Page 14 of The Love We Make

I nod. “Anyway, I don’t feel as though I’m your boss, Nora. That’s all I was trying to say.”

“It’s just how you walked into the room the other day, as though you had a big point to prove, and invited Stella and me to lunch, summoned us, really, just because you could… After that, it’s hard to shake the idea that you’re the big boss.”

“That’s why I invited you here. To undo that first impression of me.”

“It’s a bit funny to undo one invitation to a meal with another.” Nora reaches for her empty wine glass. When I try to refill it, she stops me. She pours herself some water instead.

“I hadn’t thought about it that way.” I rise. “Dessert?”

“Sure.” Nora stands as well. “Let me help you with these.”

Telling my kids Nora Levine helped me clear the table will be the highlight of my week—unless I decide not to tell them Nora was here at all.

Before grabbing dessert from the fridge, I take a moment to watch Nora stack plates in the sink. She’s been surprisingly open to me tonight—at least compared to our first lunch—but she remains the same enigma. An image she has cultivated to a T since she first shot to fame thirty years ago.

She’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and the kind of blouse that Lauren would put front and center in the window display of her shop.

“Anything else I can do for you?” She wipes her hands on a towel.

“Would you like some coffee? Tea?”

“No, thanks.”

“Night cap?” Even though I’m not much of a drinker, I keep a well-stocked liquor cabinet. I open the door so Nora can see. “Whatever tickles your fancy.”

“You know what? You’re a good influence on me. If you’re not drinking, I’m not drinking either.” She huffs out some air. “If only Juan and Imani weren’t so fond of Dom Pérignon. I’d drink a whole lot less myself.”

My kitchen is hardly tiny, but Nora and I find ourselves in close proximity regardless. It’s hard to tell how much makeup she’s wearing, if any at all. Her skin is surprisingly smooth for a woman in her early fifties. I do recognize the tell-tale curve of the upper lip post filler.

“If you’re sure.” I ask.

“Do you have another drug of choice? Some Mary-Jane? Funny gummies?”

I shake my head. “No. A clear head has always been my most preferred state.”

“Unlike most humans. Fascinating.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to offer other than what you just saw.”

“Oh.” Nora chuckles. “That’s not what I meant. I was trying to say that alcohol is actually my drug of choice. I’ve tried a thing or two in my life—as you may have heard, a few of myHigh Lifecast mates had a steady supply of whatever was the rage back then—but nothing does the trick for me better than a nice glass of wine. Of which you provided plenty. So, thank you.” Nora heads back to the dining table. I follow with dessert.

“Did you make this?” Nora asks when I present her with dessert.

“God, no. Some things are better left to professionals.”

“I agree.” Nora smiles at me and she looks genuinely relaxed. Not that she gave the impression that she didn’t want to be here, but it has taken her a while to thaw, to let some warmth radiate from her gaze. “For your information, I don’t cook, so I wouldn’t sit around waiting for a reciprocal invitation.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” She really does blurt out the bluntest phrases.

“God, I’m sorry. Again. This is why I don’t have many friends.” Nora says it as though she just told me the weather forecast for tomorrow.

“What do you mean?”

“The minefield that is social interaction.” She gazes at the chocolate ganache on her fork. “When you’re famous for playing America’s favorite bubbly TV character, people can’t help but have certain expectations of you in real life. I’m so unlike Emily, yet people often confuse me with that character. Don’t get me wrong, it was a true joy for me to play that kind of person for such a long time. Like, fundamentally, in here.” She taps her fingers briefly to her chest. “It taught me so much to be able to find that in myself somewhere, and so easily. To embody this human, who looked exactly like me but acted nothing like me. To do that for ten years—that will do something to you. But I’m not Emily and I will never be Emily.”

There’s a lot to unpack in Nora’s sudden unburdening. “For the record, you’re excellent company, Nora. I’d much rather have dinner with you than with Emily.”

“Thank you. Seriously. Ninety percent of the people I meet either expect to see Emily or only want to see Emily. It’s always Nora-Levine-this and Nora-Levine-that, but most people don’t want anything to do with Nora. They want the character they think they know and love.”

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