Page 49 of Nora Goes Off Script

On a Thursday night, afterWheel of Fortune, I scroll through Leo’s Instagram feed one last time. Movie promotion, fancy-looking cheeseburger, a sideline shot of a football player I don’t recognize. When I’m done, I ceremonially delete the Instagram app and move my banking app to the exact spot where it used to sit. I get in bed and scroll through my account. The big deposit, the interest. It’s infinitely satisfying, and I wish there was aLIKEbutton to press.

My parents aren’t necessarily frugal people. And Penny certainly isn’t. I came by my spartan ways out of necessity. Every time I would get ahead financially, Ben would go on some kind of bender. I never knew when it was going to happen, so I learned to live in a state of preparedness. Buy the chicken on sale because Ben might decide he needs flying lessons. Let the hem out of Bernadette’s Easter dress because Ben might decide he wants office space. I am not covering for Ben anymore, I remind myself. It’s my own money. When I wake up in the morning, it’s right there where I left it.

I call Penny to discuss this, because she’s the only personI know with this kind of money. “Money’s energy,” she tells me. I roll my eyes because I know this is going to be like the time she told me to move my bed to another wall to improve my sex life. I should probably tell her that the real fix was moving Ben to another continent. “You sent your heartbreak out into the world, and it brought you money. Now before you send the money back out, try to imagine the feelings you want it to bring.” Oh brother.

“Pen. Seriously.” This is the last brand of crap I want to listen to right now.

“I’m dead serious. And you need to be honest. What you want is to feel the way you felt when Leo was there.”

“You want me to pay Leo to come back?” Honestly, sometimes she makes me a little violent.

“No, just replicate the feelings. Think about it, even just for a day. How do you want to feel?” We hang up after I tell her I love her even though she has no concept of reality, and she replies that we create our own reality. We end many, many conversations this way.

But I give it some thought. It might be worth thinking about how I want to feel, because I’ve really burned out on feeling the way I currently feel. My first thought is that I want to feel secure, like the future is solid, so I open college accounts for my kids. This is something I never thought I’d be able to do, and I luxuriate in it. I replace the sleepless nights that I spent worrying about the future with daydreams about how that future might be. It’s possible that I’m two inches taller standing on solid ground.

There’s another feeling though, a little harder to face. AtPenny’s suggestion, I think about how it felt when Leo was here. Not the feeling of being loved—I hear you can’t buy that—but just the feeling that it’s okay to enjoy nice things. I liked the better wine and the nicer sheets. I really like those new towels. I liked letting go of my prairie woman mentality and enjoying something as frivolous as lights hanging over a picnic table. With Ben, nice things meant we were about to go without. They felt like an assault on my hard work, a punishment. With Leo, nice things weren’t so loaded. They were just nice.

So I hire a contractor to start renovations on my house. He’s not to touch the porch or the tea house, but we design a new kitchen where everything works and add a powder room on the first floor. I order new windows that look exactly like the original ones but are airtight. Suddenly my house is stronger and so am I for having taken care of it. Money, I decide, is not evil.

•••

On November 22at twoA.M., I get a text. The chime wakes me up and I’m sure someone’s dead. It’s Leo:How could you write this?

My heart races. The last text I have from him is when we were still in the bubble.I love you. I miss you. Love you too.Followed by my eternally danglingHey.And now right under it, all these months later, he’s back.

Me:Sunrise?

Leo:Yes, fucking Sunrise. You took the whole thing and packaged it and sold it. How did you think I was going to feel when I read it?

Me:Why are you reading it?

Leo:They sent it to me to see if I want the part. To play you, I guess

Me:Ha. Walk a mile in my shoes

Leo:You’re ruthless

Me:I literally don’t know what you’re talking about

Leo:It mattered and you turned it into one of your bullshit stories. I’m surprised you didn’t give yourself a cupcake shop

Me:Leo you’re the one who left

Leo:I was coming back

A thousand replies run through my mind: Have you been in traffic for seven months? Were you incarcerated? Sidetracked? Sleepy? Goofy? Before I’ve chosen one, he texts:

Leo:Forget it. I’m glad you’re happy. Go back to sleep.

I wait for another text. I have the feeling of just having woken up from a dream where I’m trying to sort disjoined fragments into a narrative.

I type:Why didn’t you come back?But erase it. I type:I am happy, and hitSEND. I say this in part because I don’t want him feeling sorry for me and also because it’s nearly true, I’m not too far from happy. I’ve gotten through the worst of this heartbreak. I’m getting a new kitchen. Arthur has friends in middle school and a part in the winter play.

I sense that he’s gone. I type:Leo?And it turns out I’m right.

The nice thing about a text exchange is that there’s an official transcript. I read the whole thing over and over again. In the morning I screenshot it and send it to Kate.

“Was there any indication while you were together that maybe he’s psychotic?”

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