It’s a Tuesday morning, and the Stitch and Bitch Club is in full swing. Kassandra smiles behind her mask – yes, wearing them again, indoors, around people. This virus is like the old whack-a-mole game at the arcade, she muses, a game I always hated for its promotion of violence. Now I understand its appeal: it is the most like adulting, the most like real life.

She brings the club members their beverages – a few lattes, a predominance of Chai teas, and one quad shot espresso for a woman with dark hair and thick eyebrows who is fast becoming Kassandra’s favorite. They already have plates of sweet treats crowding the table and, pandemic be damned, everyone is offered bites. 

“Thank you, Kassandra,” the dark-haired woman says, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “You’re the best barista here, probably in the whole county, you know.” Kassandra thanks her. “Really. No one else does a full quad shot for me. I think they hold back a half shot, on principle, because they’re afraid more caffeine will knit my eyebrows together.” The woman laughs, a loud braying sound that rings through the coffee shop. 

Kassandra laughs, too. “Knitted eyebrows, that’d be perfect for a Stitch and Bitcher, wouldn’t you say?”

The woman offers up another braying chortle. “Indeed! I’m Genevieve, by the way. My friends – and that includes you, now, you know, you can’t deny it – my friends call me Jeeves, like the butler.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Jeeves,” Kassandra says. “I hope you all have a great meeting today.”

“Oh, we always do, of course,” Jeeves answers. “We solve all the world’s troubles, if only anyone would listen to us. And we create lovely stuff.” She holds up the piece she’s crocheting. “This will be a blanket for my newest granddaughter, who plans to be born later this fall.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kassandra murmurs, and it is. The soft yarn offers multiple hues of soft greens and russets, shot through with golden yellow. “All those colors. She’ll love it.” 

Jeeves brays again. “She won’t be able to see the colors for months, my girl, but she’ll love how it feels, I hope. Do you stitch?”

“No. I weld, and sculpt, and sometimes paint, but I’ve never learned any knitting.”

“I can teach you in a heartbeat, if you ever want to learn.” Jeeves waves her off. “You’d better get back to work and so had I. Before we leave, though, I’ll give you my number.”

There’s something about her, Kassandra thinks. Something I’d like to know better.