Nora Goes Off Script(38)



By Monday night, the feel of my un-ringing phone in my hand is torture. My new plan is to leave the phone in the sunroom so that I can be present with my kids for homework, dinner, Wheel of Fortune. By removing my attention, I will trick my phone into ringing.

I check it before I take my kids upstairs. Nothing. I punish my phone by leaving it in the sunroom while we read. It punishes me back by not ringing. I take it with me out onto the porch to watch the blackness of the night, and I feel uniquely powerless, as if the entirety of my happiness lies in someone else’s hands. I don’t know where I lost my power. He wanted to stay. He kissed me. He said he loved me. How am I suddenly Elizabeth Bennet, wandering the moors and hoping Mr. Darcy shows up?

This last thought annoys my sensibilities enough that my fingers dial Leo’s number. My throat is tight as the call connects and I hear the first ring. He’s going to say “hey” and explain where he’s been. I’m going to act cool about it. Second ring, third ring. My heart sinks when the call goes to voicemail. I listen all the way to the end, just to hear his voice, before I hang up.

He’ll see that I called and call me back when he’s free. I go to bed with the ringer on high volume so I won’t miss it.



* * *



? ? ?

On Tuesday, I text Kate to tell her he’s not coming back. She’s at my door in ten minutes.

I’m not crying when I open the door. “Let’s quit the usual crap about how maybe he lost his phone or is stuck under a bus. There’s no reality where it’s normal that a person who texts me three hours a night after spending the entire day with me just stops. Unless he’s decided to. And if he was dead, it would be in the news.”

“Are you done?” She pushes past me and puts a box of cookies on the counter.

“Probably not.” I pour some coffee for each of us and take a cookie. “I just need you to be sensible and honest with me. I feel like I can’t trust my own mind right now. ‘I love you. I miss you’ and poof? At least Ben was honest enough to tell me.”

“Okay, so now Ben’s the model for male behavior?” We’re sitting at my kitchen counter, side by side, mugs in hand.

“Tell me what to think,” I say.

“I agree it’s weird. I’d be less surprised if it sort of dwindled away. Like fewer, shorter texts. ‘I love you’ turns to ‘love you’ turns to ‘ly.’ That kind of thing.”

“That’s actually what I thought would happen. The slow exit. Not like immediate out of sight, out of mind. And he’s in freakin’ L.A., where women have actual suntans and highlights. Staring at that all day, it’s hard to remember why you were in love with the woman with the unruly hair and flowy tops.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she kids.

A car pulls up and my heart is in my throat. He’s changed his mind. He’s returning my text in person to tell me he’s going to stay and direct children’s theater full-time. “Go see what it is,” I tell her, head in hands.

It’s a courier, asking Kate to sign for an envelope with my name on it. It’s too thick to be a love letter, and I hate myself for living in one of my own screenplays. No one writes love letters and has them hand delivered. I open it and find a stack of hundred-dollar bills and a note from Weezie: Hey, Nora, Leo says he owes you back rent. Thanks again for taking care of him. Here’s hoping L.A. works out! Weezie.

I count out twenty-one thousand dollars. “Oh my God. I’m being paid off.” I start to cry, but then I’m so mad that my tears dry up. I explain to Kate how we agreed on seven thousand dollars for seven days. But when he decided to stay and help Arthur, I had no intention of charging him. I was sleeping with him for God’s sake. What did that even make this?

I grab my phone and Kate stops me. “Wait. Let’s rehearse before you go off half-cocked.”

“I’m just texting Weezie,” I say. But my heart is beating so fast that I can’t type. “You do it.” I hand her my phone and dictate: “Hey, Weezie! Hope you’re good! Thanks for the cash, but that was way too much. I was only charging him for the first seven days, so I’ll have the rest dropped back to you. Please send address? Thanks!”

Kate shows me the text to review. “That’s way too many exclamation points. I look like a maniac.” She deletes one, then two, and finally we think we’ve struck the right mood and she sends.

Immediately typing bubbles appear. Oh, wow. I must have misunderstood his text. Okay, thanks! I’m shacked up at his place for I don’t know how long. Next text is his address, a penthouse on Sixty-Fifth Street.

“Well done. She’s matched you in exclamation points. Now we need to get your shit together.” Kate urges me toward the shower and goes out to inspect the tea house. She returns with two empty wineglasses and all of his bedding. I come downstairs towel drying my hair and find her fondling his sheets.

“So what did you want me to do with these? Any chance I can keep them?”

“Take them directly to your car.”

One time in high school my boyfriend dumped me and my best friend Ellen and I ate ice cream until we were sick. I made out with this guy freshman year in college, and when he never called me, my roommate and I got drunk. As I look at Kate now, I can’t think of any self-destructive pastime that will make me feel better. I’m aware that I am going to need all of my reserves to get through this.

Annabel Monaghan's Books