Takes place the day after chapter 11


Chapter 12

"What are you doing?"

"Watering the lawn."

"I can see that. I was referring to the fact that you're doing it by hand. Don't you have one of those fancy, timed sprinkler systems?"

"Yes..but a couple of the heads are clogged. So half the water is ending up on the sidewalk instead of the grass."

"Sounds like a problem."

"Not a problem. Someone's coming to adjust it on Monday."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Is what necessary?"

"Having someone come out here to do something I could probably do myself."

"I have no doubt that you could fix the sprinkler system, House. You could probably fix a space shuttle, if you were determined enough."

"Okay."

"Which is precisely why there's no need for you to prove it to me."

"So you'd rather pay an absolute stranger to prove it to you instead?"

"It's still under warranty."

"So?"

"So the adjustment will be free."

"Hmm…quite the dilemma."

"What is?"

"Now I'm torn between my inherent need to assert my manliness and my deep affection for things that are free."

"I'm sure I can think of some more creative ways for you to assert your manliness."

"Dilemma resolved."

"..."

"Don't the gardeners usually do the watering?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you just let them do it?"

"I should be making you do it."

"Why?"

"You may have noticed things are a little overgrown around here. The gardeners haven't been here in three weeks."

"Why not?"

"They quit."

"Weren't you paying them enough?"

"I was actually paying them plenty. I'm thinking it has something to do with you yelling at them in Spanish."

"So I yelled at them in Spanish. Big deal."

"They're Portuguese."

"It figures. That's like the one language I don't speak."

"Either way, I don't think we'll be seeing them again."

"It's just as well. Someone who doesn't know how to prune rose bushes has no right to call themselves a gardener."

"Oh really? What do you think they should they call themselves?"

"Lawn maintenance technicians."

"…"

"Are you going to hire new ones?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because you are."

"Oh really?"

"You scared them away. You find a replacement, preferably one that doesn't mind being screamed at and who understands one of the fifteen languages you speak."

"Eleven."

"Whatever."

"I actually came out here to ask if you wanted something to eat."

"I had a yogurt with granola earlier."

"Let me clarify. I meant something with enough calories to sustain human life."

"You wouldn't be asking unless you already had something particular in mind. What is it?"

"Dolmathes."

"You mean stuffed grape leaves?"

"Yep."

"I haven't had those in years. What are you filling them with?"

"Brown rice...which I'm going to cook in chicken broth, crushed pine nuts, dill, onion, parsley and lemon zest."

"That's exactly the way my mom makes them."

"Really? What a strange coincidence."

"Is it a coincidence?"

"No. I got the recipe from her when we went to her house last Sunday."

"Did you ask or did she offer?"

"She offered."

"Wow."

"What?"

"She barely knows you."

"So?"

"My mom doesn't give out her recipes out to just anyone. She usually doesn't give them out at all."

"Seriously? She gave me a whole stack of index cards, in this little metal box."

"Are the recipes typed or handwritten?"

"Handwritten."

"She must have been really impressed with your pineapple upside down cake."

"It's not a terribly difficult desert to make."

"Maybe not. But it's her favorite...second only to this rich kind of thing that's made with marzipan and covered with green icing. I want to say she called it a princess cake."

"Prinsesstårta."

"Yes. You've heard of it?"

"It's Swedish. It literally means princess cake. It's popular in Scandinavian countries."

"Yeah well...she loved it. But she didn't make it as often as she probably would have liked."

"Why not?"

"Marzipan is made with almonds. My dad and my sister were both allergic to almonds."

"Just almonds or nuts in general?"

"I think nuts in general. Why?"

"Because you can make marzipan out of pistachios and cashews."

"..."

"I've never worked with marzipan. But it's not complicated. I could probably make a prinsesstårta."

"Well her birthday's next month. If you want to score serious points with her, that would be the way to go."

"Do you think I need to score points with her?"

"Actually no. You're the first man I've ever dated who she hasn't found immediate fault with. Of course it probably doesn't hurt that you can speak Yiddish and that you both watch the same soap operas."

"Oh yeah? What did she think of Lucas?"

"That he didn't have a real job and he wasn't old enough to have facial hair."

"And not only do I have a real job, but I am definitely old enough to grow facial hair."

"..."

"And I don't drive an ice cream truck."

"..."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Then what's with the exasperated sigh?"

"Sorry...it's not you."

"Then what is it?"

"I've watered this grass every day, since the gardeners quit...and look at it. It's still dying."

"Grass actually doesn't need to be watered every day. But even if it did, this probably wouldn't be the ideal time to do it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's best to get all your watering done before nine o'clock in the morning or after five o'clock in the evening."

"Let me guess…with direct sunlight, the water will evaporate before the plants have a chance to absorb it."

"That does seem like it would be the most obvious explanation."

"It's not?"

"Look…see how all the grass in the middle of your lawn is yellow?"

"Yes."

"The middle of the lawn gets the most direct sunlight during the day. Now you'd think…the grass must be all dried out from the heat, and that's what's killing it. So the logical solution would be to give it more water, right?"

"Right."

"Wrong. It's actually getting plenty of water, probably way more than it needs. It's just getting it at the wrong time."

"…"

"Ever get a sunburn, after spending the day in the water, at the beach?"

"Yes."

"You get covered with blisters...and it ends up worse than it would have been if you'd spent the day, back on the sand, laying on your towel instead."

"..."

"Do you know why?"

"No. But I'm assuming you do."

"When you spray the water, the grass gets wet. Individual drops of water have a very small surface area. But water doesn't just conduct heat, it also refracts light, which in turn creates what?"

"More heat."

"Exactly. Those drops of water can triple their own temperature in a matter of minutes, long before evaporation can take place. The sun heats the water until it is literally boiling the grass underneath. That's what's killing your lawn."

"..."

"Water less often and at the right time, and your grass will be green in no time."

"And it didn't occur to you to mention this sooner?"

"Sure it occurred to me."

"And yet you didn't bring it to my attention...why?"

"I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but you're fairly sensitive to criticism."

"So in order to spare my ego, you let me kill my own lawn."

"Well it sounds really stupid when you put it like that."

"So where did you pick up this handy tidbit of information, Martha Stewart?"

"No. It was my fifth grade science project."

"You must have been an interesting child."

"I really wasn't."

"..."

"So...grape leaves, yea or nay?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Great."

"..."

"Um...I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"What, stuffing grape leaves?"

"No."

"..."

"I feel like I should probably ask how you're doing, after the whole...you know."

"You mean physically?"

"I mean in general."

"I'm okay."

"You're sure."

"Yes."

"Good."

"Thank you for asking."

"You're welcome."

"Is that it?"

"No."

"..."

"In light of what happened yesterday, I think...there's something that I need to address."

"Okay."

"You probably don't even remember this. But about three years ago...it was during that whole Tritter fiasco. We had this six year old patient. Her parents were divorced. She ended up having acute intermittent porphyria..."

"I remember."

"Right."

"I've been wanting to address it for a while myself. I mean...I didn't see the point before. But once we started dating...I don't know."

"Why didn't you?"

"I assumed that you'd already forgotten, that bringing it up might even do more harm than good."

"..."

"I mean, you had no way of knowing this at the time. But considering what was going on in my life at the moment, that was pretty much the worst thing you could have possibly said."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out...much too late, of course."

"Why'd you say it?"

"I was in pain. I was...angry."

"At me?"

"At you, at myself, at the world. You were in my face a whole lot more than usual. It seemed like you were going out of your way to subject yourself to my abuse, when I was doing everything in my power to drive you away. It was almost as if you were being tolerant to spite me."

"I was."

"And that would be why I took advantage of the fact that you'd made yourself a convenient target for my frustrations."

"I can relate."

"You can?"

"I was in a lot of pain yesterday, and I said some things that I probably shouldn't have."

"Well I obviously have no first hand experience from which to draw. But from what I understand, a miscarriage can actually be as physically painful as the act of giving birth."

"True."

"And yet...no matter how bad it is, you have the luxury of knowing that it's temporary. You know that at some point in the near future, the pain will be over and you will get some relief."

"What's your point?"

"You knew that the pain you were experiencing was temporary. I on the other hand, had no idea when relief would come, or if it would ever come at all."

"Meaning what, because your discomfort was chronic and not acute, you were more entitled to lash out at the people around you?"

"No."

"..."

"Look...in no way am I attempting to discount your experience..."

"It kind of sounds like you are."

"Well that's not what I'm trying to do."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"This is coming out all wrong."

"..."

"I just want to make it clear, that what I said to you was an accurate reflection of the degree to which I was suffering."

"..."

"I know it doesn't excuse anything. I just...don't think you had any idea just how much pain I was in."

"..."

"But if you ever want to find out, try developing an opiate addiction. Wait about five years or so. Then out of the blue, with no notice whatsoever, I will force you to detox cold turkey. You won't believe the kind of bullshit that'll come out of your mouth."

"Bullshit?"

"Yeah."

"And how are we defining bullshit, for the purposes of this conversation?"

"You don't know what bullshit means?"

"No...I want to know what you think it means."

"Nonsensical, unnecessary, pointless, unwarranted, untrue...you need more synonyms? I could go and get a thesaurus."

"Which part of what you said was untrue?"

"All of it."

"Are you saying that you weren't serious?"

"Serious about what?"

"You said it was a good thing that I'd failed to become a mother...because I obviously sucked at it."

"Uh no, I wasn't even in the same ballpark as serious. "

"..."

"You thought I was?"

"..."

"Wait a minute...you mean to tell me that all this time, for the past three years, you've been under the impression that I was completely serious when I made that statement?"

"…"

"Well that explains a lot."

"When I was in the process of trying to adopt Joy, it seemed like your goal was to discourage me."

"It was."

"..."

"But it was never because I thought you'd make a lousy mom."

"Then why?"

"..."

"You brought this is up, House. Talk to me."

"Do you know what it feels like to be miserable, while everyone else around you is happy, all the while knowing that you will never have what they have? Or what it's like to be stuck, unable to grow or change, but forced to watch other people moving on with their lives?"

"Yes and yes."

"See that's just it. Your life was pretty empty at the time, just as empty as mine...maybe even more so. And you were so desperate for something to fill that empty space, it seemed like you would have stuffed any old thing in there...anything that you thought might have the potential to fulfill you."

"You thought that it would be a mistake for me to adopt, House. You even said so at the time."

"What I thought was that, due to your unrealistic expectations, you were ultimately going to end up disappointed. And by then it would be too late to do anything about it. You'd be stuck with the kid."

"You were...protecting me?"

"If that's how you want to interpret it."

"Why the hell didn't you just say that?"

"Because I didn't know how."

"You didn't have any trouble telling me just now."

"Yeah well...I've been in therapy for over a year. I may have learned a few new tricks."

"..."

"I just figured that even if I did miraculously find some way to accurately convey my feelings, you wouldn't take me seriously anyway. I didn't want to waste my effort."

"..."

"And there was probably a part of me that didn't want you to be fulfilled."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't want you to have anything that I couldn't have."

"So...what do you think of me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...as a parent."

"I think the only thing you're doing wrong is obsessing over the possibility that you're doing something wrong."

"I don't get it. Do you think I'm doing anything wrong or not?"

"I'm sure you are. You're probably making all kinds of mistakes. But so is everyone else on the planet. There's no official, correct, scientifically proven way to raise a child. So worrying about how everyone else thinks you're doing is kind of pointless."

"..."

"But that's not the kind of feedback you're looking for, is it?"

"..."

"What you're really asking here is whether or not I personally think you're doing a good job raising your kid."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"I think I lack the kind of life experience that would make someone a good judge of such things. But for what it's worth, I think you're doing just fine."

"..."

"And hearing that makes you happy."

"Yes."

"Me thinking you're doing alright makes you happy."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Why not?"

"It just doesn't."

"Not everything in life is going to make sense, House."

"..."

"I have no idea why your opinion matters to me. I only know that it does."