He scoots closer to me and takes my hand in his. “Please be okay, Mom.” And I know what he means: I’m all he has.
* * *
? ? ?
We are thirty minutes till curtain and I am scanning the crowd, because deep down, I am still a romance writer. I know this scene, I’ve written it thirty-four times. The commercial break is over. This is the community event, and just after it’s gotten started and the heroine has moved on and found a way to manage alone, he appears as if by magic. He’s had an epiphany and this is the life he wants. Chaste kiss and on with the town fair, soup kitchen opening, ballet performance. Fifth-grade play.
Kate’s covering for me backstage so Bernadette and I can sit in the third row and watch. Mrs. Sasaki seems thrilled to take the credit for Leo’s directorial debut. Oliver is good. Fagin is great. I’m grateful for the dark when he sings “You can go but be back soon . . .” because there are tears. Bernadette takes my hand.
In the end there are standing ovations. Arthur smiles from the inside, a smile that tells me that he knows who he is and he knows he can do things. The basic truth of parenting fills my heart: If your kids are okay, you don’t really have any problems. I will relish this feeling. I will keep squeezing Bernadette’s hand.
* * *
? ? ?
It’s Friday night so there’s no homework and no rush to bed. It’s cool enough to light a fire and we squeeze together on the sunroom couch. We haven’t sat out here in a while, because there would have been no room for Leo. Now that he’s gone, everything feels sort of empty, so we gravitate toward the smaller space. We review the performance as if we are unbiased and conclude that Fagin stole the show. They are so tentative with me that I realize I need to say something about Leo to break the tension.
“I bet Leo’s really sorry he missed tonight. He worked almost as hard as you did.” It’s an opening.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Arthur says. “He can order the DVD.” This might take a while.
When I get into bed, my phone dings. Leo: How’d it go?
Me: He was fantastic, stole the show. How’s it going there?
Leo: It’s chaos, but we’re making progress. I think it’s going to be a good movie.
I lie: That’s great! So happy for you!
Leo: Thanks. I have to head out to dinner. But I love you and I really miss you.
Me: Love you too.
I am awash with relief. He’s coming back; he loves me. I don’t need to act like such a baby. “My boyfriend is away for work,” I say out loud. And I like the sound of it. I mean, I lived with a man who refused to work for a decade, and now I’m complaining that the new guy works too much? Come on. Leo’s work is a huge part of who he is, and that’s going to be part of our relationship. I decide that “relationship” is a nice word, and I fall asleep.
I don’t hear from him on Saturday. Like the whole day, no call and no text. I reassure myself by rereading the transcript. He loves me, he misses me. I don’t hear from him on Sunday. It’s the weekend, I tell myself. Maybe people in L.A. work on the weekend. It occurs to me that I can text him.
Me: Hey
No reply. I stare at my phone and try to come up with the reasons he might not be responding. Well, maybe they’ve started filming already and he’s on set. Maybe he’s out to brunch with his agent. Maybe he’s swimming laps in his giant pool. With deep breaths, I remind myself I’m not in middle school.
CHAPTER 14
On Monday, I go for a run without my phone, sure that if I leave it in the kitchen, I will return to multiple missed calls from Leo. A watched pot and all that. I finish my run in record time and am surprised, maybe gobsmacked, to find that I’d missed nothing at all.
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.