's calls. You're quite lucky that you won't be subjected to it."

  "I see." I didn't feel so lucky. I also didn't feel wanted, as if the point of these remarks was to stress that I needn't be present, whether it was permissible or no. "I'm sure it's n
ot as bad as you make it sound."

  "With the head of the fete's exhibition present, it shall be all rules for judges and rather boring business regarding the hosting duties one must fulfill. Rules and regulations, so I can't imagine anyone enjoying it." She sipped her water. "It's rather the cross one must bear for agreeing, isn't it, Matthew? Ah, but of course, you'll be in your element, won't you?"

  He would be. And rather than hint that I wished to come — or insist on it — and be the jealous, clingy wife, I simply smiled at Petal. "I wish you luck then," I said. "At least Matt's conversation on the subject is never dull."

  I collected my handbag from my lap, and laid my napkin on the table beside my plate. "I have a long day's work tomorrow, so I'll say goodnight." I felt Matt's hand on my arm as I kissed his cheek before I began walking towards the hotel's exit.

  My heart was pounding, a drum of fury and self reproach. I was trying not to imagine Matt and Petal sitting side by side at a table of dull, academically-minded gardeners who would yammer on incessantly about plant DNA and cell structure ... with Petal's hand finding Matt's knee under the table and creeping slowly upwards ....

  I felt Matt's hand on my arm a second time. "Julianne," he said. "Wait. I'm sorry — I was ambushed by that request, and I didn't feel I could say 'no' politely at that point —"

  "It's fine," I said. "You can do what you want with your time, Matt. I just thought you were tired and wanted to be spared those hours in the exhibition tent. I thought I was doing you a favor by shielding you from the proceedings." I really didn't want to talk about it, or allude to the fact that Petal had clearly found a soft spot in Matt's resolve.

  "I meant the drinks after dinner," said Matt.

  "Oh." Clearly, we weren't on the same mental page at this moment.