Off the Menu (39 page)

“So, tell me what happens?” Maria says, sitting in the chair Barry vacated. She was out of town for the weekend and just got back last night, and Bennie filled her in.

“According to Patrick, they were in the park, and he let Dumpling off his leash, which I do all the time. But this time Dumpling took off after a squirrel and before Patrick knew what was happening, he chased the thing right into the street and was hit by a car. Patrick got him to the emergency vet pretty quickly, where they were able to stabilize him enough to transfer him to here to Lake Forest, which is the best in the area.”

“’Ow bad is it?”

“He lost the bottom half of his right rear leg, and his left eye, and he has some broken ribs. There was some internal bleeding, so they operated, and it seems to be fixed, but they
say we will know more in a day or so.” I start to cry for the umpteenth time in the past three days.

Maria puts her arm around me. “’E will be okay. That dog is the strrrrongest dog I know. And he is not rrrrrready to go yet. You have faith, ’e will be okay.”

“I hope so.”

“And ’ow arrrrre you?”

I laugh. “I’m a mess. I’m scared and heartbroken about my dog, I’m excited and happy about my engagement, and I’m completely up in the air about what to do about my career and I’m running out of time to make my decision.”

“I cannot fix the dog, and the engagement doesn’t need fixing. So talk to me about your careerrrrrr.”

I explain about my being so torn between the job with her Foundation and the job with Patrick. I tell her about my parents’ financial situation and my sense of responsibility to them. I tell her about my discussion with Patrick about my fears and how I should face them, and about my discussions with Rachel and Melanie, who both made huge career shifts that were less lucrative and more personally satisfying. I tell her about my discussions with RJ and his support of whatever I do, but also that I am afraid he will take on the burden of helping support my parents if I choose to take the Foundation job, and that I don’t want him to feel obligated in that way. She listens carefully.

“Why are you so focused on the orrrrr?” she asks.

“The or?”

“
Sí
, the orrrr. This job orrrr that job. Money orrrr feeling good. Kids orrrr Patrick. Helping your parents orrrr helping young people. You keep saying
orrrr
. Not
and
.”

“Maria, that is the essence of this decision, it is one or the other.”

“No. That is wrrrrrong-headed. Not
orrrr
.
And.
Both. All of the best things are AND, not ORRRR. Chocolate AND caramel. Peanut butter AND jelly. Bacon AND sausage. Salt AND pepper. Fish AND chips. Bread AND butter. You cannot make a decision, because this is no decision to make. One is not better than the other. They arrrrre both perfectly good on their own, but better together. So you have to figure out how to have BOTH. You have to ignore the ORRRR and figure out AND.”

“I’m supposed to figure out having two full-time jobs?”

“I can’t tell you what it looks like, but you have to figurrre out ’ow to have the benefits of both jobs, but in one job.”

“That sounds like a magic trick.”

“Not magic. You just have to think. It will come to you. But do not give up ANYTHING. Do not let anyone tell you that you cannot have everything. When they say choose either or, you say no, you choose BOTH. Bread AND butter,
chica
. Pan y mantequilla. Is better for you, and better for everyone. You will see.”

“Okay, Maria, if you say so.” But for the life of me I can’t begin to think that she is right, or that there is any way to have what she seems to think I can have. One of the challenges when a lot of people in your life live a life that is sort of rarified, especially if money is never an issue and other people go out of their way to make sure they get what they want, it can be difficult to explain to them that the world doesn’t necessarily work that way for everyone.

“I do. I say so.” She slaps her hands together. Problem solved. “You call me if you need anything,
sí
?”

“
Sí.
Thank you for coming.”

She holds my chin in her hand. “I am always herrrre for you,
mi amorrr
.” She leans over and kisses me on both cheeks, and then leaves.

The vet comes out to talk to me. He is calm, professional, but honest.

“So, here is where we are. He is fairly stable, and was able to eat some food this morning and keep it down, which is a good sign. And we were able to get him up on his feet for a little bit and walking with some help, which is also important. He isn’t entirely out of the woods, but we are much more hopeful today than we were two days ago. Ideally, we’d like to keep him here for one or two more days before we let you take him home. He’s going to need some extra help as he gets used to the missing eye and missing leg, so don’t move anything around your house for a while. I’ll give you a referral to a local trainer who specializes in this kind of transitional training to help you both adjust to his new reality. We’ve sewn the eye socket shut, so it should heal fine, but until it does, he’ll need to wear an eye patch to keep out dirt and possible contaminants. We have a nurse who can come to your house every other day to change bandages and clean the wounds, so you don’t have to worry about that. And going to the bathroom is going to be a little awkward for a while, so be patient if he has accidents. We recommend that you create some sort of pen for him so that his movement is limited and you have control over what he gets into, especially if you are going to leave him alone. And the cone will be essential until the leg and belly incision have healed fully.”

“Of course.”

“Toward that end, we’re going to put him on a restricted diet designed to keep his bowels moving easily so that he doesn’t strain, which would be bad for his stitches from the surgery and be more difficult because of the loss of the leg.”

I’m trying to be strong, but the tears are coming back. My poor little guy. The vet pats my knee reassuringly.

“I know it’s a lot, but I do think he is going to make it and be fine. He is a tough little guy.”

“Okay.” I sniffle. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you come back and see him for a few minutes before we give him his next pain med dose. And then you should go home, there won’t be anything else you can do here tonight.”

I follow him back through the doors, and he leads me to the area that looks sort of like a doggie ICU. I go over to the cage where Dumpling is lying against the far wall, a large plastic cone on his itty bitty head, white bandage on his new leg stump and across his belly, eye patch over his eye. I notice the little divot where a small piece of one of his fruit bat ears has gone missing, and various other cuts here and there on his tiny little sweet head. He rolls his remaining eye over at me, and even though he looks like hell, there is still a little spark in there.

“Hey there, little man,” I whisper to him, and he turns to the sound of my voice, tail wagging feebly. He stands up awkwardly, using the wall to balance, and starts to move toward me. He stops, swaying a bit, and then the big cone just pulls his head straight down, landing flat on the floor on the cage, trapping his poor head. He slides forward in this odd way and then, when the cone hits the front wall of the cage, schlumps over on his side, cone flipping back up. I put my hand in the cage, past the cone, and he licks it. I scratch under his chin, and he pushes against me weakly, but surely, and I just stand at his cage and weep.

The ride home seems endless, and by the time I get there, I am completely exhausted. I barely make it into the house before collapsing on the couch and falling into a fitful sleep. I wake to the feeling of a soft kiss on my forehead. I peel my eyelids back.

“Hello, beautiful fiancée.”

“Hello, handsome fiancé.”

“How’s our boy?”

My eyes fill up. “He’s all battered and sad and the cone is too heavy for his tiny head.”

RJ’s chin begins to quiver. “What do the docs say?”

“They say he isn’t totally out of the woods, but it looks better than it did a couple of days ago, and that we might be able to bring him home day after tomorrow.”

“That’s great. That’s so great.” RJ folds me into his arms.

“I need your help,” I mumble into his chest.

“Anything.”

I tell him about my conversation with Maria. About her insistence that the reason I can’t make up my mind about my career is because I am looking at it wrong. About her concept of finding the AND.

“Well, she does have a point. Your pull to stay with Patrick and do this new challenge isn’t just about money, but also about tackling an old fear that you might finally be ready to conquer. And the Foundation job is appealing for more than just your do-gooder impulses; it is also about having something of a lifestyle change.”

“I know. She is right, I’m split down the middle because the cons for both jobs sort of negate, and I’m equally interested in all of the pros that remain.”

“So what can I do?”

“I need you to help me figure out the AND.”

RJ nods thoughtfully. “We will do it. But can I feed you first? I think you’ll need your strength, and I have a suspicion that your lunch was out of the vending machine.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Okay. Why don’t you go wash your face and relax and I’ll rustle us up some dinner …. Opart?” Our favorite Thai restaurant.

“Perfect.”

“I’ll be back in a flash.”

He’s barely out the door when the doorbell rings.

“Silly boy, what did you forget besides your key?” I say to the back of the door. But when I open it, it isn’t RJ.

Patrick looks even worse than when we saw him at the emergency vet Saturday night. There are huge bags under his red-rimmed eyes, three-day scruff on his face, his hair is a mess.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” I stand aside so that he can come in.

“I called Lake Forest; they said he’s doing better.”

“Yeah. Not out of danger, but if he continues getting better I can bring him home in a couple of days.”

“I gave them my credit card, so make sure they don’t try to charge you for anything.”

“That’s sweet, Patrick, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. I just … Alana, you can’t know how sorry I am. Please don’t hate me. I just, I’m such an asshole and I know I’m awful and when RJ told me he was getting ready to propose and asked for my advice on how to do it, I just wanted you to have a perfect weekend, you know? And I thought, if I took Dumpling then you guys could be totally focused on each other. He was right next to me, and then he was gone and in a flash there was just the most horrible sound I’ve ever …” His voice breaks.

“Patrick. It wasn’t your fault. When that damn dog gets fixated on a squirrel, there is nothing in the world that can change that. I’ve called him for ten minutes while he runs
clear to the other side of the park and back. He’s never ever gone anywhere near a street, which is why I always have him off leash in the parks without even thinking about it, and you had no reason not to do the same. You didn’t do anything wrong, this was just a horrible accident and I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.” Which, as it is coming out of my mouth, I realize is actually true. I open my arms and he grabs me in a hard hug and I can feel his back relax a little. “I’m sorry; I should have called you and said that sooner. I didn’t realize you were feeling so guilty.” When we had seen him Saturday night, he had mumbled apologies and snuck away when we were in meeting with the vet and discussing options, and since then he’s left messages and I’ve texted him brief updates, but we haven’t spoken.

He sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “Okay then.”

“Okay.”

“He caught the squirrel, you know.” He grins.

“No way.”

“I think it’s why he got hit, I think he got it and it made him stop in the street. But the tail was in his mouth when I got to him.”

This makes me laugh for the first time since that horrible phone call. Really laugh. And then Patrick is really laughing and the two of us hold each other and crack up at the idea of my poor, dumb dog lying in the street with his prey in his mouth, thinking, “Got you, you bastard.” Like some shot-up cowboy whose last round found its mark.

“I’m glad you’re here, Patrick. There is something we need to talk about. Can you stay for dinner?”

“Yeah. I’m sort of starving.”

“Haven’t been eating much?” I feel so bad that he has been beating himself up so much.

He looks at me like I’m insane. “No, I’ve been eating plenty, but lunch was like six hours ago.” And, we’re back.

I call RJ and ask him to increase our order to accommodate one starving chef, and then Patrick and I sit down on the couch. I tell him everything about the Foundation job, my being so torn. I’m honest with him about the things that job offers me that he doesn’t, my need for some balance and boundaries, some normalizing of my life and schedule. I’m also honest with him about the parts of what he offers me that I don’t want to lose. Then I tell him about Maria’s concept of AND, and tell him that the best thing I can do for myself is to see if there is a way to achieve that, but that I wanted him to know that if I can’t come up with a new plan, that the other job is solidly in the running. I tell him about my responsibility to my folks, and their financial problems. It may be the first time in all the years we’ve been together that I talk to him without editing myself, the first time I am completely open. And Patrick, to his credit, listens to it all. And more important, he hears.

“Look, Alana, you know that the idea of losing you makes me crazy. But frankly, I’ve been ready for it ever since that day with the onions when you stood up to me in front of everyone and put me in my place. Deep down, I can’t believe you’ve put up with me this long, and after my asshat move on Maria’s show, I’m completely shocked you didn’t quit weeks ago.”

“I probably should have.”

“Probably.” He grins. “But you love me.”

I sigh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Okay, so if I have a chance to keep you and it means I have to figure out how to help you have everything you want, then I’m going to do that.”