Andrea

Andrea

by Heather Jerrie

Oh, my God. Andrea. I can't believe it.

This woman drives me crazy. She works in my office, and she's so incredibly PERFECT. She's thin and beautiful. She never loses her keys. Her nails are always beautifully polished. Her desk doesn't have a single piece of paper out of place. She's always on time. And she never, NEVER seems to make a mistake. I hate her.

So I've come to my knitting group hoping for a little Andrea-free time, and guess who's sitting there - in my chair, if you please, primly knitting on a little lacy thing, looking cool and superior? Andrea the Goddess of Overachievers.

And guess where the only empty seat is? You got it. Next to Miss Perfect.

Sigh. I plop down and pull out my current project, my Amazing Endless Cardigan. I've been working on it for months, and I'm sure not going to let Andrea keep me from making some progress and enjoying my knitting time. Come to think of it, who invited her tonight anyway?

Everyone's talking away, chatting about the latest movie. No one notices my gloomy silence. Good.

There's a lull in the conversation. I hear a quiet sniff. The kind of sniff someone makes when they're trying hard not to cry. I glance over at Andrea, just as one lone tear falls onto that perfect lace in her hands.

Andrea? Crying? What, did she break a nail?

"Um, are you OK?" I say reluctantly. As if I care.

"Oh, it's just... hard." She takes a deep breath. "See, my daughter Stephanie has been - sick - lately. Really sick. I'm doing everything I can to keep my head above water. My therapist said I should get a sitter for just one night and find something fun to do, to get my mind off things. It helps to knit - calms me down. And it's nice to be here. I just - it's hard."

Wow. I didn't even know she had kids. "Sick?" I ask.

"She has leukemia. She's getting better - the doctors are pretty hopeful. But still - it's hard not to worry."

"I'm sorry. Really - I'm sorry."

She nods, takes a deep breath. She seems to feel better, now that she's talked a little bit. We begin to talk - she shows me her knitting - a scarf she's making for Stephanie. I show her my cardigan, and she says she loves the color. As she hands it back to me, I look down and gasp. There's a mistake, a big one. And it's way, way back, rows back. The whole pattern is off. Damn.

"What's wrong?" she asks, seeing my crestfallen expression. I show her, and she commiserates.

Then I look at Andrea. Where did I get the idea she was a snob? She's gazing at me with concern.

"It's OK." I say. I take a deep breath, and smile. "I can back up and start again."