Page 1 of Karma Kitty Christmas
Knitting on the Porch in May
ISAAC SCOWLEDwith dissatisfaction at the six giant bins full of yarn. Fingering weight, bulky, wool, wool/acrylic, acrylic—he even had some gloriously colored gradients in (unfortunately) cotton. And don’t forget the sumptuous alpaca skeins that he reserved for the depths of winter. Or the winter blues—it was good for both. Basic solids in pastels and primaries, exotic colorways—enough for an entire sweater for somebodyreallygenerously sized. Even blankets’ worth of acrylic in all the rainbows.
Not to mention all the whimsical balls of scraps from the hats he’d made for students over the years. Bouncing around in their own box, the scrap balls beckoned, although Isaac had yet to think of the perfect project, so he kept making more hats in fantastic color combinations and keeping the extras.
Heyearnedto start a new project.
God, Isaac—can’t you finish one lousy thing!
Isaac bristled at the sound of his late husband’s voice in his head.Oh Jesus, Todd—it’s been almost two years. Can’t you leave me the fuck alone?
The venom in his own internal monologue startled him. Isaac couldn’t remember ever being that angry at Todd in their lives together.
Or at least nevervoicinghow angry he was at Todd in their lives together.
He shuddered at the intrusiveness of that thought. It had been popping into his head more and more over the last year and a half.
He’s dead. He can’t possibly care now whether or not you were happy.
Oh, but Isaac hadn’t been. He tried to squelch that thought—it waswrongto speak ill of his dead husband,wrongto hold on to the pain, the… thecrushing lonelinessof the previous ten years, and use it to resent a dead man that the rest of the world seemed to revere.
So wrong. He needed an act of penance, stat. He needed to eat a bland meal (when he preferred spicy) or to ship his old, comfortable clothes to charity (when he liked to wear them around the house) or to (no!) return the quiet reserve of cargo pants and funny T-shirts he’d been buying over the last year to wear to school because theotherteachers his age wore them, and one day—oneday—he’d wear them too.
He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t. But… but he’d been thinking about splurging on some new yarn. He’d added to his stash over the past year, but not too much. Two of the bins here, the ones with the wildest colors. He’d been able to justify it because he had more scraps—and more time to knit—since Todd had passed, and he’d managed to make a hat or hand warmers for every kid in his honors algebra class this year—and some for the kids in pre-algebra who had taken it more than once and finally passed. Usually those kids walked in with the barest of math skills, but the state didn’t really fund remedial classes these days, so pre-algebra it was. Isaac felt for the sophomore, junior, or sometimesseniorstudents who started out not knowing their times tables but were finally able to say they’d passed pre-algebra. On the one hand, it felt like a meager accomplishment—it certainly didn’t look good on paper. But on theotherhand, it was anamazingaccomplishment, because they’d had to work the hardest, and he was proud of them.
But Todd had reluctantly approved of Isaac spending his yarn and his time on rewards for the smart kids. He’d beensodisapproving of Isaac’s desire to reward the underachievers for perseverance that Isaac had needed to squirrel money away to so much as give them “Congratulations” cards in the past.
This year Isaac had worked his ass off getting those hats and hand warmers done on time—he’d even had enough time and yarn for a scarf for the freshman in pre-algebra who’d gotten the highest grade. So he hadplansfor his yarn, including a sweater—a bright rainbow-hued sweater he wanted to knit or crochet for himself! One that would replace the plain blue one he’d made ten years ago and the boring cream-colored one with a few cables (More would look junky and ostentatious, Isaac. Tone it down!) that he’d finished five years ago, after Todd had threatened to withhold his yarn budget if Isaac didn’t finish it.
And sweater vests.Somany sweater vests, with adorable patterns on them. Isaac had made one—but oh the plans he had for many!
“If you’d wanted money for crap to buy your students, you should have completed those projects first! Jesus, Isaac, do I have to plan your life for you?”
“No,” thought Isaac, “but fuck me if you’re not micromanaging the breath out of me!”
He recoiled from another crappy memory, as well as from the cringey thought that he might have had more of his own life under his belt by now if he’d actuallysaidsome of those angry things in his head, behind his eyes, instead of merely thought them and swallowed them.
He might even have kept more of his hair from his faintly receding widow’s peak.
It was that last bitter thought—as well as Todd’s incessant hammering that Isaac needed to finish what he started before he began something else—that drove him to it.
He ignored the rainbow cardigan he’d been planning to crochet for himself, or the bin of scraps that he wanted to use forFair Isle so he could make the “hats with the pictures” that his students so loved, and reached instead for the plain cotton tote full of brown yarn.
He’d been planning to knit a basic top-down crew-neck sweater. Yup, German neckline, which Todd hadn’t appreciated but Isaac had known he’d take for granted as a feature of a “real” sweater—raglan sleeves, a subtle band of texture across the chest, and the same German hem at the bottom. Yup. That was it.
Brown.
It’s a quality yarn. Alpaca and wool, with some acrylic to keep it from pilling. With some brushing and some cedar chips, this will be practical and last forever and ever and ever and ever.
Just like this bad relationship that I can’t seem to shake even though you’re dead.
With a sigh, he grabbed the project bag, made sure his little pouch of tools—extra circular needles, yarn needles, double-pointed needles, measuring tape, ruler, scissors, stitch markers, etc.—was in the bag as well, and stood.
It had been warm this early May day, but under the awning of his porch, with the two fans creating a breeze, his porch swing would still be cool. He could sit outside, listen to his favorite audiobook, and watch the neighborhood kids play. The family across the street had ahugefront yard, and fierce competitions of everything from soccer to stickball to red rover often ensued after dinner. And of course there was always Luca.
Isaac swallowed and tried to tamp down on his thoughts of Luca Giordano, the grandson of Sophia and Geordie, who was currently fixing up their house to sell so they could live off the proceeds in retirement. Todd had been right about this neighborhood only appreciating as they’d lived there—residential properties with big yards and unique two-story floorplans, as well as wide sidewalks and roads, were becoming a luxury in the day and age of tiny prefabs. Sophia and Geordie could spend a good twenty years in their retirement villa after this house was flipped, and their grandson and his construction crew were doing the place up right.
And Luca was a nice guy. A nice-lookingguy. A midsized guy with broad shoulders, blond-streaked wavy brown hair, bronzed skin, a dazzling white smile under a bold, unapologetic nose, and inky black eyes.
