Page 50 of Nora Goes Off Script

“Seriously. I thought the same thing. ‘I was coming back.’ I mean you don’t call, you don’t text, and then in the end you don’t come back, so what does ‘I was coming back’ mean? I’ve seen him on TV and in person, actually; he hasn’t lost both of his legs.”

“I wondered about that too,” Kate says. “An Affair to Remember. But I didn’t want to say anything. Maybe he’s a narcissist.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Do you even know what that means?”

“I do not,” she consents.

“Me either.” We laugh.

“It could be that the technical term is ‘asshole,’ ” she says.

“Maybe.”

“He tells you you’re the first woman he’s ever been in love with while he’s nursing a broken heart over Naomi. Then leaves you to go back to her and accuses you of being heartless. There’s a diagnosis in there somewhere.”

“Did I tell you my contractor’s kind of cute?” I say.

“Oh, here we go.”

CHAPTER 19

My kitchen is done by Christmas and everything looks beautiful. I have freshly painted cabinets, new appliances, and a shiny marble countertop. When I press the button to run my dishwasher, it runs. Every single time. When I turn the knob on one of my burners, there’s fire. No matches. I walk down my still rickety stairs each morning and gasp at my good fortune. My kids still sit in the exact same spot and eat the exact same food, but they appreciate the fact that the December chill stays outside. Even though they’re sick of people talking about me and my movie, I can tell they’re proud of me. My contractor was, in fact, cute and also single, but he had a way of over pronouncing his G’s when using the gerund tense that I just couldn’t get past. It’s possible I’m not ready to move on.

My parents come for four days and stay in Arthur’s room, because he has the double bed. I delight in having him bunkin with me. He’s on the verge of shutting down the cuddling, as I am sure is appropriate, and I wonder if each time is the last. We’re readingHarry Potter, which I find shockingly lacking in romance.

My dad calls me “Hollywood” now. As in, “Hey, Hollywood, want to scramble me up some eggs?” They’re excited for me but also worried. They run their hands over my new countertops and ask if I’ve saved any for a rainy day. I assure them that I have.

“So what’s next?” my mom asks over Christmas Eve dinner.

“Dessert,” Bernadette tells her.

My mom laughs. “No, I mean big picture. Are you writing something new? Are you strictly writing for the big screen now?”

“I’m not sure. I’m thinking of writing something that’s not romance for a change. Like friendship or murder.”

Arthur’s looking down at his plate. I say, “Or adventure. Arthur, you could help me with that.” He looks up but doesn’t speak. “Sweetie? You okay?”

“What do you think Dad and Leo do on Christmas?” Dad and Leo. In his mind, it’s one thing.

If I speak, I’ll cry. My mom knows this and fills the room with words. This is one of the best parts of my mom, her ability to fill a space with words that will take things in a new direction. I remember getting a tooth pulled as a child and my mother sitting in the chair behind the dentist, telling the story of a rooster she met on her way to church last week.

“Well,” she starts, “your dad is in Asia, I assume,celebrating Christmas in an old Buddhist temple. He’s eating rice and trying to convince his friends that eggnog isn’t disgusting. Which it is.” She gives Arthur a sideways smile and my heart starts to loosen up.

“Do Leo,” says Bernadette. “Where’s he?”

“Oh poor Leo, he’s celebrating Christmas in Mexico. Cabo San Lucas to be exact. He’s joined up with a traveling mariachi band who make him carry all their luggage because he doesn’t know how to play the guitar. I’m afraid he’s getting a sunburn.”

Arthur laughs, to my great relief, and we go through all of our other friends and family who aren’t with us. Penny’s coming from the city with her family tomorrow for Christmas lunch, so my mom tells us that tonight she and Rick are at McDonald’s loading up on Big Macs.

Penny at McDonald’s sends us all into peals of laughter. In fact, in that moment as I’m opening a second bottle of wine, I think that Penny at McDonald’s has saved our Christmas. I smile my appreciation at my mom and pour us each another glass.

Santa’s bringing Arthur the new bike he’s been asking for for two years. It was available in a box or fully assembled for an extra fifty bucks. I splurged. He’s bringing Bernadette this horrible doll world that she’d asked for that comes in a thousand tiny pieces for her to put together. I find myself in the sunroom with my parents and the Christmas tree, with absolutely nothing to assemble after my kids have gone to bed.

My dad asks, “So no word from either of them?”

“I must be really scary,” I say.

“I didn’t know this Leo of course, but Ben was a jerk.”

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