"Alright, now we can add the two medium eggs," Zara said. As Michael held up two eggs, she added, "Do you think those are medium?"
"Hmm…a bit large for medium, don't you think?"
Zara referred to the cookbook.
"It says quite clearly medium," she said with her little finger on the page. "Cooking is all chemistry."
I rolled my eyes and contained a laugh. As they debated the egg situation, I sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed the bag of chocolate chips. Before the pair could notice me, I dumped the half-full bag of chocolate chips into the mixing bowl.
"Mom!" Zara laughed as I kissed her bed-ruffled hair. "That's way too much chocolate!"
"No such thing," I said as I grinned over her head at Michael.
He had a smear of flour on his nose and his silk work shirt was crumpled from sleeping over in it. Our eyes met and we shared a silent smile together. It was tentative and hesitant but hopeful, even as I averted my eyes with a small blush of my cheeks.
The three of us then shared an intimate breakfast of way-too-chocolatey pancakes that left all three of our lips smeared with brown. But we laughed at one another like miners or pirates from the 1800s who'd lost half their teeth, and we were happy. We didn't even bother moving to the kitchen table, but instead ate the pancakes hot right from the skillet with our fingers. As the next pancakes cooked, we sat in a little row on the island, our bare feet swinging to and fro as we licked our chocolatey fingers clean, the kitchen filled with just the sound of butter popping and our lips smacking.
It was quiet and simple and sweet, even without the chocolate and sugar and vanilla included. Michael and I snuck little smiles at one another, our eyes drawn together by some unknown force. Each time he smiled. I blushed and looked away.
We all lost track of time. After filling our stomachs, it was a hectic race to get Zara to school on time. Michael helped pack Zara's lunch. I darted into my bathroom to throw on some clothes and wipe off last night's mascara for the office. I checked my phone for the first time since the night before and saw several missed notifications for a meeting Michael was supposed to report to at 8 a.m.
I ducked my head out of my bedroom and found Michael helping Zara slip into her backpack.
"Hey," I said, "we forgot that meeting with Dublin this morning."
Michael kept his focus on Zara. "I didn't."
"Huh?"
Michael glanced back at me over his shoulder. "I didn't forget about it."
Before I could respond he had already turned away and was guiding Zara toward the front door.
"Let's get you to school, eh?" he said to her. I slipped back around the corner in confusion.
I leaned for a brief moment against the wall, staring at the missed meeting on my cell phone, the missed meeting Michael had intentionally missed. I bit my lip and allowed myself the tiniest of smiles.
The tiniest of hopes.
Michael
Over the next week of work I was having a harder and harder time remembering what about it I had once found so important. Before coming to the United States it wouldn't be uncommon for me to work, shuttered away in my office, completely absorbed in whatever I was doing till Caroline knocked at the door with an espresso and croissant, my only indication the sun had once again risen. It used to be that any moment I spent away from work, whether to shop or visit my family for Sunday lunches or, hell, even to sleep, seemed like time wasted. It used to make me fidgety, anxious, irritable, because I was constantly thinking about what I could be accomplishing in those hours, those minutes, those seconds. I’d found meaning, usefulness, purpose in the work I did.
Or at least I was a hell of a lot better at telling myself I did.
But now I stared at legal documents and my eyes glazed over, my mind drifting to Abbi. I would have to read the same line over and over and over again because I couldn't stop thinking about her. The documents I needed to review started to pile up on the side of my desk as the week stretched on. Emails, too, no longer held my interest. I puzzled over the vigour with which I used to wake up and lunge for my Blackberry like I was falling. I normally kept my inbox at zero, but now I found the number of unread messages creeping up into the double and then triple digits, and I just didn't care the way I used to. Meetings I found boring. Phone calls I found exhausting. For the first time ever, it was my work that was lagging during daily status meetings.
I could see the little flickers of worry on everyone's faces. Harry often ducked his head into my office to find me staring out over the mountains past the city instead of editing the bank memo he’d sent two hours ago.
"You okay, Mr O'Sullivan?"
"Never better," I'd say, grinning stupidly at the majestic peaks.
If only he'd known that I was content to simply watch the sun set behind them for the rest of the day. The board in Dublin was wondering if the altitude was getting to me; Caroline had already sent several articles about the importance of staying hydrated in arid environments.
For seemingly the first time in my life, my work was terribly average. There would be no awards, no commendations, no promotions based on
