Frog Legs

“Lucy, did you take an edible before we left the house?”

“What? No. Why?”

“I feel like you’re floating above the restaurant right now. You have that look that you only get when you’re either deep in thought or stoned.” 

“Sorry, babe. The first one. I’m just thinking.” 

“About what my love?”

“Well… Josh, I got invited to the Atelier des Lumières Provençales. The letter just arrived this afternoon.” 

“Wait, hold on, that’s the really famous program in France, right?” 

“No, the Atelier des Lumières Provençales is in England.”

“Englad? Really? With that name?”

“No, of course it’s in France. I’m kidding. Sorry, that was a little facetious of me.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. You applied to so many that I had to be sure! That’s amazing, Luce. Congratulations. Tell me all about it.”

“It’s three years in the south of France, painting alongside nine other artists from around the world, studying under some of the greatest living impressionist painters. It’s overwhelming to even think about being a part of it. It’s one of, if not the most revered painting programs on the planet.” 

“That’s so exciting. Wow. I am so, so proud of you!”

“I just can’t believe they liked the portfolio I submitted enough to invite me. It’s completely unbelievable.”

“It’s more believable than anything I could imagine, Luce. They would be idiots not to love it. When does the program start?” 

“Well, they want an answer by the end of next week, and then the program would begin in May. There’s so much to think about.”

“What’s there to think about? Let’s move to France! C'est parti, as they say… I think.”

“Well, the thing is–” 

“You can’t say no to this, Luce. You’ve wanted to get into one of these programs for years. Since before we were even engaged.” 

“I know, but–”

“Lucy, we have to go. I’m not letting you talk yourself out of it. I think my work would be fine with me living there; it’s all remote anyway. And with us getting married in April, I’m pretty sure I’d be able to get some living permit as your husband; I mean, I would need to look into it, of course, but I’m sure it would be no problem.” 

“Josh… you can’t live with me there.” 

“Wait, what do you mean? Of course, I could. I can make it happen.” 

“It’s a full-time residency program. The artists live in a big estate together, disconnected from the world outside, aside from letters and newspapers. Artists are to come alone and stay there, alone, for the duration of the program.” 

“Ah… well… shit, Luce.”

“Shit is right. That’s why my mind is somewhere else tonight. I don’t know what to think, honestly.” 

“Did you know it was a residency program that cut you off from the world when you applied?” 

“Yes, I did. But as you know, I’ve been rejected by so many similar programs that are much less important, so I thought I didn’t have a shot of being accepted into this one. They usually only take cool, young twenty-somethings with some pretentious, culturally fresh point of view, not a thirty-two-year-old with a banking background who only recently rediscovered her dream of being a painter.”

“I see.” 

“Please don’t be mad. I shouldn’t have even brought it up tonight. I don’t even want to go that badly. I bet I’d hate it after the first while. I can study what I need to learn here.”

“Lucy–”

“I won’t go, it’s too long. I can’t expect you to go three years without having me around. That’s not fair to keep you waiting. I’ll tell them no tonight. Let’s get a bottle of wine; let me find the waiter, and I’ll order–” 

“Lucy, you have to go. You just have to. It’s one of the best in the world, right? You just told me only ten people on Earth get invited. Ten people, and they want you to be one of them. Imagine all the talented people who got rejected. It’s like winning the lottery.” 

“No, no. Honestly, I would feel like a fraud anyway. I’m sure my technical ability isn’t even close to that of the other candidates, and I’d be spending all my time feeling like an imposter. I’d rather stay here with you and keep working with the local galleries.” 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want the chance to become a world-famous artist with gallery showings in all corners of the globe. Look at me, tell me that. I’ll believe you, and I’ll drop the topic.” 

“Well, the thing is that, honestly, when I think about all the factors, it’s so–”

“Lucy, look at me and tell me you don’t want to go.” 

“... I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be at all, Luce.”

“You can hate me. I would understand. It’s so selfish to want to go, I know.”

“If you stay here, you will always be playing a game of woulda-coulda-shoulda in your head. This will change your life, Luce. I can’t wait to see what you create, honestly.” 

“Well, maybe you could still come live near the residency? Maybe they would allow us to visit on weekends or holidays? I could write letters every day.”

“Lucy, I love you so much. More than I ever thought I could. But you know I can’t do that.” 

“Why not?”

“I can’t spend three years living in a small French town halfway across the world just for the occasional glimpse of you, and with me there, you wouldn’t be able to immerse yourself in your work anyways, not fully at least. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“What are you saying, babe?”

“I’m not sure how to say it, exactly.” 

“Try.”

“Okay, well, do you remember that book I read last summer when we stayed at that cottage by the beach? The Bell Jar?” 

“Maybe, but what does that have to do with–” 

“At one point in the book, the narrator imagines herself sitting in a fig tree, with branches of unripe figs growing around her, right? As she sees it, each fig is a different life she could pursue, a different path to walk down. In one fig, she could see becoming an Olympic rower; in another, she was settling down with a family. And there were hundreds of figs. But sitting there, she couldn’t decide which fig to pick. They ripened and then rotted, falling off the branch forever, leaving her with no figs left to eat, starving her.”

“What a comforting thought. What are you saying, though?” 

“You deserve this, Luce, you really do. You have such a special gift; the world needs to see it. The program will require your undivided time and attention, as it should. There wouldn’t be any room left for me in your life.” 

“Well, what if–”

“I’m thirty-four. I’m dying to settle down. I want to have kids while my parents are still young enough to enjoy them. You know this about me. Waiting three extra years, and then however many additional years it would take to get your big break into the art world, as you undoubtedly will, would likely take several more years. I could never ask you to sacrifice your dream for mine. But I also feel I can’t sacrifice mine for yours.” 

“Then I’ll stay, and we’ll have kids, and your parents will be amazing grandparents, and I’ll see if I can get into a program in the future.”

“Lucy, we’re sitting in the tree right now. Our figs could rot tomorrow.” 

“Well, how does the woman in the book know which fig to pick? Is there one special one she knows would make her feel full?”

“No, in the book, she was just hungry and forgot about the fig tree once she ate.”

“Maybe we’re just hungry too, then.” 

“I think the point was that, realistically, no one really knows which figs would make them feel full; that’s life. You just have to pick one that looks the sweetest to you. You can tell me if I’m wrong, but as far as I see it, the sweetest-tasting path for you is leading to France.”

“I know you’re right, babe, but I want you to be wrong.”

“I do, too. But you know I’m always right.” 

“Shut up. Stop being funny.”

“It’s my coping mechanism. It’s what’s stopping my tears, Lucy. I’m going to miss you… a lot. Being proud of you won’t stop that feeling.” 

“I’m so, so sorry, Josh.”

“If you apologize again, I’m leaving the restaurant, Luce. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.” 

“Will you at least come with me to get me settled? We could spend a week or two exploring France.” 

“I’d love to.” 

“Okay, thank you.”

“I really am so proud of you, Luce.” 

“Josh, I couldn't do any of this without you. When I met you, I was working at a bank. You pushed me to pursue painting, helped me book those gallery shows… you even sent me the link to Atelier des Lumières Provençales’s website; I had never heard of it before. You’ve done… everything for me.”

“Damn, I knew I should have been working instead of browsing art programs for you.”

“Josh–” 

“I’m kidding, Luce.” 

“What I’m saying is that you’ve always seen me. More than I have ever seen myself. Thank you for that.”

“You are a sight I will never forget, my love. Let’s toast to France. Where’s the waiter?” 

“Hi there, what can I– is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. Just an emotional night for us. Can we get some champagne, please? Something French and expensive.”

“Right away, sir.” 

“I’m jealous of the food you’re going to get to eat over there, Luce.”

“Josh, I just feel so terrible. I’m abandoning you. You proposed to me, and I said yes. I knew that meant forever. And now I’m just…leaving.” 

“Frog legs, ratatouille, baguettes, oh man, the cheese will–”

“Please take this seriously.”

“Lucy, please. It’s not like you’re running off to marry the waiter. You’re following your dream. Coming a close second to that is an honour.”

“I don’t know what to say right now.” 

“I bet your parents will be so proud of you, Lucy; mine will be.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now. You’re being too nice. I feel like you should yell at me or something.” 

“You know I never would.” 

“I know.” 

“I will miss you every second, Lucy.”

“I’ll miss you more.”

“Maybe, but only until you taste the food. Then I’ll vanish from memory, I’m sure.”

“Josh, please, stop trying to be funny. It makes it worse.”

“Your champagne, sir.” 

“Ah, perfect, thanks. Fill ‘em up. Thank you.”

“Enjoy.”

“Wait, don’t sip yet. Let me make a little toast first, Luce. Lucy, you are–”

“Josh, please, I’m about to sob here. Let’s save the speeches for when we’re back home later tonight, or better yet, never.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll keep it short and sweet, I promise. We can figure out all the details later, but for now, let me just say this: Lucy, you have inspired me every day since I met you. Your courage, drive, perspective, and the way you get so lost in your art that I don’t know where you start and the painting ends; it’s all just amazing. I have loved and will always love every inch of you, Luce, and–”

“I love you too, Josh; please, please, stop, though.”

“Alright then, Luce. Let’s just cheers and enjoy being together.” 

“What should we cheers to, exactly?”

“To eating our figs before they rot.”