Chapter 9 #2
“So do I.” And I do. None of her concerns are baseless. And as loath as she is to cede any part of Rian’s life over to me, she likely worries about who would pick up the slack for him when she isn’t able to do things for him anymore.
Rian and I have, at this point in our relationship, discussed at length how we’ll carefully organize our schedules and fairly distribute household labor in the event we decide to combine households.
He also has the means to hire occasional help with cleaning and the like.
Past me had sworn to myself that if Michelin panned out, I’d be meticulous about keeping a freezer stocked with homemade ready-to-heat meals so Rian wouldn’t have to rely on health-damaging fast foods on the many nights he came home exhausted and I was out of town.
I want to ensure he’s not left to fend for himself just as much as Orla does.
It will take a lot of juggling, but we’ll be fine.
But telling Orla that these serious discussions have already taken place—without her—would just set her on edge.
I want to be open with Orla, but she isn’t entitled to full disclosure either. She is not a part of this couple, as much as she might wish to entangle herself in our business.
Her expression is serious as she presses on.
“I just hope you’ll consider the effect a commitment will have on your career and the sacrifices that will have to be made.
You and Rian will need to be honest with each other about your expectations for the future.
Life does have its seasons, and we must decide how to ready for them. ”
An entry. “Yes, we must, Orla. Since you’ve been kind enough to speak so directly to me, I’d also like to raise a concern with you. From a place of love and respect.”
“Oh?” A brow flies comically upward at my choice of words.
“I just worry that you’ve invested so much time in Rian since your husband passed that maybe you haven’t taken enough time for yourself.
Time to cultivate friendships and interests outside of caring for Rian.
Now that he’s more settled—and I’m around to help where I can—I do think you should take some time to rediscover what your passions are. ”
Her eyes flicker for a moment, but her face turns somber. “You know, I think that’s the problem with the world today. Everyone is far too focused on their own interests and ‘passions.’ ” She throws air quotes around the word. “In my time, we didn’t think of such things.”
I fold my hands in my lap. “Perhaps back then wasn’t the right time.
But, to use your own metaphor, your life has come to a new season.
I’m not saying you should cast away all your cares and lead a life of empty pleasures.
But you can work for causes you care about.
You can learn new skills. Go back to the interests you had to abandon when Rian was born. He says you used to paint?”
She nods almost imperceptibly.
“He’s seen your work. He said you were good.
You’re freer now than you have been in years, Orla.
It might seem scary now, but it’s a gift.
You could stop off at the art supply store the moment we’re done here and get yourself an easel, canvases, and all the paints you could ever want.
You could take classes. Whatever it is that would make you happy. ”
She chuckles softly, as though my suggestion were a mildly amusing joke. “Please, I’m not going to become the next Cézanne at my age.”
“Why not? Cézanne wasn’t much younger than you when he got his first solo show.
” I am grateful for this bit of trivia from my limited knowledge of art history.
“And not everything needs to be a quest for fame and fortune. Even if you only paint for yourself or for your closest friends and family, it would be worth it if you enjoy it.”
She makes a noncommittal waggle of her head.
I decide to appeal to her high-minded side. “You could teach art to underprivileged children if it makes it seem more worthwhile to you. My only point is that you deserve to do something for yourself. Something you care about. It’s a good and healthy thing.”
The metaphor about the pot and the kettle looms large in my head as I wonder when the last time was that I invested much time in something that wasn’t in pursuit of my Michelin career.
But as Orla herself said, life has its seasons, and I am at the height of my summer.
Career is first, last, and almost everything right now.
And it’s the same for Rian, though I know Orla doesn’t consider my work to be anywhere near as worthy as her son’s almost holy calling to medicine.
“Rian is working today, isn’t he?” Orla asks after a long pause. Her crestfallen expression is thinly veiled. She used to know his schedule backward and forward. She had planned her life around it. Now, she isn’t the first to know, and it stings.
I pull out my phone and open the calendar app.
I have his schedule in green—my little nod to his Irish heritage—my own schedule divided into long chunks of red for work with little blips of blue for personal appointments like this lunch.
There is a significant swath of green for today, and I show Orla the screen.
“Yes, he doesn’t get off until eleven tonight.
I should bring him something from the takeaway menu. ”
She flags down a server for the takeout menu before I can say more. She examines the offerings with studious intensity as soon as the paper is placed before her. “I know he likes the fish here.”
I force a smile. “He does like it, but he doesn’t eat fish at work.
It’s their unwritten policy. The smell of fish in the break room isn’t for everyone, and some of the staff have allergies.
I thought to bring him the chicken cacciatore.
He likes that very much.” I don’t mention I made fish for him last night.
She’d see it as a challenge to provide him with the fish he actually likes.
She passes the menu away from herself. “Well, it seems you have it all figured out and don’t need my input.”
I never asked you for it.
I keep the words from escaping my lips, but only just. This is one of the things I like least about Orla.
In her view, her darling son is the center of the universe, so he should be able to eat what he wants when he wants, and the rest of the staff could hang.
No one works as hard as her Rian, and anyone who points out the dozens of other doctors in the same hospital who put in the same hours is simply blind to her son’s greatness.
“We should bring him here for fish on his next night off.” I pause another moment. “And if you’d like to bring him the chicken yourself, I’m sure he’d appreciate seeing you.”
She looks slightly mollified as we settle the bill and place the takeaway order for Rian.
I walk with her to the hospital, partly to keep her company and partly to ensure she doesn’t double back and switch the chicken for fish, which is the sort of trick she’s pulled in the past. She once went so far as to tell the waiter he’d misheard the order and abused him for his stupidity.
But she’s in better spirits today and I let her go in alone.
As much as I want to see Rian, I know she deserves her time with him too.