Nora Goes Off Script(35)

“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.