She squints at me. “But don't you all shout at each other? Restaurant kitchens are so busy and noisy...”
“My uncle's place isn't really like that. I mean it is. We shout, and we swear a ton. It is noisy and chaotic. We get stressed and bollock each other when things go tits up. But there's no bullying, there's no malice. We're all on the same team.”
“It still doesn’t sound very peaceful.” She fishes out the strawberry and sucks on it in a way that is possibly illegal in some countries.
“You’re right. It’s not peaceful in terms of being quiet or calm, but it’s the kind of chaos that makes me feel good. When I can find my rhythm and feel part of something, that’s like peace to me. Maybe I’m not explaining it very well.”
“You find your flow,” Jenna says with a nod. “It’s like when I write or get deep into researching something. I get in a zone and it all just flows.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I also like being part of something with other people. I would find writing too lonely. I like being around others. It gives me more energy.”
“You’re an extrovert,” she says.
“I am,” I say and take a breath. “Arnie always said that.”
“Was he an introvert?”
I smile to myself. “Yeah, he was. Said he hated people, but that wasn’t true. He just needed time alone now and then. I found that hard sometimes.”
Jenna picks up another strawberry and I find it weird that even though I’m talking about Arnie and that feels normal – a miracle in itself – I’m also watching the red fruit go between her lips and I want to taste its sweetness on her lips – and that feels very normal too.
“I’m an introvert too, and so was my ex. We were really good at giving each other space... probably a bit too good.” She shakes her head as she swallows the strawberry. “So, do you want to have your own restaurant in the future?”
“Maybe. One day. Truth is, I find it hard to think about the future. And there’s still so much to learn. And well, even though I've never stopped working in kitchens, I did drop out of my degree.”
“Because of Arnie being unwell?”
“Yeah, but I'm not even sure I should have gone to start with. I just panicked when Arnie had his uni place and so did everyone else. I thought it was what I wassupposed to do. I mean, you may not believe it, but I do have a few brain cells. I guess I thought a degree in Culinary Arts was one way I could prove that.”
“And now?”
“I don’t think I want to go back.” I sigh, and the relief of being honest with her, and myself, is immediate. “I dread the idea of going back. It's hard to tell if that's because of Arnie, because I'm grieving, or just because it's not where I'm supposed to be.”
“You don't have to go back,” Jenna says simply. “I don't know much about being a chef, but I can't imagine it's something you need a degree for. A kitchen sounds like much a better place to learn, especially for someone like you.”
“I think I know all this. But my parents don't. I know you're going to think I'm a sap still caring what they think but they pretty much pulled me out of a gutter at the beginning of this year, and even before that, when I dropped out to spend more time with Arnie, they supported me through it all, both financially and emotionally. And I know they want me to go back, to have that structure and that degree to be proud of. Part of me feels like it's the right thing to do, like I owe them that much.”
Jenna nods and takes another sip of her drink. “You know one of the few blessings my parents gave me was a lot of freedom, and I guess, the ability to carve out my own life. At the time I didn't see it like that, but I have never felt like I owe my dad anything, or like I need to prove myself to him. I can't imagine how much pressure that must be.” This perspective makes my breath lodge in my throat. She's not telling me I'm wrong or right to feel that way, she's just acknowledging that it's hard.
“What do you think I should do?” I ask, feeling like she has the answers I need.
“Oh, I can't tell you that. But I think you can. I think you already know. And,” she pauses and looks out to sea, “I think you need to remember that your parents will love and support you no matter what.”
“What were you like when you were my age?” I ask, even though it feels like a risk, bringing up our age gap. “Did you know what you wanted to do with your life? Did you know where you wanted to be by the age you are now?”
Silence falls and I can tell she’s really thinking about this and I can’t explain why but it excites me. I’m suddenly desperate to know her thoughts. I wait and eventually, she speaks. “You know, when I hear you say it like that, it reminds me how I used to be obsessed with milestones and key chapters in my life. I really did think that life was going to be a sort of treadmill of working towards one goal after another. First, there's getting through childhood, teenage years, schools and maybe university. Then your professional life begins and somewhere along the way you meet someone, maybe marry, have kids. But life is just not like that. The milestones come and go but they are not what makes you who you are. You are not who you are because of what you do or don’t achieve. You’re shaped by the shit that happens along the way. The real life-changing events. And those things are never what you expect or can plan for. Like...like...” She trails off as her eyes go back to the horizon.
“Your divorce?” I offer.
“Yes, and no.” Jenna turns tolook at me. “I was thinking more about how it must be like that with Arnie. Your life must be very different now compared with before.”
I nod and chew on the inside of my cheek so I can feel something other than the stab of nauseating pain as I relive the moment he left us. “Yeah, there is definitely a before and after, but there was also this whole other time that existed in between. The me that was in it, with him, during his treatment, and then his palliative care. But after... after, yeah, I just knew life was never going to be the same again.”
“Like another world,” Jenna says, lifting her sunglasses so I can see her honey-brown eyes that are almost the colour of liquid gold in the hue of my own shades. “It's like being on a different planet when the rest of the world just keeps going.”
Our eye contact after she says that is different to any we've had before. She isn't guessing when she says that. She knows.
“My mother died when I was a teenager,” she explains.
