The Price of Desire

by PE Kavanagh

  I squinted at the clock across the room. Shit, my eyesight seemed to get worse by the day. Did it say 2 or 3? Did it matter? I was awake.

  A few attempts at re-settling didn’t prove useful, so I undertook the task of untangling myself from my babies and heading downstairs to my little office. There was nothing so urgent that it needed my attention in the middle of the night, but still I felt it was important to use the rare stretch of peace and quiet fully. Might as well get some work done.

  I couldn’t shake the bad feeling about the next day. Sure, I’d been avoiding my family since all hell broke loose in my life. Everyone else seemed to be doing so well in their lives, and it had been one disaster after another for me. After such an illustrious start, too. Oh well, I knew it was just temporary. At least I hoped so.

  I just didn’t want to get lectured. Or questioned. I knew they disapproved of my career change, leaving my soul’s calling. They wanted me to live the grand life I used to, the rising star chef whose life was all passion and glory. I didn’t know how to be that woman anymore and I just didn’t have the strength. My girls had to come first. My sisters didn’t understand.

  It was no secret that I had walked away from the only area in my life in which I had consistently felt successful. I had been flying, then cut my own wings off to be with the other land-dwellers. There, on the hard ground, I was hardly good for anything other than cooking, which I wasn’t doing any more.

  My relationships were pathetic, I was never satisfied with how much time or attention I gave my girls, and the work of suppressing my primary creative outlet had left me tired and grumpy. But I couldn’t see any other choice. At least for the moment. I was a single mom – I needed a paycheck and a career that did not have me out all night, every night.

  The job at the magazine had been a godsend. It not only payed the bills, but also let me do something that was useful to the world. I could live in the inventions of my imagination, a place I landed in quite often, and was happy enough to be writing. Sure, it wasn’t the same passion I felt for the kitchen, but it was good enough. It was the right choice for my family.

  The bright lights of my screensaver reminded me that the Valentine’s Day article about romantic meals in the city needed finishing. Having already done the research on restaurants offering the most unique experiences, all that remained was to include recipes for people to cook at home. Romantic meals were a part of my distant past, at that point, and I could just as easily have been researching Mars.

  I rarely let myself feel the depth of my loneliness, but it was always with me. It had been a string of failed attempts at love since my failed marriage. I had to be thankful that Jeff and I were now on good terms, but the road getting there nearly destroyed me.

  All the stories – my divorce, the end of my career as a rising star in the restaurant world, the recent deaths of my brother and parents – streamed before my eyes like a personalized movie from which I couldn’t pull myself away.

  So often life, in all its dimensions, had been too much for me to handle, and it had been feeling like that quite often during those days. When I turned away from reality and slipped into the stories in my head, or on the page, life became Goldilocks’ version of just right. In my fantasies I was brave, kind and utterly capable. I stopped betrayal in its tracks, and dished out a healthy dose of whatever was needed for any situation. My daydreams replaced my relationships and my time in the kitchen. No need for lovers when the ones in my mind were always perfect.

  A blade of light pierced through the darkness of the night. I was surprised to see that I was still sitting in front of my computer, believing instead that I had traveled back in time to relive the tumultuous events that still shook everything around me. It was a good story, I thought to myself. I wondered if I would ever write it down. First, I had to complete those darned recipes, before the sun rose and a new day began.

  Chapter Three

  A Family Affair

  It had been seriously high tension at the magazine during the previous week, and I was pleased to have an excuse to leave early. Unlike my sisters, the staff seemed afraid to talk to me, the recent events as ugly as things got in gourmet cuisine publishing. Not that I was looking forward to going to Nora’s either. At least I had the 45-minute drive to clear my head.

  I had recently published an article about one-upmanship among younger chefs, and how that was negatively impacting the level of art in our culinary community. It included a mention of one of the rising stars in our city. My point had been the bigger issue of over-the-top cuisine, but it was true that I had not spoken very kindly of that chef, and he didn’t like it.

  The scorned chef publicly called me the has-been that never was, flaming me in every media outlet he could. It created quite the storm, not only at my magazine, but also throughout the restaurant world. He had used his huge audience and willing media attention to express his rage at what he took as my defamation of his skills.

  The magazine continued to be conflicted about whether to respond or not, and so we all stewed in the hot water, waiting for someone to do something. Most people thought that someone was me.

  The truth was that I knew chefs; I used to be one. I knew the industry rewarded hot-headedness. This young man had felt his fifteen minutes of fame being threatened by some nobody and lashed out. It really wasn’t as dramatic as everyone was making it out to be, but no one wanted to be left out of the conversation, so a slew of media had been devoted to this ridiculous battle.

  He and I had become the polarizing points for anyone who had an opinion about food. There were those who saw his behavior as histrionic and were extremely insulted on my behalf. Then there were those who took my commentary personally, as if I had called their children dumb and ugly. I’d been doing what I did best – staying silent.

  I only hoped my sisters hadn’t caught wind of this scandal. It would be yet another point on which to berate me.

  I arrived at Nora’s house, the implicit shared ground for all family matters, to find my two sisters sitting in the living room looking very serious. The only one missing was Sam, Nora’s longtime partner. Something big was about to go down – I could feel it in the room. Lizzy, my expressive baby sister, was trying to hold the solemnity, but I knew she would be the first to crack.

  The questions began almost immediately. Why wasn’t I showing any emotion or taking action to resolve all the messes in my life? How was I tolerating all these personal attacks? Why wasn’t I defending myself? How could I let him call me a no-talent nobody?

  I found it all too ridiculous and childish to respond to, so I let them rant while I stayed silent. It did not stop them.

  “What happened to you?” Lizzy asked through the tears that began falling almost immediately. “You used to be the most passionate person I’d ever met. You loved food like most people love sex.”

  “Maybe just how you love sex, Lizzy,” I reminded my historically horny sister.

  “Whatever. Now you don't even care that your entire reputation as a chef was just defamed and the work you’re doing now is being totally ridiculed. Did you die in that divorce? What happened, Nik? What happened?”

  I didn’t understand. I had made a series of decisions, quite good I thought, to save my family. To move into a life that was much more reasonable and realistic. What was Lizzy saying? That my passion had died?

  “I love what I do,” I said in a soft voice, not quite sure how much I believed it. “This guy is a wack-job, probably on his way to rehab as we speak. Why should I get all riled up about what he's saying?” I was genuinely curious.

  “Because it's true,” Nora said in an even softer voice. This made Lizzy start crying harder.

  I looked around in confusion. Was this really happening? How could they think the awful things that man had said were true? My feelings were hurt more by that quiet statement then by all the yelling and screaming by the angry chef.

  Nora began again. “We love you so much, Nik. You were the one
who lived her dream. Defied convention and did something you were really, really good at, not just what you were expected to.” My older sister spoke from experience.

  “Ever since the divorce, and your working at that magazine, it's as if you put your soul in cold storage. You just work and take care of the girls and have no life. Do you even do anything you love anymore?”

  “I LOVE MY GIRLS!” It was much louder than I intended. Everyone froze. “Why are you doing this to me? Isn’t it bad enough that I had to be publicly humiliated? Now my family has to tell me what a loser I am too? Are you guys for real?”

  “We just want the old Monique back,” Lizzy said. “My big sister who was my hero and my inspiration and everything I wanted to be when I grew up. Now you're gone. You’re nearly invisible.”

  A tremor pulsed through my body, followed by a stream of tears.

  “Even the girls notice, you know,” Nora said. “They say you're not as much fun. Lola says it's because you have a serious job now and you have to be a serious person. But that's not who you are. You are a wild, crazy, creative woman. Who was born free and unique, like a fairy or a mermaid.”

  That was the last straw. “How dare you! To bring up my kids? You have no idea what I’ve been through and what I had to do just to survive. My family is doing GREAT now. Better than we ever have. We are happy and stable and we get to see each other and I’m not working crazy hours…”

  I stopped to regroup and rethink my approach.

  “Why am I even explaining myself to you? You spent your whole lives just doing what you were told, not a creative or free bone in your entire bodies, and you sit there and insult me? You wouldn't last a day in my shoes. Not even five minutes. So maybe you should start looking at your own pathetic excuses for lives before you start insulting mine.”

  I bolted off the couch. “I don't need to listen to this. I will never forgive you. Never.”

  Lizzy was sobbing so hard I worried she might gag or throw up. Nora softened her gaze. What did she want from me? To admit they were right? Never.

  Lizzy began pleading. “No, Nik. No. You can't leave. You’re the best mother I know. The best one I’ve ever known and the best sister too. You can't leave and you can't hate us. I need you Nik! I need you now. I can't do it without you.”

  “Not now, Lizzy,” Nora said with a slow deep voice.

  “What are you two talking about?” I asked, frozen in my path toward the door.

  “I’M PREGNANT, Nik. Really pregnant. I can't do it without you.”

  “No fucking way,” I said, while finding somewhere to set myself down again.

  We sat silently. Well nearly silently, as Lizzy was still sobbing and Nora was whispering to her, “It's alright sweet girl, it's okay. We’re going to be there for you, okay? You’re not alone. You’re not alone.”

  I couldn’t believe it. My baby sister, pregnant. No boyfriend that I’d heard of. And her crazy career in advertising. What the hell was she going to do?

  “How far along?” was all I could ask.

  “Almost eight weeks.”

  “Holy shit.” She didn’t show at all. But maybe that explained why she’d been looking so busty lately.

  “That’s not why we're here,” said Nora, the pain-in-the-ass voice of reason. Always so rational. I hated that about her.

  “So why are we here?” Bitterness seethed through my words.

  Nora cleared her voice. “We’re here because our sister needs help. And that's you we're talking about Monique. We can see the girl we have all known and loved just dying in there. You look nearly the same on the outside, but we know you're not the same on the inside. Why won't you let us in? It’s okay if you have to live a lie, Nik, but you don't have to live it with us.”

  No one spoke for so long that my words startled everyone. “I’m not dying, I’m living. And I like my job, I really do. The girls and I are doing great. We are happy and healthy and living our lives. You have no right to say otherwise.

  “Maybe when they're a bit older, I can go back to the kitchen. For now, it's just not appropriate. I don't see how you can't understand that! Who wants a mother that comes home at 2am every night? It’s completely ridiculous to even contemplate. There’s a season for everything and right now it's about my family. There will be a season for me. Again.”

  “When?” Lizzy managed to say between her subdued sobs.

  “I can't answer that! When it feels right.” I needed to move attention off of me. “Who's the father Lizzy?”

  “It's Mike. You don't know him. It was quick, and he pretty much told me he didn't want anything to do with me.”

  “She hasn't told him,” added Nora.

  “What? You have to tell him!”

  “Why? So he can reject me even worse? No thanks. I can do it on my own. At least I think I can. I don't know...”

  We all exhaled together.

  “I wish Danny was here,” she said. Our brother. Our beloved baby brother, who died right before Mom and Dad. No brother had ever been so loved and so wonderful. I thought about him every day and missed him even more often.

  He had been our mediator for most of our lives. The voice of practicality and magic, all at the same time. He had a way of saying the most ridiculous things in a way that made you absolutely believe him. During the numerous girl-wars that had erupted in our house, he would take us all out in the woods and pretend to do an incantation to cure us all of the devil energy he claimed had taken us over. We would invariably end up in a huge giggle pile on the forest floor and spend the night picking leaves and twigs out of our hair.

  The emptiness since he died had not shrunk a single inch. He had been our boy, in a house overly full of women.

  He seemed to always have the answers to anything. He would have known what to tell Lizzy about the baby, and he would have known how to soothe my hurt feelings.

  Danny understood me. My sweet baby brother, who felt about the ocean the way I felt about the kitchen, was the first to really get me. He had explained to the others what I could not verbalize, until I had gotten successful enough that he no longer had to.

  I wondered what he would have thought of my new life, since I’d let go of the dream. He would have understood that I made the choice for my family. That it was the right and reasonable thing to do.

  Nora broke me out of my reverie. “You know what Danny would say? He would say, ‘You need to just get the devil out of you. Go outside and sing until your throats are all sore. Then come in, each do at least one shot of whiskey and then lay in bed together.’”

  Norah had known him the longest and it showed in her ability to channel him as needed. That was exactly what he would have said.

  “You’re right,” I said.

  They both looked at me, as if I’d just snapped out of a trance. They waited on my next words, but I had none.

  “Okay, then... whiskey anyone? Except you, Lizzy. Sorry,” offered Nora.

  “Fine,” she responded.

  “No whiskey needed,” I added. “But I do want to understand why you called me here tonight. Do you really think my life is so screwed up? Are my daughters damaged from all the hell we went through?”

  “No, no, no...” Lizzy began to cry again. “We LOVE you Nik. So much. We just wanted you to hear that you’re not alone. You think you have to do everything on your own, and you don't. We’re here and you never ask for help. We can help with the girls, or money or whatever you need. We just want you to be happy again.”

  “What makes you think I’m not happy?”

  “Because you're not. It’s as simple as... like when you tried being a blonde for a little while. It didn't look bad, but we knew it wasn't actually who you are,” Nora said.

  “And you need to get laid more,” said Lizzy.

  “Look where that got you, missy.” Nora’s stiffness softened and Lizzy’s tear-stained face couldn’t hold back a chuckle. It felt like we’d torn down the walls and opened the doors.

  “Are t
he girls with Jeff tonight?” asked Nora.

  “Yup.”

  “Great. You are going to stay here tonight. We all are. Just like we used to do, all curled up in Mom and Dad's giant bed. Except it's my giant bed, but whatever. We have to stick together. We’re it ladies, the last of the Malones. And Lizzy is going to be a mom, and Nik is going to go back to cooking, and we all need lots of help and we're all we have. It’s time to go.”

  With that, Nora walked toward the bedroom. Like good little soldiers, we followed.

  “I’ll get the water,” I said, and filled three huge glasses for our bedtime thirst. We had all inherited this love of water from our mom, needing to drink constantly, day and night. I emptied half my glass before even reaching the bedroom, desperately hoping for relief from the pain that just wouldn’t stop.

  Chapter Four

  A Scary Step

  We laughed and cried and slept very little. We crafted the speech Lizzy would give to her boss about being pregnant, composed the letter to the father, and hatched a plan for my illustrious return back to the kitchen. I’d start small, maybe just a part-time job to get my skills back, and slowly make my way up the ladder again. My girls would spend more time with their beloved aunties, which might actually be good for all of them.

  Being a chef was a lot like being a celebrity – you were only as good as your last movie or meal - and I hadn’t cooked in a long time. Other than the recent hooplah, I was dead to the cooking world. I would have to prove my chops once again.

  I was so tickled with excitement that even after my sisters had fallen asleep, I stayed awake. So many different ideas flowed through my mind. I could find a place that just did breakfast and lunch. A small place with exemplary food without all the pressure. Or I could become a private chef, even though that was less interesting. My ultimate dream was to run the kitchen at a B&B, maybe even in wine country, a few hours away from our home in San Francisco.