“I think I would travel,” I blurt out, still sort of lost in my thoughts. “I mean, if I didn’t have something todowith my time, like work. I think I would travel.”
Nolan nods. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve already traveled a ton, but I’d love to go back to some of the places I’ve visited while I was working and actually immerse myself in the culture. I feel like I’ve only gotten a taste of some of the most unique places in the world, and I want the whole damn meal.”
He laughs. “That’s exactly how it feels working on this ship. I get out into most ports, but I’m usually purchasing fresh fruit, produce, or meat from the markets for specialty dinners orpassenger requests. It doesn’t give me a lot of time to explore. I’d personally love to see more of Greece. Actually, scratch that—I’d like toeatmy way through Greece.”
“You and me both,” I say, smiling. As I lean against the counter nearest him, he looks at me,reallylooks at me, for the first time tonight.
“Whose turn is it?” Right—I was wondering when he would get back to our little game.
“I think it’s mine,” I say hesitantly, and clear my throat. I’ve had a question in mind for a few days now. “Did you always want to be a chef?”
“Hmm,” Nolan muses. “No, not really. I think I always wanted to make something, though.”
“What do you mean?” I manage to ask, my stomach suddenly churning with nerves. He smiles and looks away.
“I mean…I always wanted to create. I was never artistically talented; drawing stick-figure people is about the extent of my skill. I have a learning disability, so while I like to write, it’s frustrating for me…so that’s off the table. And I’m way too impatient for photography or, you know, what you do.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” I smirk.
“A lot of waiting around, it seems.”
“And how wouldyouknow that my job is a lot of waiting around?”
“I’ve seen you around the ship.”
A tingle of embarrassment runs up my spine. He’s seen me around the ship? Without me noticing him? The thought of being watched isn’t creepy, not from Nolan, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about what he saw. I know I can get pretty into what I’m doing, and sometimes I lose track of what’s going on around me. Once, I stood in the middle of a rural road for far longer than I should have, and when I finally pulled away from my camera, a car was barreling toward me.
“I’ve enjoyed gardening,” Nolan continues, ignoring his previous comment as if it wasn’t a big deal, “but it’s not really a career I’ve ever felt drawn to.”
“What about music?”
“Oh no, I haven’t got an ear for music.” He lets out a husky laugh and I soften, recalling his off-key rendition of “Tubthumping.” He’s so nonchalant about all these things he’s simply not good at. As if it’s just a part of life, and not the end of the world.
It feels foreign to me.
I had always been expected to be good at what I had chosen to do, because I was taking a risk by going into the arts. Dad had mentioned on more than one occasion how I would regret not getting a unionized job with a pension, and that it was a blessing that I was talented, because thatmayend up translating to success. Meanwhile, Kyla’s interest in math and science was praised as therightchoice, in comparison to my decision and my dreams. When she got accepted into one of the best schools in Canada, things got even worse, with Dad trying to encourage me to go back to school, to give up on filmmaking and try my hand at something morelucrative.
His words, not mine.
I had beensodetermined to prove him wrong; to show him that I could create something incredibleandbe successful doing it. It was why I was trying to make my documentary happen.
But he never got to see it.
And I never got the chance to see him proud of me.
I shake my head to clear those thoughts, and ask, “So, cooking?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles again. His head is cocked to the side, almost as if he can read my expression, see the flash of regret and shame that likely passed over my face as I thought of my own shortcomings. But it’s gone a moment later, and he says, “Actually, it was pastries, first. When I was a teenager, I spent alot of time in the café that was across from the hospital where Mum had a lot of doctors’ appointments. She had cancer, but she’s okay now, thankfully. Kicked it that year and has been cancer-free ever since.”
I let out a sigh of relief for him at the thought of how hard that year must have been, but at the same time, a pang of jealousy hits me square in the chest. Followed closely by shame.
I know what it’s like, to see someone you love consumed by a disease you can’t fight. I would give anything for Mom to be here still…and Dad. So, while I envy Nolan, I’m also grateful he didn’t have to go through what I did when I lost them.
“Anyway, I’d sit and watch the woman who owned the shop bring out these incredible fresh pastries—jam-filled doughnuts, pains au chocolat, éclairs, strudels. And each person who bit into them would have this look on their face, like,holy shit, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I loved seeing that. I loved seeing the way something she put her whole heart into made someone feel likethat.”
I can totally understand what he means.
