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“It’s not that clear or that simple. I need a job. I have to, you know, earn money. Eat. Pay rent.” Surely, he understood those things. Unlike my father and brother, who sometimes forgot reality, this was Michael. He lived in the real world; he owned a business.
“Let me worry about those things for you for now. Give it to me to worry about. Let me ask you a question. Why do you have to work for anyone at all?”
I blinked. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“You’re brilliant. The smartest person I know, and from all accounts, you’re very good at your job. Can’t you do it for yourself?” He rose. “Do you have to do it for someone else?” Michael offered his hand and I took it.
But he asked a very good question. “I…” Truthfully, I’d never considered it before. I always assumed I’d work for a person or a company. I wasn’t an entrepreneur, more like a quant. Could I work for myself?
Logically, there were factors to consider. “If I move back to the States, I’ll need health insurance.”
He nodded. “You can buy that.”
Yes, I could. In what way could I work for myself?
“Sit here.” He tapped the stool where I’d eaten dinner the night before. I never actually sat at breakfast, I realized. “It’s dinner.”
Was it? I lifted my head. Yes, it was dark outside. “Sorry, I’ll make something quick. I saw that you had…”
“Bridget.” He kissed my cheek. “I cooked. Okay? I came in to tell you I made dinner. It’s not going to be as good as what you make, but it’s food. So sit there and let me feed you.”
As good as what I made?I grilled chicken and scrambled eggs. The scent of food finally permeated my foggy thoughts. He’d made some kind of chili, I realized and sniffed again. “Oh, I love chili.”
“That’s good because it’s one of two things I make.” He ladled some into a bowl for me and then got some for himself. As I watched, he poured a glass of wine. Michael had great hands. I’d always thought so.
Then it dawned on me that he absolutely should not be drinking.
“Not on painkillers!”
He nodded. “Not drinking it. You are. I’ll stick with water, but you have to take off some stress, and I know how you love red wine.”
I did. All my sisters shared that enjoyment, which was great, since Layla and her husband became vintners. Or maybe it was more accurate to say they owned the vineyard? I never actually saw Layla make any wine, come to think of it.
“I don’t think I should drink alone. That feels…icky.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be. But, having said that, you’re not alone. I’m here. You’re drinking in the presence of another person, if it’s a comfort, but I’m not an alcohol pusher. If you don’t want it, don’t have it.”
I did want it. I pulled the glass over, swirled it, then took a sip. “This isn’t Zeke’s wine.”
“I don’t keep it in the house. I like it, but I have a long-standing collection. Actually, your father taught me about wine. That is something he knows about that we can’t criticize him for, at least.” He smiled at me. “And I’m on painkillers, so it’s like drinking.”
I giggled then took a small taste of the soup. His chili had just the right amount of spice, and I dug in happily. Between greedy bites, I asked him, “Are you actually on pain killers? Did you take them?”
He smirked at me, a spoonful of chili paused on the way to his sensuous lips. “Maybe.”
“You’re terrible about taking your meds.”
He eyed me. “As the doctor told me today.”
I was glad he had spoken to one. I ate another bite before I asked, “Did you call?”
“He came over.” He continued to eat. “You didn’t notice? Doorbell. Doctor coming in? None of it?”
Wow. It was a bad one today. Usually, I was messing with numbers when I zoned out. Today, it was just the endless possibility of unemployment. “No.” I looked down. “I’m weird. I know that you know us, that you’ve spent a lot of time with us, and that means you really do know things that others will never know. But I think you don’t understand the extent that I’m different.”
“You’re notweird. I don’t love that word. We’ll come up with another one. You’re unique.” He shook his head. “I know that you get lost in things sometimes. It’s why I came to get you for dinner and how I noticed you were particularly unhappy in whatever you were thinking about. But that’s okay, you can give that all to me.”
I smiled at him, amused at the idea. The chili was really good, and I could eat it every day. There were certain foods I felt that way about. Michael’s chili made it on the list along with baked ziti. “You can’t really give someone your problems.”
