“You look different,” said Bobbie. “But I still see the old you.”
Nora stood up and pulled her sweater over her head. Stripped down to her white camisole, her scars were on full display. She pivoted, letting Bobbie see exactly how much she’d changed.
“My face was burned too,” she said. “See this scar on my neck? It looks like an octopus, right? Well, I had a smaller octopus on my cheek. It swam from my chin to my forehead. But, and this is so crazy, I was in another fire a few years ago. Though I wasn’t badly burned, I was given cutting-edge plastic surgery. I have scars along my hairline, but thanks to that doctor, I don’t look like the Phantom of the Opera anymore.”
“Too bad. Until Hamilton rolled around, the Phantom was the hottest guy on Broadway.” Bobbie took Nora’s hand. “On the bright side, you can’t stick your pinkie finger out while holding a teacup.”
“Will you ever let me live that down? I did it one time!” Nora protested.
Bobbie picked up her wineglass, ostensibly jutting out her pinkie finger as she did so. “But that one time was at the Russian Tea Room. With my parents. I thought my mother might faint.”
The former college roommates grinned at each other. They’d resumed their usual banter as if their last conversation had been days, not years ago.
“Do you want to know about your ex?” Bobbie asked.
Nora’s grin vanished. “No. Don’t talk about anyone from my old life. You never heard from me because the only way I could become a new person was to completely cut ties with my past. Those months in the burn unit were like being in a cocoon. When I was finally well enough to leave, I wasn’t a butterfly. More like a brown moth. But I’d changed. Irrevocably. There was no going back.”
Bobbie’s injured expression slowly transformed into one of guilt. “I should have visited you there, but I just couldn’t handle it. Me. The toughest woman you know. When you needed me most, I let you down. I’m so sorry.”
“Let’s not trade regrets. You were in New York. You had a career and a family. You could hardly take a leave of absence from your life to sit shiva at my bedside.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? You have to die for me to sit shiva. Almost dying doesn’t count.” Bobbie rolled her eyes. “Sheesh.”
Nora laughed. It was so surreal to see Bobbie in her kitchen. Bobbie, with her broad shoulders and dainty hands. Her dimpled chin and slate-blue eyes. Her brash, Brooklyn-accented voice. That mass of auburn hair. She looked good.
“You probably heard all kinds of stories about me, but I’ll tell you my version,” Nora said. “In a nutshell, my husband fell in love with another woman. She got pregnant, and he planned to leave me for her. When I found out about his secret life, I lost my mind. I really did. After guzzling all the booze in the house, I decided to drive to the other woman’s house and confront them both. I never made it. Instead, I plowed into another car, which caught fire. I pulled the mom and her little boy out of the car I hit, and luckily, none of their injuries were serious. But the me you knew died that night. Now, I’m Nora Pennington. I have burn scars and a bookstore.”
Bobbie whistled. “Wow. Just wow. Okay, so do you have friends? A man?”
“I had someone,” Nora said. “Until today.”
She told Bobbie about Jed. Afterward, she told her about Hester, June, and Estella.
“They’re not Bobbie replacements,” she added with a wry smile. “There’s no such thing.”
With a snort, Bobbie drained the last bit of wine from her glass. After refilling both of their glasses, she motioned at the sofa. “We might as well get comfy if I’m going to tell you just how replaceable I am.”
The wine was already getting to Nora. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so calm. The persistent buzz of her worries had quieted. She could focus on this moment and this moment alone.
“You’re wearing the wedding ring I saw Stan slip on your finger, so he doesn’t think you’re replaceable.”
Bobbie chortled. “Oh, Stan and I are still married. But only for birthdays, weddings, and the big Jewish holidays. The rest of the time, Stan and his boyfriend are shacked up in Soho. Javier’s the architect I hired to convert our garage into an apartment. Unfortunately, he also converted Stan.”
Nora didn’t realize that her mouth was hanging open until Bobbie told her to close it.
“I was mad at Stan but not surprised. When we first met, I knew that he liked men and women. I guess we both believed that he’d put this other interest behind him when he married me. Until this smart, sexy, talented architect came along. Stan was a goner.” Bobbie spread her hands. “The whole family fell in love with Javier. The kids know about Stan, by the way, but our parents don’t. It’s just my mom and his dad now, and they couldn’t handle the truth.”