Yarn to Go by Betty Hechtman

one white. She glanced over the paper pattern. “Oh,” Melissa said in disappointed tone. “A houndstooth-patterned scarf.” She turned to Kris. “Don’t you think it would be more efficient if Sissy and I worked on the same pattern?”
    “No,” Kris said with a smile. I think everyone got it but Melissa. Giving them different projects was the plan.
    Scott kept scooting his chair closer and closer to the exit with each tote bag Kris handed out.
    “I think I’ve changed my mind,” Scott said, getting up. He was still dressed like he was going to a business meeting and seemed very tense.
    “Scott is a closet knitter,” Kris announced. “Even his wife doesn’t know.” She stepped next to him. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Knitting for men is hot now. That woman who wrote the
Stitch and Kvetch
book wrote one just for men. It’s called
Knitting for Man Hands
. You know, some people believe that sailors created knitting.”
    She pushed the tote bag into Scott’s hand. He ran his free hand over his neatly trimmed hair in an upset gesture. I could identify with his longing glances out the window. I knew he wanted to run. He set the bag on the table and looked inside. I heard him gasp and understood why when he took out two bloodred knitting needles. They were as thick as broom handles. The yarn was also thick and red. But as he handled the needles, a dreamy look came over his face.
    “You’ve never made anything big, have you?” she said, and he shook his head.
    “I only made things that would fit in the briefcase.”
    “Not anymore,” she said, pointing out the sheet with a pattern in his bag. “You’re making a lap blanket.” She ran her hands through the supply of yarn, which clearly was too much to fit into his briefcase. “Why don’t you just cast on the stitches. Give the needles a trial run.”
    He glanced back at the rest of us. “You all think I’m weird, don’t you? If my wife knew, or my boss—that would really be bad. I don’t want regional manager of the Sandwich King franchises to be my last stop on the ladder. If my boss saw me knitting . . .” The dreamy look had vanished and was replaced with one of anguish as he held his forehead and stood up.
    Everyone at the table forgot about their own issues and was supportive, saying they thought it was great that he knitted. He didn’t seem convinced, and I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. His head kept swiveling back and forth between the door and the tote bag. I surprised myself by stepping in. Me, the person who could most understand his desire to take off, suggested he stay.
    “I personally don’t get the pull of knitting, but it certainly means something to you.” I gestured toward the chair, and to my amazement, he listened and sat down. With a sigh, he began happily working with the yarn.
    My job here was done. I pushed back my chair and prepared to get up. They were all starting on their projects and certainly didn’t need me around.
    “I’ll be going, then. Don’t forget there is coffee, tea and fresh cookies on the counter,” I said. “I’ll rejoin you for dinner.”
    Kris touched my arm to stop me. I was surprised to see that she had another of the tote bags in her hand. “Your aunt told me that she really hoped you would take up knitting. I know you have difficulty sticking with things and that you’re totally green in the knitting department, but I think if you try it, you may find out it helps with all the aspects of your life.”
    Yeah, right
, I thought,
it would really help fix my life.
If only it were that easy. But I had to admit I was curious to see what could be so fabulous about fiddling around with needles and yarn. I found myself reliving Scott’s moment of looking back and forth between the door and table.
    “Don’t worry, we’ll all help you,” Lucinda said. “The nice thing about being in a group like this is we all support each other.”
    “And don’t forget me,” Kris