She Poured Out Her Heart by Jean Thompson Page B

the city that Jane had only read about, one of several owned by a famous chef, a place that served things like bison, persimmon emulsion, artichoke fritters, saffron-infused desserts. The menu a parade of marvels. “I hope you’ll like it,” Eric said, and Jane murmured that she was certain she would. The only complaints anyone might make would have to do with decadence and waste, since it was all so viciously expensive. You half expected to see the cast of
Les Misérables
pressed against the windows.
    Jane thought Eric’s parents must have given him money to go celebrate. Eric was always vague about them, but she gathered, from a remark or two, that they were people of means, even if Eric said he had largely (vaguely) financed his own way through medical school. Some of his confidence undoubtedly came from growing up with money, the solid fact of it backing everything up. But the residency was something that he had accomplished on his own, fought his way to.
    He talked about how his friends had managed with their matches. Not bad. He would not have to feel guilty about his own good fortune. “Tell me more about Emory,” Jane kept saying, or, “Tell me more about Atlanta.” He was excited about everything, which was a good way to start out. He said he’d no doubt be working at the huge public hospital, Grady Memorial, the one with the ER called Grady Knife and Gun Club. The prospect energized him. He loved the tough stuff. She felt how dearly she would miss him.
    â€œWhen does all this start?” she asked him. Although she knew very well when it started. Graduation was in June, and the residencies began soon afterward. She just wanted to feel good and sad about it yet again. He began to answer, but was interrupted by the waiter, who set in front of them terrines made of different exotic sea creatures.
    When the waiter left, Eric said, “You could go with me, you know.”
    Jane had picked up her fork. Now she put it down again. “What?”
    â€œThere are about a million different health careers there. I mean, the Centers for Disease Control, for starters.”
    He was waiting for her to say something, maybe, “Centers for Disease Control, really?” Jane looked around her. The restaurant was one of those minimalist temples of gastronomy, all tile and sleek leather and industrial lighting. Nowhere soft for the eyes to land. Hunger of any sort unknown here. She burst into noisy tears.
    â€œHey, hey,” Eric said. “What’s the matter? Jane?”
    She couldn’t stop. She had invested so much in the idea of her own failure and unlovability.
    â€œDon’t cry into the terrine. You know, the chef hates it when people add salt.”
    That made her laugh, hiccupping, although she was still bawling. The waiter stationed himself a discreet distance away in case the lady needed special attention, a taxi, say, or perhaps she wanted to change her order.
    When she was able to speak again she said, “I thought when you left town, that was it.”
    â€œOh come on.” He made a scoffing face.
    â€œI didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t say.”
    â€œI didn’t want to even talk about it until I knew where I was going to end up. Here, drink some water.”
    She drank, and fished around for a Kleenex in her purse. “Am I blotchy? I get blotchy when I cry.”
    â€œYou’re fine.” Eric waved the waiter away. “So . . .”
    â€œWe should talk more about this,” Jane said, picking up her fork once more. She was slowly realizing that she had actual power here, she was free to say yes or say no. Why would she consider no? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? But didn’t people first decide to be together no matter what? She didn’t like the idea that the computer program had determined her future as well as his, that if it had sent him to Pennsylvania, say, he might not be asking