Nora Goes Off Script(51)

My parents come for four days and stay in Arthur’s room, because he has the double bed. I delight in having him bunk in with me. He’s on the verge of shutting down the cuddling, as I am sure is appropriate, and I wonder if each time is the last. We’re reading Harry Potter, which I find shockingly lacking in romance.

My dad calls me “Hollywood” now. As in, “Hey, Hollywood, want to scramble me up some eggs?” They’re excited for me but also worried. They run their hands over my new countertops and ask if I’ve saved any for a rainy day. I assure them that I have.

“So what’s next?” my mom asks over Christmas Eve dinner.

“Dessert,” Bernadette tells her.

My mom laughs. “No, I mean big picture. Are you writing something new? Are you strictly writing for the big screen now?”

“I’m not sure. I’m thinking of writing something that’s not romance for a change. Like friendship or murder.”

Arthur’s looking down at his plate. I say, “Or adventure. Arthur, you could help me with that.” He looks up but doesn’t speak. “Sweetie? You okay?”

“What do you think Dad and Leo do on Christmas?” Dad and Leo. In his mind, it’s one thing.

If I speak, I’ll cry. My mom knows this and fills the room with words. This is one of the best parts of my mom, her ability to fill a space with words that will take things in a new direction. I remember getting a tooth pulled as a child and my mother sitting in the chair behind the dentist, telling the story of a rooster she met on her way to church last week.

“Well,” she starts, “your dad is in Asia, I assume, celebrating Christmas in an old Buddhist temple. He’s eating rice and trying to convince his friends that eggnog isn’t disgusting. Which it is.” She gives Arthur a sideways smile and my heart starts to loosen up.

“Do Leo,” says Bernadette. “Where’s he?”

“Oh poor Leo, he’s celebrating Christmas in Mexico. Cabo San Lucas to be exact. He’s joined up with a traveling mariachi band who make him carry all their luggage because he doesn’t know how to play the guitar. I’m afraid he’s getting a sunburn.”

Arthur laughs, to my great relief, and we go through all of our other friends and family who aren’t with us. Penny’s coming from the city with her family tomorrow for Christmas lunch, so my mom tells us that tonight she and Rick are at McDonald’s loading up on Big Macs.

Penny at McDonald’s sends us all into peals of laughter. In fact, in that moment as I’m opening a second bottle of wine, I think that Penny at McDonald’s has saved our Christmas. I smile my appreciation at my mom and pour us each another glass.

Santa’s bringing Arthur the new bike he’s been asking for for two years. It was available in a box or fully assembled for an extra fifty bucks. I splurged. He’s bringing Bernadette this horrible doll world that she’d asked for that comes in a thousand tiny pieces for her to put together. I find myself in the sunroom with my parents and the Christmas tree, with absolutely nothing to assemble after my kids have gone to bed.

My dad asks, “So no word from either of them?”

“I must be really scary,” I say.

“I didn’t know this Leo of course, but Ben was a jerk.”

I raise my glass. “Hear, hear.”

We sit and look at the tree. My mom has texted Penny twice to remind her to bring snow pants and boots for the boys so that they can play outside after lunch. She thinks we don’t notice, but it is her mission to loosen them up every time she sees them, to wrinkle their starched shirts at a minimum. My mom believes that it’s a kid’s job to get as dirty as possible for bath time every day. I am overwhelmed by how much I love my parents.

I may be tipsy because instead of responding to that, I pull out my phone. “Can I show you guys something?”

I squeeze between them on the couch so we can all look at my phone. “Leo texted me last month.” I pull up the conversation and wish they didn’t have to see the I love you. I miss you from May. Not to mention my love you too and the dangling Hey.

My mom catches her breath. “You loved him? He loved you?”

“I guess,” I say and proceed to read them the conversation. I explain that Sunrise is loosely based on our relationship. They ask me to read the conversation again.

I return to my chair because I’m feeling too constrained between the two of them. They’re looking too closely at my life and I’m sure they can read my mind. My dad has his hands folded on his belly, and he’s staring out the window at the tea house. “You’re missing something.”

“Yes,” my mom agrees.

“The ability to hang on to a man?” I ask.

“I don’t know what it is, and I wouldn’t make yourself crazy trying to figure it out,” he says. Which, too late. “But there’s a missing link out there. I wish he had the balls to tell you what it is.”

We are quiet. My mom asks, “He’s not going to star in the movie, is he?”

“No, he turned it down. They cast Peter Harper.”

My mom claps her hands. “Peter Harper! Darling, you must have an affair with him too!”

“Marilyn, honestly,” my dad says.





CHAPTER 20