CHAPTER 13
Everyone’s excited as we pull into the driveway after Thursday night’s rehearsal. We are a week away from opening night, and with the exception of Frankie Bowfox stepping on Emma Schwab’s dress and making her cry, it went off perfectly. Leo’s ordered pizza, so the big metal box waits for us on the porch.
“There’s a package here for you,” I say, handing it to Leo.
“Me?” He brings the pizzas inside and tosses the package by the sink. “I’m starving.”
“Do you need to open it?”
“Do you?” He smiles at me with a mouth full of pizza.
“Kinda,” I shoot back. I open the envelope and pull out a script. Mega Man, it’s called, and there’s a Post-it note on the front: CALL ME IMMEDIATELY.
I hand it to him and he barely reacts, wiping tomato sauce off of Bernadette’s cheek and then carefully rubbing it on the other one. There’s a lot of laughing, and it’s easy, and the future’s rolling out in front of us perfectly.
I sometimes forget life’s not a movie.
• • •
Leo’s on the phone in the tea house for a long time after dinner. The kids do their homework and linger. All of us know something’s off. We busy ourselves with things so we can stay downstairs. I over-clean the kitchen, check and recheck the coffee maker. Arthur’s running lines in a robot’s voice. Bernadette colors in the cover of her notebook.
Leo is someone else when he walks through the back door. His shoes are wet from the lawn and he doesn’t stop to take them off. As if trying to avoid the awful premonition I’m having, I focus on his shoes. They’re black sneakers with a brown rubber sole. They’re the same ones he always wears if he’s not running or wearing flip-flops. I like this about Leo, the fact that as far as I know he only has three pairs of shoes. I like seeing them tucked under the daybed in the tea house. I need these shoes to stay.
“Hey, guys. Can we talk for a minute? I have some big news.” He’s all energy, pacing then sitting down and standing up. The three of us sit and wait; I can’t think of any words. “So that was my agent, Jeremy. Paramount is going to do a big-budget action movie called Mega Man.”
“I love Mega Man,” says Arthur. I hate Mega Man, I think.
“Well, who doesn’t?” He gives Arthur his biggest eyes. “The director wants me for the role. I have to audition, but he’s pretty sure I’m right for it.”
I have words: “That’s exciting. Right, guys?” I’m a mom again. He’s leaving and I’m no longer a person who has sex all day. I’m neither beautiful nor compelling. I am Nora, and I am tumbling down a hill. Leo is going to “Asia,” the mythical place where men go when they’re tired of me. I need to grab my children and move them to safety before I roll into the abyss.
Bernadette’s suspicious. “So what do you have to do?”
“The thing is they’re on a tight schedule and need to get me approved right away.” I almost jump in to explain how these things work, but I decide not to help him. He’s going to have to say it himself. “I’m flying out to L.A. tomorrow morning.”
So there it is. My heart is disintegrating into my intestines. I take a deep breath and look at my beautiful children. I cannot believe I’ve done this to them. I cannot believe I let them get in so deep with this guy, and he’s leaving. We’re 0 for 2.
Arthur shakes his head. “Leo, you can’t go. The play’s in a week. We haven’t even done dress rehearsals.”
Bernadette pipes up, “And I’m playing goalie Saturday against the Vipers.” It’s impossible to look away from the fact that my kids do not think of Leo as just a fun diversion, a houseguest who’s helping with the play. They are counting on him.
Leo stops pacing. “I know, guys, and I can’t believe I’m going to miss all that. But I’ll be back by this time next week, for the last dress rehearsal and the big night. Mrs. Sasaki can totally handle it while I’m gone. Actually, you guys are so good you don’t even need a director at this point. And, Bernie, I’ll be here next weekend when you play Brookeville. You’re going to kill it.”
Arthur’s quiet for a beat, as if deciding something. I wonder if he’s comparing this moment to when Ben left. Ben said he’d be back in a vague way; he never gave an exact time. It’s different, but there’s a sameness too. Finally, he speaks. “Oh okay, that’s cool. Well, good luck with the audition.” He’s trying not to cry, and he wants to leave with the upper hand. He offers Leo his hand to shake. “Thanks for all your help.” Leo pulls him into a hug. Bernadette throws her arms around the two of them. She’s crying.
Leo breaks the hugs and gets right in their faces. “You guys. Hear me. This is a week. And it’s just how my work is. My plans get messed up.”
Arthur takes in a deep breath. “Okay. A week.” They all hug again, and I’m far away, watching this scene unfold.
“All right, you guys, it’s late and tomorrow is huge!” I stretch out my arms to show just how huge tomorrow is and then hug them tight. “Run upstairs and brush teeth.”
I haven’t had a glass of wine and pouring one would give me something to do with my hands. I pull a bottle out of the fridge and start to open it. I need to find that thing that cuts the foil off. I think it’s in the drawer with the carrot scraper but it’s not. I am sure I used it yesterday so I look in the dishwasher, not that you’d ever wash that thing. The dishwasher is mercifully clean, so I start to unload it.
“Stop it,” I hear. He’s opening the bottle and pouring a glass. Just one.
“Thank you,” I manage. My back is to the sink and I hold on to the cold porcelain.
“Listen, you have to understand how important this is to me. This is a huge movie, not a film. I think it’s just the fun, family, normal thing I’ve been needing. It really feels right.”
I notice he’s holding my hand. And I think Ben did too, but I’m not sure. I thought we were just the fun, family, normal thing he needed. I thought this felt right. I suddenly remember what part of the movie we’re in.
“How is this just a week? You need to film an entire movie.” I don’t know what I was thinking this whole time. How is he going to be a movie star while hanging out in my tea house all day?
“I’m going to go for the audition. Then, if it works out, I’ll stay while they make a deal around the whole thing. Then I’ll come back here until we start filming. And you can come with me. Or I’ll come back on days off. Nora, I have a million ways to make this work. I have an airplane.”
I want to be cool. I want to be the kind of person who can get through a week without Leo. I remember I used to be this person. I can barely remember her. I try to channel Naomi playing me while Ben is leaving.
“Okay. I’m excited for you. We’ll figure it out. Have you packed everything?” My voice isn’t right, but he’s too revved up about this stupid movie to notice.
“There’s not much, but my car’s coming in twenty minutes so I should . . .” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. It’s sweet and sad and I can’t keep the tears from rolling down my face. “Hey, this isn’t good-bye. I’ll be back. Or you can come out. Whatever you want.” He raises my chin so I’m forced to look at him. “It’s just L.A.”
And I don’t know what that means. Does that mean I should be happy he’s not disappearing into the ever-vague Asia? “It’s just L.A.,” I repeat back to him. And I like the sound of it. L.A. is a place you can come back from. I kiss him again and say, “Okay, go. I’m going up to the kids. Good luck.”
Ten minutes later, there’s a car in the driveway. Door open, door shut. It pulls away and I notice I’ve stopped reading The Lightning Thief out loud. Bernadette and Arthur are both in my bed, snuggled on each side. “It’s okay to be sad, Mom. I’m sad,” says Bernadette.
I squeeze her perfect little shoulder. “Thanks, Bernie. It’ll be okay.” I let them fall asleep in my bed because none of us is ready to be alone.
• • •
When the light starts to fill my room, I am already awake. I decide to skip the sunrise for the first time in forever and just lie in bed with my kids. The trickiest part of being a mom, especially a single mom, is knowing when it’s okay to fall apart. Today they will wake up to a familiar feeling of loss, the light scab they’ve formed over the wound Ben left will be dislodged. I invited this in. Arthur will have to go to rehearsals and perform. I will too.
I stare at the cracked ceiling until I’m sure the sun’s all the way up. I wake my children with a hug. Bernadette wakes immediately and runs to get dressed. Arthur’s not moving. “I think Fagin needs pancakes,” I say, kissing his eyes awake.
“With chocolate chips,” he mumbles.
I use up all of my adrenaline being chipper and getting them to school. Leo is in the air by now, but I check my phone for a text anyway. He’ll be in L.A. by the time school’s out, and I realize that will be the end of my knowing where he is. I grab my running shoes by the front door, and know I can’t run. There is one single wineglass sitting on the counter, and I am stuck in time staring at it. I reach for my phone and text Kate: Come over.
She finds me still standing in the kitchen. “What happened? Where is he?”
“He’s gone. L.A. Big movie.” And I start to cry. Kate moves me to the couch, and I am so grateful to give in to it. Between sobs, I give details, and she is patient with me.
When I’ve cried myself out, she says, “Okay. You’ve got to bear with me. This is really uncharted territory. I’ve never seen you cry before. Like even last time when your actual husband left.”
I nod. “That was different. Like, why would I want him around if he didn’t want to be here. But this.” I start to cry again. “I still want him here.”
“He’s only been gone twelve hours, and he says he’s coming back.”
“Do you really think he is?” I’m mopping my face with my sleeve and clinging to her words.
“Why would he say he’s coming back if he didn’t mean it? He’s going to be back a week from yesterday. That’s not even a week.”
“It’s too long,” I say, slumping into her lap.
• • •
It’s Saturday, and Bernadette stops six goals against the Vipers. It’s a big deal if you’re eight years old, but instead of “Congratulations,” all anyone says to us is, “Where’s Leo?” It’s the only thing people can think of to say to me. “Where’s Leo?” is practically a greeting. I say the words “L.A.,” “audition,” “Thursday” so many times that it becomes a tune that I sing as I move through the crowd. When we’re finally at my car and I’ve loaded my single chair into the trunk, I text Leo a video clip of Bernadette winning the game with a diving catch.
He responds immediately, and my heart rate quickens: I can’t believe I missed that. Give her a hug from me.
Me: She’s so happy
Leo: What’s next?
Me: Quick lunch, lightbulbs, and then Little League
Leo: Ugh. Good luck. Love you.
• • •
“Where’s Leo?” Mr. Mapleton greets us as we walk into his store.
“L.A. An audition,” I say again.
“He’s coming back,” says Bernadette.
“Did he give a specific day?” he asks. He’s stopped sorting through the pile of drill bits on the counter. I have his full attention.
“Thursday,” I say.
Mr. Mapleton smiles. “Ah, then he’s coming back. As long as he has a plane ticket for a specific day, he’ll be back. Good,” he says, reassuring himself.
Leo doesn’t buy plane tickets, I don’t say. “Arthur’s play is Friday night. That’s more solid than a plane ticket,” I say. I am promising things over which I have no control, but I’ve succeeded in saying the words that will soothe me and keep Mr. Mapleton from feeling sorry for me. Arthur squeezes my hand, making me feel like maybe I’ve soothed him too.
Arthur actually has a pretty good game. He has a base hit and no errors. I want to text Leo about this, but sort of feel like it’s too much. I’ll tell him when he reaches out to me. That’s what a normal, not obsessed, girlfriend would do. And for now, that’s what I’ll pretend to be. He’s doing his thing and has other stuff on his mind, I’ll pretend I do too.
• • •
There’s something going on with the director. Leo’s telling me about it on the phone Tuesday night. I’m lying in bed and he’s saying a lot of words. I just like hearing the sound of his voice.
“I mean, I would have wanted the part without Bohai directing,” he’s saying. “But the chance to work with him sort of clinched it. If they fire him, it’ll be a lot of starting over again.”
“And why would they fire him again?” I’m getting sleepy. I want him to keep talking.
“If these accusations have any truth to them, then he’s a creep and no one’s going to want to work with him, including me. I was supposed to have dinner tonight with the producer to find out more, but she canceled.”
“What are you doing for dinner then?”
“I bought a chicken, actually.” Leo sounds truly pleased with himself. “And a salad.”
“Wait. You’re cooking?”
“No. Well, I thought about it. I went to Whole Foods. Have you ever been to a Whole Foods?”
“I have.”
“It’s nicer than the Stop n’ Save.”
“It is.”
“Well, they have a lot of chicken. I just stood there looking at all the raw chickens and kind of freaked out. Two people stopped and took my picture while I was studying them. I didn’t think I could figure it out without you, but did you know they sell chickens already cooked? And salad?”
I laugh. “Yes, I did know this. Listen, when you come back, I’ll walk you through roasting a chicken.”
Leo’s quiet for a second. “No, thanks. I just want you to roast me a chicken. I don’t ever want to eat another chicken that wasn’t roasted by you.”
My desire to put on an apron and roast this man a chicken is profound. I don’t even own an apron. I just want him to be close enough to me that I can hand him a plate with chicken on it. “Okay,” I say. “Let tonight be the last non-Nora chicken you ever eat.”
• • •
I can’t wait to talk to him on Wednesday night, because I’m going to get to say, “See you tomorrow!” Bernadette and Arthur are unusually upbeat at dinner for the same reason. They brush their teeth and move their bathroom stuff into mine, in preparation.
Around nine o’clock I get a text from Leo: It’s all hitting the fan. Just google “Bohai” and you’ll see. The studio’s fired him and I need to meet the new director tonight. Good chance I’m not going to get there till Friday. I’ll text you after dinner? Or should I let you sleep?
I say: That’s okay, text me.
And I mean that it’s okay to wake me up because I’d rather talk to him than sleep. I do not mean that not coming until Friday is okay. I wake to the sunrise and two texts from Leo. They came in at two o’clock and hadn’t woken me.
Leo: Hey. Too late to call?
Ten minutes later: Glad you’re getting some sleep. Tonight was a lot, I actually like the new guy but there are going to be tons of changes. There’s no way I get there before Friday. So sorry. Love you.
So it’s not today. I’ll wait another day. What’s the big deal? I tell the kids at breakfast. “So Leo texted me in the middle of the night. They had to hire a new director so he can’t come till Friday.”
“I got the same text,” says Arthur to his eggs.
“See,” says Bernadette. “This is why I need a cell phone. It’s not fair that Leo texts you guys and not me. I’m totally left out of this family.” That last word gives me pause.
“You’re eight,” I say. “If I bought an eight-year-old a cell phone so she could text with a movie star, I’m pretty sure they’d run me out of Laurel Ridge.” I smile at her and get a glare in return.
“You think he’ll come Friday?” Arthur asks. I can tell he’s nervous to ask it.
“Of course! It’s the play. Leo’s living for this.” My voice has gone high-pitched, like I’m selling something. Arthur gives me a pinched smile. The truth is that I have no business making promises about a school play on behalf of a man who’s working on a film with a 250-million-dollar budget. Leo has reentered something that is bigger than we are. I’ve lost my chance to manage Arthur’s expectations, mainly because I don’t want to look at the possibility that Leo will break both of our hearts.
I don’t hear from Leo all day Thursday. I assume whatever is keeping him in L.A. is keeping him busy. He’s working with the new director. There was something about getting fitted for a slightly different costume situation. I know he’s busy, but when he hasn’t called by dinnertime to say those three little words, “See you tomorrow!” I feel kind of sick. My own selfish heart needs him back. More than that, I cannot bear the thought of his disappointing Arthur.
I wake Friday morning to see he texted during the night: I’m really sorry, there’s no way out of here. If I leave the whole project falls apart. I’m not sure when I can get back. I’ll call you when I can.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Besides the pain of it, my overwhelming feeling is that I should not have let myself get punched in the gut. I have let down my guard in the most epic way. Arthur is going to be devastated. Frankly, the whole town is. The thought of walking into that auditorium tonight to a chorus of “Where’s Leo?” makes me want to scream.
Arthur finds me on the porch with my coffee. “I got the text too,” he says. “This sucks.”
“It does,” I say and put my arm around him. “It really does. But you are going to be so great tonight, and the whole town is coming to cheer you on.”
“We don’t need him.” He looks at me hard, studying my face. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I say, and we both know I’m lying.
“Your eyes look like you were crying,” he says.
“Allergies,” I say.
He scoots closer to me and takes my hand in his. “Please be okay, Mom.” And I know what he means: I’m all he has.
• • •
We are thirty minutes till curtain and I am scanning the crowd, because deep down, I am still a romance writer. I know this scene, I’ve written it thirty-four times. The commercial break is over. This is the community event, and just after it’s gotten started and the heroine has moved on and found a way to manage alone, he appears as if by magic. He’s had an epiphany and this is the life he wants. Chaste kiss and on with the town fair, soup kitchen opening, ballet performance. Fifth-grade play.
Kate’s covering for me backstage so Bernadette and I can sit in the third row and watch. Mrs. Sasaki seems thrilled to take the credit for Leo’s directorial debut. Oliver is good. Fagin is great. I’m grateful for the dark when he sings “You can go but be back soon . . .” because there are tears. Bernadette takes my hand.
In the end there are standing ovations. Arthur smiles from the inside, a smile that tells me that he knows who he is and he knows he can do things. The basic truth of parenting fills my heart: If your kids are okay, you don’t really have any problems. I will relish this feeling. I will keep squeezing Bernadette’s hand.
• • •
It’s Friday night so there’s no homework and no rush to bed. It’s cool enough to light a fire and we squeeze together on the sunroom couch. We haven’t sat out here in a while, because there would have been no room for Leo. Now that he’s gone, everything feels sort of empty, so we gravitate toward the smaller space. We review the performance as if we are unbiased and conclude that Fagin stole the show. They are so tentative with me that I realize I need to say something about Leo to break the tension.
“I bet Leo’s really sorry he missed tonight. He worked almost as hard as you did.” It’s an opening.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Arthur says. “He can order the DVD.” This might take a while.
When I get into bed, my phone dings. Leo: How’d it go?
Me: He was fantastic, stole the show. How’s it going there?
Leo: It’s chaos, but we’re making progress. I think it’s going to be a good movie.
I lie: That’s great! So happy for you!
Leo: Thanks. I have to head out to dinner. But I love you and I really miss you.
Me: Love you too.
I am awash with relief. He’s coming back; he loves me. I don’t need to act like such a baby. “My boyfriend is away for work,” I say out loud. And I like the sound of it. I mean, I lived with a man who refused to work for a decade, and now I’m complaining that the new guy works too much? Come on. Leo’s work is a huge part of who he is, and that’s going to be part of our relationship. I decide that “relationship” is a nice word, and I fall asleep.
I don’t hear from him on Saturday. Like the whole day, no call and no text. I reassure myself by rereading the transcript. He loves me, he misses me. I don’t hear from him on Sunday. It’s the weekend, I tell myself. Maybe people in L.A. work on the weekend. It occurs to me that I can text him.
Me: Hey
No reply. I stare at my phone and try to come up with the reasons he might not be responding. Well, maybe they’ve started filming already and he’s on set. Maybe he’s out to brunch with his agent. Maybe he’s swimming laps in his giant pool. With deep breaths, I remind myself I’m not in middle school.