Nora Goes Off Script(26)

He whispers my name and moments pass. I finally raise my eyes to his, and Leo kisses me. First a small, testing kiss and then an endless kiss that dissolves me. He is kissing me with such urgency that I want to believe he’s been imagining this as often as I have. There is nothing in the world more natural or inevitable than his hands on my hips, my hands in his hair. I don’t know where I am when headlights are pulling into my driveway. A car door opens and closes, and Leo mutters, “Arthur.”

Leo hits the light as Arthur’s coming through the front door. We’re both a little breathless, so I say, “Hey, honey, perfect timing, we just came up from the garage.” Even though my car’s parked out front. “How was it?”

“Good. We watched a movie and played Nerf wars in the woods behind their house.” He gets himself a glass of water, and we watch, maybe not wanting to look at each other. “Well, good night,” he says and gives us each a hug.

“Good night, sweetie. I’ll be right up to tuck you in.” I say this because it’s what I say. Every single night. There is no part of me that wants to leave this kitchen.

When we can hear the water running upstairs, Leo takes my hand and entwines our fingers. “Well,” he says.

“Yeah.” I can’t stop looking at our hands together. His hand right there, all mixed up with mine.

“I guess I’ll turn in too?” he says.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says and he kisses me again, just the tiniest tease of a kiss. “I’ll see you for sunrise,” he says and walks out the back door, across the lawn to the tea house.



* * *



? ? ?

I barely sleep, of course. I text Penny: I hope I’m not waking you, but if I am can you still text me back? He kissed me.

I text the same thing to Kate. I get no response. My heart is racing, and I need to talk myself down. Fact: I will probably never recover from that kiss. Fact: This is a man who dates starlets. Fact: I am a regular woman who’s nursed two babies. Oh, dear God. Maybe he was drunk. He didn’t seem drunk. Maybe he’s acting. He seemed sincere. Maybe he’s just acting sincere. For what? To steal a few kisses from a lonely suburban mom? He’s really been playing the long con if that was his angle. He could kiss anyone he wanted. Maybe he really likes me, I think in my tiniest thinking voice.

When the light starts to fill my room, I open my eyes and remember. I jump out of bed and analyze my pajama situation. White flannel with little yellow stars. I swap out my pajama top for a T-shirt and throw a light blue sweater over it. My neck looks weird so I add a scarf. When I see the whole look together, I realize that I’ve done it again. I look like my giveaway pile threw up on me. I change back into straight pajamas.

I enter the kitchen and see the coffee’s already been brewed. He’s left a mug out for me. I pour my coffee and make my way out.

“You’re late,” he says. I sit, and he covers me with his blanket. I look for signs that something’s changed, that this is a more intimate gesture. But it’s the same way he’s shared his blanket since the first day, a thousand years ago, back when my nightgown was see-through. I am oddly aware of my lips on my coffee mug. They feel like ordinary lips, but they’re not because they were kissed by Leo Vance last night. I don’t want to look at him, because I know I’ll be staring at his lips.

We watch the sky as the leaves are backlit by the sun. The show’s almost over, and I need to hear him say something, anything that will indicate that this actually happened and that he plans to kiss me again.

“What’s the schedule today?” he asks. Ah, romance. The mention of “the schedule” feels like a blow, like maybe I thought he was going to suggest eloping to Cap d’Antibes. What’s the schedule today? It takes me a beat to remember that it’s Sunday, and I shake my head clear.

Deep breath. “It’s Sunday,” I say to buy time. “Bernadette has a soccer game at one, and it’s an hour away in Yardsmouth. Arthur has another birthday party, a noon movie.”

“Is Yardsmouth any good?” Ugh. He’s clearly grasping at any possible topic that doesn’t relate to that kiss. Girls U9 soccer will certainly do the trick.

“They’re terrible. It won’t be much of a game.”

“Interesting,” he says.

I’m a little vulnerable. I’ve opened myself up to the possibility that this kiss was a real thing, the beginning of a thing. And here he is staring straight ahead, talking about the household calendar. Soon he’ll be asking about how the Crockpot works and if you should wash dark clothes in hot water.

“Not really,” I say. I pull my legs up into my chest. I ache, and I’m a little mad. You can’t just go around kissing lonely women for no reason. It’s irresponsible and borderline cruel. It’s like giving a dog a steak one day and then switching back to kibble the next. You don’t know what you don’t know, and that kiss wasn’t something I needed to know about.

“Is there any way to get Bernadette a ride to Yardsmouth?”

“Why?” I’m still not looking at him.

“Because if we did, we could be alone here from eleven-thirty to two.” He’s looking at me now.

I flush, like actually flush. “Oh,” I say.

“Can we?”