Round Robin

by Jennifer Chiaverini

Slowly the words sank in. Summer wanted to own a quilt shop. Instead of Summer Sullivan, Ph.D., she wanted to be Summer Sullivan, storekeeper. It couldn’t be true. Gwen must have misunderstood.

  With a sinking feeling, she realized that she hadn’t.

  “Mom, say something.”

  “What’s left for me to say?” Gwen said. “It seems like you’ve made your decision, and since you obviously didn’t want my opinion when you were making all of these secret plans, why would you want it now?”

  “Don’t talk like that, please,” Summer begged. “I haven’t made any secret plans. No one knows but me and you.” She hesitated. “And the registrar at Penn.”

  “You mean you already declined your acceptance?”

  Summer nodded.

  Gwen sank back into her chair. “You turned down Penn without even checking with Bonnie and Sylvia first?” She knew from Summer’s expression that it was true.

  “I’m sorry,” her daughter said again.

  Her eyes were large and troubled. Gwen couldn’t bear to look into them any longer, so she rose and began stacking up their dessert dishes. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do about it now,” she said briskly. “Tomorrow’s Monday. You’ll just have to phone Penn and tell them you made a mistake. I know people there. I can make a few calls myself if necessary. We’ll get this straightened out somehow.”

  Summer placed a hand on her arm. “There’s nothing to straighten out. I’m not going.”

  Gwen didn’t trust herself to speak. She pulled away from Summer, snatched up the dishes, and hurried inside to the kitchen.

  Summer followed. “You’ve always said that everyone has to choose their own path.”

  Gwen set the dishes in the sink with a crash. “Yes, but not this path.”

  “I can’t believe you said that. That’s so hypocritical.”

  “No, it’s not. It is not hypocritical to want what’s best for your daughter.”

  “Why do you assume that graduate school is what’s best for me?”

  “Because—” Because the world was an uncertain place. Because a woman had to be as prepared as possible to face its dangers. Because Gwen couldn’t bear to think that her daughter would waste even a particle of her promise, her potential. Because Summer was meant for much greater things than what her mother had achieved.

  “Think of it this way,” Summer said. “You didn’t want me to leave, and now I’m not going to.”

  That did it. Gwen burst into tears. Summer held her and patted her on the back, but Gwen was not comforted. Was that it? Had she made Summer feel guilty for leaving her? “I’ll be all right,” she said. “You don’t have to stay in Waterford for me. I have my work, my friends—yes, I’ll miss you, but I’ll be all right. Don’t stifle yourself for me. I never wanted that.”

  “That’s not what this is about. Staying here wouldn’t stifle me. I don’t need a Ph.D. for what I want to do with my life.” She stepped back to meet her mother’s gaze. “Can you understand that, please? Can you try?”

  “You don’t have to rule out continuing your education entirely,” Gwen said. “Maybe you want to take some time off first. I understand. I did the same thing myself. Maybe you won’t go to Penn in the fall, but that doesn’t mean you never will.” She clutched at Summer’s sleeve. “Promise me you won’t rule it out completely.”

  “Mom—”

  “Please.”

  Summer rolled her eyes. “Okay, I won’t rule it out entirely. Maybe when I’m seventy years old and retired I’ll decide I want to go back to school.”

  Gwen tried to smile. “I suppose that will have to do.”

  “Are you okay with this?”

  “Sure,” Gwen lied. “Never better.”

  Summer looked dubious, but she said nothing more. Together they rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. When Summer left, Gwen went to the quilt room they had shared for so many years, but not even the bright colors of her fabric stash or the pleasure of working on the round robin quilt comforted her.

  The next day, Diane and Carol greeted her with alarm when she went to Elm Creek Manor to teach her workshop. She had dabbed her eyes with witch hazel, but still they were red and swollen.

  “That must have been some ceremony,” Diane remarked, inspecting her.

  “The ceremony was fine,” Gwen said, then told them about Summer’s decision.

  “Oh, how terrible,” Carol said, stricken. “You must be heartbroken.”

  Gwen nodded. Carol looked like she understood completely, which Gwen had not expected.

  “Just tell Summer she has to go to Penn, period,” Diane said.

  “I can’t do that. She’s a grown woman. I can’t tell her what to do.” Gwen tried to calm herself. She couldn’t get all worked up now, not with class about to start. “What bothers me most is that she didn’t feel she could talk to me about her decision. I wonder. How much do our children conceal from us about their lives, about themselves?”

  “How much do we conceal from them?” Carol said softly.

  Gwen and Diane looked at her, surprised, but she did not seem aware of their scrutiny.

  When she got home, Gwen thought about what Diane had said. No, she couldn’t order Summer to go to graduate school, but she could make it possible for Summer to enroll, should she change her mind. Gwen could undo that mistake, at least.

  She phoned the registrar’s office at Penn, but they could not reinstate Summer without permission from the director of Summer’s department. Fortunately, Gwen and the chair of the philosophy department were old friends. She called him at home, explained that Summer had accidentally sent in the wrong forms, and asked if he wouldn’t mind sorting out the problem with the registrar. He agreed and promised to take care of it that afternoon. Gwen hung up the phone, relieved. Now she would have the rest of the summer to change her daughter’s mind.

  Summer did not come to see Gwen that day but on Tuesday she phoned. They spoke briefly on trivial subjects; neither mentioned graduate school. Gwen sensed that Summer was tentative, testing the waters, making sure that her mother was all right. Gwen did her best to sound cheerful, but she wasn’t sure if Summer was convinced.

  On Wednesday, Gwen was fixing herself lunch when she heard the front door open and slam shut. “Hey, kiddo,” she sang out as her daughter entered the kitchen. “You’re just in time. Want a sandwich?” Then Summer’s expression registered—face pale, jaw set—and Gwen fell silent.

  “I just received a very interesting phone call,” Summer said in a tight voice.

  Gwen’s stomach flip-flopped, but she tried to sound nonchalant. “Did you?”

  “Penn wants to know if I’m interested in on-campus housing.” Summer folded her arms and fixed Gwen with a furious glare. “Why do you suppose they’d do that, a month after I told them I wasn’t coming?”

  “A month?” Gwen exclaimed. Summer had kept this secret a full month? “I—I don’t know, kiddo. I guess someone must have gotten their wires crossed.”

  “Yes, and that someone is you. I can’t believe you did this. What were you thinking?”

  “Me?” Gwen tried to sound wronged, innocent, but her voice came out shrill and false. “What did I do?”

  “You tell me. Did you call the registrar or did one of your professor friends take care of it for you?”

  “Take care of what?” Then Gwen realized there was no point in pretending anymore. “Summer, honey, what else was I supposed to do? You can’t expect me to sit idly by while you ruin your life.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Summer exclaimed, incredulous. “How am I ruining my life? I’m not dropping out of high school to join the circus.”

  “You might as well be. What kind of job can you get with a B.A. in philosophy?”

  “I’ve already told you my plans—”

  “Yes, and then you run off and burn your bridges before getting even the smallest confirmation from Sylvia or Bonnie.”

  “Don’t you think I conside
red that? Do you think this is just a whim? I’m sure they’ll want me, but either way, I’m not going to Penn.” Summer’s voice was brittle with anger. “Listen very carefully, okay? I don’t want to be a philosophy professor. I don’t want to be any kind of professor. That’s you. That’s not me.”

  “But it should be you. The best and the brightest always find their way into the academy. That’s where you belong. You shouldn’t squander your talents—”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” Summer shouted. “You’re so—so impossible. You can’t ever see anything from anyone else’s point of view. Look, if that’s how you want to see it, fine. I’m not going to try to convince you. But don’t forget they’re my talents to squander. It’s my life to ruin. Not yours. Not yours, mine. Understand? If I’m making the biggest mistake in my life, that’s my prerogative. So just stay out of it.”

  She turned and stormed out of the house without waiting for a reply.

  Gwen sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Summer had shouted at her, had ordered her to stay out of her life. Gwen couldn’t remember when they had last argued like that, if they ever had. She wanted to chase after Summer, but found herself too sick at heart, too upset to move. What could she do? What could she do?

  She should apologize—yes, and quickly, anything to win back Summer’s approval. Before long Gwen would forget her disappointment, and everything would be fine between them again.

  But just as she reached for the phone, she knew she couldn’t cave in simply to win back Summer’s favor. No. She had to do what was best for Summer, and that meant getting her into Penn. Summer might not understand now, but someday she would. When she had her advanced degree and a fine job at a prestigious university, she would, and she’d be grateful. Gwen had to put Summer’s interests ahead of her own need for her daughter’s approval. Gwen would endure anything, anything, rather than let her daughter throw away her future.

  But what could she do? Reasoning with Summer wouldn’t work, not after today. Summer would have to choose Penn on her own. Gwen had to make graduate school the only logical choice, the only possible option.

  The next afternoon, Gwen drove out to Elm Creek Manor to speak to Bonnie. She couldn’t talk to her freely at Grandma’s Attic, since Summer might be working. Besides, she wanted to speak to Sylvia, too.

  Gwen managed to take them aside before Bonnie’s workshop. Diane had already spread the word about Summer’s decision. When Gwen told them that it broke her heart to see Summer’s brilliant academic career ended so soon, they comforted her and assured her everything would be all right in the end.

  “I hope so,” she said. “I think with your help, everything will be fine.” She saw Sylvia and Bonnie exchange a quick glance. “What I mean is, I don’t think it would be such a terrible thing if you were to realize that you couldn’t give Summer the extra work she wants.”

  “You can’t mean that,” Bonnie said, appalled.

  Gwen plowed ahead. “Bonnie, maybe you’ll find that you don’t have enough money to give Summer more hours at Grandma’s Attic. And Sylvia, maybe you and Sarah don’t need the extra help with Elm Creek Quilts.”

  “We most certainly do,” Sylvia said.

  “But maybe Summer doesn’t need to know that.”

  Sylvia frowned. “Gwen Sullivan, I’m surprised at you.”

  Bonnie gave her a pleading look. “Please don’t ask us to lie to Summer.”

  “It’s for her own good,” Gwen said. “You know sometimes we don’t give our children the whole truth when it might hurt them. Summer doesn’t know how irrevocable her decision is. I can’t bear to sit back and watch her jeopardize her entire future. She’s meant for so much more than—than—”

  “Than life as a quilt shop owner?” Bonnie finished.

  Gwen felt heat rising in her face. “I didn’t mean it that way. You know I respect what you do.”

  “Apparently, you don’t respect our work quite as much as you thought,” Sylvia said.

  Her voice was gentle, but Gwen felt it as strongly as a shout. She clasped her arms around herself, thoughts churning. She had insulted her friends by questioning their integrity and the value of their work; she had gone behind her daughter’s back in an attempt to undermine her chosen career. Summer had been right to tell her to stay out of it. She had made a mess of everything.

  What had happened to all her fine ideals, her sterling principles? Somewhere along the line she had become an elitist snob, believing that her daughter was above certain work, honest jobs that other mothers’ children accepted gratefully. How had this happened to her? She had not raised Summer to believe that success was determined by the size of one’s paycheck. She ought to be grateful that Summer had taken those lessons to heart, that she was seeking happiness and fulfillment rather than fighting her way up the ivory tower for its own sake.

  She felt deeply, profoundly ashamed of herself.

  Bonnie and Sylvia watched her, waiting for her to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please forgive me. Please forget that we ever had this conversation.”

  Immediately they embraced her. “Consider it forgotten,” Sylvia said.

  Gwen wished she could forget as easily, but she couldn’t.

  All she had ever wanted was for Summer to be happy, but now there she was, trying to drape her daughter in job titles and degrees, as if they would shield her from the hardships of life. It wasn’t as if Summer had decided to become an arms smuggler or a drug dealer. Summer could do far worse than to assume a greater role with Elm Creek Quilts and prepare to take over Grandma’s Attic someday.

  Summer was right. Gwen was a hypocrite. Even worse, she was now estranged from her beloved daughter because of it. They weren’t as widely divided as Carol and Sarah, or a dozen other mothers and daughters Gwen knew, but they had never let a disagreement linger on so long before, and it made Gwen sick with dismay. She couldn’t bear to have Summer unhappy with her. Summer had said that she was sorry for disappointing her mother, but Gwen knew that she was the one who had disappointed—by not supporting Summer’s decisions, by pressuring her, by keeping such a narrow focus on graduate school that Summer had never felt able to discuss other possibilities.

  There was a rift between them now, and Gwen had put it there. Somehow she had to sew it up before it worsened. Words would not be enough. Gwen would have to show Summer that she accepted her daughter’s choice wholeheartedly.

  She would begin by visiting Grandma’s Attic on Saturday while Summer was working. In front of everyone, Gwen would make a strong show of support for her daughter. That would be a start.

  Though only a week had passed since Summer’s graduation party, so much had changed that it felt much longer to Gwen. As she entered Grandma’s Attic, she noticed the shop was nearly empty of customers. Gwen had forgotten that the interim between graduation and summer session was traditionally slow for shops in downtown Waterford. So much for her big scene in front of crowds of onlookers. Well, at least Bonnie and Diane were there, and Diane’s tendency to gossip made her the equal of a crowd or two.

  Summer seemed pleased to see her. After greeting Bonnie and Diane, Gwen brought out the round robin quilt and asked Summer to help her find a blue and green print, preferably with some gold in it. As they moved through the store, Gwen made a point of complimenting the sample quilt blocks displayed at the end of each aisle. Bonnie had told her Summer had made them, but even if she hadn’t, Gwen would have recognized her daughter’s style and bold color choices.

  Gwen tried to act normally, but she was nervous, and she was sure Summer knew it. She almost regretted coming in, for if she hadn’t she wouldn’t have had to realize that for the first time she felt awkward and uncomfortable in her daughter’s presence. She wished she had never spoken to Bonnie and Sylvia that day in Elm Creek Manor. How could she have even considered asking them to deny Summer her well-deserved promotion? She was the worst mother in Waterford—no, the worst mother ever.

&nbs
p; As Summer cut Gwen’s fabric, the phone rang. Bonnie answered the extension at the cutting table, where she and Diane had joined the mother and daughter. “Good afternoon, Grandma’s Attic,” Bonnie said, then smiled. “Oh, hi, Judy.” The others looked up at the mention of their friend’s name. “No, it’s just me, Diane, Summer, and Gwen. Oh, and Craig, in the stockroom.” A pause, then a smile. “Of course I can let her off work. I’m not running a sweatshop here. What it is?” Her brows drew together in concern. “Oh, my goodness. Do you think—” She glanced up at her friends. “Hold on, Judy. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.” She pressed a button and replaced the receiver. “Okay, Judy, go ahead.”

  “Diane, are you there?” Judy’s voice sounded tinny.

  “Yes,” Diane shouted at the phone.

  Gwen winced at the noise. “She’s not on Mars, for crying out loud.”

  “Steve just got a call from his editor at the Waterford Register,” Judy said. “They asked him to go check out a protest at the square. I thought you might want to know.”

  Gwen leaned closer to the phone, intrigued. The square was a small downtown park near Waterford’s busiest intersection, a good choice for a protest. Waterford College students frequently selected it when they wished to air their complaints about the local government’s various housing and noise ordinances. Then she remembered that the students had deserted Waterford after commencement. Who could be left to hold a protest?

  Diane was wondering something else. “Why did you think I would want to know?”

  “Because whoever it is, they’re protesting against the skateboard ordinance.”

  “Uh oh,” Gwen said.

  “What?” Diane shrieked at the phone. “Are my boys there?”

  “I don’t know. Steve’s on his way there right now.”

  “So am I.” Diane headed for the front door, leaving Bonnie to hang up the phone.

  They called out to Diane to wait, but she didn’t seem to hear them.

  “I’ll go with her,” Summer and Gwen said in unison.

  “Don’t even think about leaving without me,” Bonnie said, turning toward the stockroom in the back. “Craig! Come out here a second. Quick!”