Page 2 of We Can Forever

My cheeks warm. “Yes, I like men.”

I just haven’t had much to do with them in years. Not because I don’t appreciate them, but because life has a way of pumping the brakes sometimes, whether we like it or not.

“Who is he?” Flick leans her elbow on the counter and turns to face Jenny, transfixed.

“Michael. My brother.”

“Oh.” Flick’s eyebrows shoot up, but I can’t tell what that means.

“He’s really sweet,” Jenny says.

“Handsome, too,” Flick adds with a wink at me.

“Um. Okay.” I lick my lips, my heart racing. This isn’t at all what I was expecting tonight, and it’s starting to get a little overwhelming.

“He does have a kid.” Jenny studies me. “So, if that’s a deal-breaker?—”

“It’s not.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I love kids. I don’t date much, though. I’m kind of out of practice.”

“Then you’re perfect for him.”

My belly warms. I haven’t even considered dating in a while, but the thought of spending a romantic evening with a man is tempting…

“What does he look like?”

Jenny shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that. Blind dates always work the best when you don’t know that much about the other person. Are you free tomorrow night?”

I gulp. “Sure.”

“Yes!” Jenny’s arms shoot high into the air, her jacket sleeves sliding down to reveal the black floral tattoos dotting her skin. “You eat pizza, right? He’ll come pick you up here at seven.”

I cut my gaze to Flick, hoping she’ll come through with some details. Going into situations blindfolded doesn’t work well for me. It’s best to have all the information I can, because that’s how I manage my energy and my symptoms. I need to know the factors that will affect my day, because otherwise, things can get very bad, very fast.

“You’ll love him.” Jenny grabs her skein and walks backward toward the door. “I promise.”

There’s no chance for me to say anything else, because a second later, she’s out the door. There’s also no chance for me to grill Flick on Michael, because not two seconds later, the door opens again and two women enter.

“Hi.” One of the women, a brunette with bright-green eyes, looks hesitantly between me and Flick. “Is this the Chronic Pain Crafting group?”

“Yes, it is.” My heart does a flip. I’ve been so worried that no one would show up for the first meeting, I’m in danger of crying tears of happiness.

“Oh, good.” The other woman, whose straight dark-blonde hair hangs down her back, smiles at us. Her makeup is impeccable, and her nails are long and perfectly manicured.

Not only am I happy they’ve arrived, I’m also glad for the distraction. The thought of going on my first date in five years is enough to make me break out in hives.

“Please, have a seat.” I gesture at the circle where I’ve placed eight folding chairs, borrowed from the church down the street.

The other three take their seats while I finish setting out the water bottles and snacks. My hands shake slightly, and I do my best to calm my nerves. Tonight is so much bigger than just meeting other women with chronic pain—although that’s also something I’ve wanted to do for a while.

What I said to Jenny earlier about yarn never saving lives was only partly a joke. Crazy as it is, yarn did kind of save mine.

Well, knitting did, more specifically.

During those weeks following my breakup with Paul five years ago, I spent hours each day on the couch at my aunt’s house, knitting and purling through all the pain and worries. Every stitch cleared my head a little more, and whenever I finished a project, I saw confirmation that, despite the challenges in life, I could still persevere and create worthwhile things.

I want to share that with others—not just in classes for all adults and kids, but also for people living with silent and chronic illnesses.

People like me.

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