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There were moments when Franziska’s faith in the noble pursuit of knitting by hand wavered. Sometimes the prospect of surrendering to the machines seemed all too easy, all too convenient. Sometimes her eyelids felt heavy and her fingers ached, and she wondered why she was doing this at all. These were moments of weakness, of shame, of straying from her most deeply held beliefs, and she would never so much as think of speaking such thoughts lest anyone hear her. Still, she could not deny their existence.
Now was most certainly one of those moments. She wasn’t sure quite how late it was, and she had no interest in knowing, but her body screamed that it was far too late for her to be awake. But such complaints were irrelevant. Birthdays were deeply important things, and more important still was Stacey, who was foolish and wonderful and surely sleeping right now, as any sane human would be. Franziska, though, could not. Her girlfriend deserved only the best gift her hands could create, with no mistakes or delays to infringe upon its perfection.
Upon hearing the sound of the bedroom door opening, Franziska’s heart nearly stopped. “F—Franny?” a familiar, quavering voice called out.
Franziska whipped around to face her, then hastened to shove her project under a pillow. “Ah—yes!”
Stacey walked over to the sofa and pointed to the ball of yarn on the coffee table. “Are you…knitting?”
“N—no!” Foolish—she’d failed to conceal the smoking gun!
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
Franziska studied Stacey’s face, then frowned. “Is something the matter?”
“Um…not really. I just woke up, and you were gone! S—so I came to look for you.”
“Woke up? Did you have a nightmare?”
Stacey’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s fine, really!”
Franziska sighed and held out her arms, and Stacey sat down and crawled straight into her lap, burying her face in Franziska’s shoulder. She sniffled, clearly trying to maintain her composure, but eventually gave up and let herself cry. Franziska simply held her, for she knew that from time to time, Stacey needed this sort of release.
However, just as she was calming down, Stacey shifted, knocking aside the pillow next to them and revealing what Franziska had been laboring over. Instantly, her gaze flicked over, and she moved to Franziska’s other side to escape the needles. “You—you were knitting!”
“I—I—” Franziska floundered for some sort of excuse, but she could think of nothing.
“What is that?”
“It’s—it’s nothing!”
“Franny? Why are you lying about it?”
Franziska sighed, mentally cursing herself. “Why do you think? Can’t you think of any occasions coming up that would require me to keep secrets from you? Occasions that might call for a knitted item?”
Stacey’s eyes widened. “You mean…tomorrow? My birthday?”
“Obviously!”
“You—you’re making something? For me?”
“I am sorry. I should have been more careful to keep the secret.”
“Franny…” Tears welled up in Stacey’s eyes once again. “Don’t anthologize. I…I can’t believe…you’d do that for me. I…”
“You mean apologize. And what is so hard to believe?”
“You! You’re so—so amazing. I…I love you, Franny.”
“Likewise. But…” Franziska frowned. “I should have done better. I failed to plan, and now I am awake at this ridiculous hour and still not done, and I’ve ruined the surprise!”
“So?” Stacey shrugged. “You can give it to me when you’re finished. I know you wouldn’t forget.”
“But…”
“What? You want to be perfect?”
Begrudgingly, Franziska nodded.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be.”
Before Franziska could disagree, Stacey leaned in and kissed her, and her weary, tense heart melted. She was so hopelessly in love, and here was the object of her affections, soft, warm lips pressed to hers, and nothing else mattered.
“Come to bed now, Franny,” Stacey said as she pulled away. “Okay?”
Franziska could do nothing but smile. “Okay.”