Page 96 of Sort of Seeing Someone

Alone with about fifteen jars left to go and three slices of room temperature pizza hardening in the box next to me, I suddenly and fully get why Nora and Olivia chose to hide their true selves from the men they were interested in having a future with. For if they did share everything there was to know about them, the tradeoff would be sacrificing love, marriage, kids, and family—in other words, a totally normal life.

I grab another jar, dunk into the tub, and wonder: how is there no in between?

27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“It’s too quiet in here,” I say the next morning, surprised to see Nora already sitting on her behemoth couch watching Ina Garten make an arrabiata sauce on TV. “Where are the boys?”

“Esteban went to the gym and the kids are sleeping. Little did we know, they challenged each other to a waffle-eating contest while we were in the free continental breakfast area and the both of them threw up in the dining room,” Nora says. “By 7:45am, we had already overstayed our welcome and now they’re sick in bed using my Taylor Swift Eras Tour popcorn bucketas a puke bowl.”

With that intel, I am even more grateful Nora passed on my suggestion to stay at TheBrockmeier.

“What about you? You’re up early,” Nora notices.

“I just got back from the post office. I had a ton of Valentine’s orders to ship,” I say, semi-wondering if my sister is the least bit jealous that I’ve managed to make a legitimate business out of a skill she has, too.

“Did you have a guy over last night?” she abruptly changes the subject and suddenlymystomach hurts. Her tone of voice is omniscient. This house is wired with smart-this and smart-that. I cringe at the thought of what hidden cameras might have picked up what footage—not to mention, sound. Oof.

“Tell me more about your journey of becoming a stay-at-home-mom-turned-private-investigator, why don’t you?” I disguise my fear in a thick layer of sarcasm and wait for her to show her cards and admit what she thinks she knows.

“Well, there’s a large Lou Malnati’s pizza box in the recycle bin. Along with a bottle of wine. That’s the work oftwopeople, not one.”

“You’re half right,” I say, breathing a bit easier. “I had help with the pizza. Not the wine, though. That one was all me. And before you say anything, I’ll replace it, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, her tone genuine for once. “I’d want to drink a whole bottle of pinot grigio myself too if I had the kind of night you did. Oh,Moonie. Just know, these things happen. Call it the downside of being a special woman in a normal girl’s world.”

Wait. How does she know what happened with Ollie? I know she has one of those motion detecting doorbells, so the most she could have seen was him leave fairly abruptly and on his own—there was no romantic goodbye kiss between the two of us on her doorstep to play back on her phone. Our break up, or break down—whatever you want to call it—happened in her bathroom for the most part. She would have to have been a fly on the wall in there to see the Ollie-Moonie demise. Cameras—with sound—in her bathroom is my only guess, but that seems like a bit much, even for Nora’s neurotic personality.

“Thanks,” I say, too tired to dig any deeper. As long as she isn’t scolding me for having sex in her guestroom, then I decide to leave well enough alone for now.

“The good news is, the boys are starting indoor soccer, so if you’re needing money, I could pay you to pick them up from school, take them there, and sit around for a few hours. Lord knows I don’t have the mental bandwidth to make small talk with soccer moms three nights a week.”

“What are you talking aboutif I’m needing money?I’m busier than I’ve ever been, Nora. Did you not hear me say I just shipped a ton of MBA orders this morning?”

“Isn’t that the reason you hit the bottle?” she asks. “All that witchy-woman work drama?”

As much as I am relieved to not be talking about boy-problems with my sister, I still have no idea what we’re actually talking about. For the sake of clarity, I concede first.

“I chugged the wine to numb the fact that a guy I was really into apparently decided to skip the weird-girl fetish after all. Am I missing something else?”

Nora turns off the TV and sits up straight.

“Yes. You are. Where’s your phone?”

“On the charger in my bedroom.”

“When was the last time you checked it?” There’s a seriousness in her voice that scares me.

“Last night. Maybe 10pm? It died and I was too tipsy to plug it in before bed. Why, what’s going on? Nora, you’re freaking me out.”

“Come. Sit down.”

I make my way over to the pristine, cream-colored couch that I’m sure costs as much as Matteo’s first year of college. I’ve got a full cup of freshly-ejected K-cup coffee in my hand and a hint of the shakes from a hangover starting to sneak up on me. If she’sactuallyinviting me to sit next to her, without telling me to ditch my cup, then she’s taking pity on me. Whatever she’s about to share must be pretty bad.

I watch over her shoulder as she navigates on her phone toWindy City Today’shomepage and holds up her screen. I read the headline out loud slowly: “Shereé Jackson and Bryson Porter Announce Split.”

Nora scrolls down, I continue reading the subhead.

---