The kids are all going to bunk up in the loft, and they’ve run up there to negotiate beds. I grab some beers and we settle in on the deck, watching the boats go by. Just two summers ago, during this week, Ben was with us. My family was a square too. He was slightly hostile to Rick the whole time, for no reason that I could discern, except for the fact that Rick is rich and pays when we go out to dinner. That’s actually my favorite thing about Rick.
Penny’s initial enthusiasm about Ben and his family faded as she got to know him. Ben was never shy about belittling my work in front of other people, almost as if he was hoping to build a consensus about how pointless it was. She and Rick got excited hearing about his first couple of business ventures, but then just got sort of quiet over the next dozen. The last time the four of us had dinner, Ben droned on about an app he was going to develop with a Chinese guy he met online. “You’re sure lucky you have Nora,” Rick said as he signed the check.
Besides that moment, I’ve never really liked Rick, or more accurately, I’ve never been able to see his humanity. Like he’s formal with his kids, polite to my parents and me. He treats Penny like a business partner, like they’re board members of their family unit. While this part of their marriage doesn’t exactly sweep this romance writer off her feet, I know that at the core of their marriage is an unshakable mutual respect. No eye rolling, no sarcasm. Still, I’ve always had the feeling I’d like Rick more if I saw him cry or throw up.
Rick finishes sending an email and surveys us all, as if remembering where he is. “So, Nora, how’s Hollywood treating you? Big time, right?”
“Yeah, well we’ll see. The movie comes out in October; I hope people like it.”
“So’d you get a two-movie deal or anything? What’s next?”
“Nope. But I was thinking about a second beer,” I say, looking to my mom to change the subject.
Penny gets excited. “You know what you should do now?” Oh brother. “You should write an epically romantic, big-screen love story. Like a fantasy romance, with scenes like those two paddling through the rain in The Notebook. Like the kind we’d cry all the way through.”
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for that,” I say.
“Just think of the most romantic moment of your life and build a story around it. This is what you do. It doesn’t need to be formulaic, just make it real.”
There’s something about Penny’s use of the word “just” that always reminds me how much easier her life is than mine. It’s not only her money and her supportive husband. Penny is prone to doing without overthinking. Just hire a cleaning lady. Just meet someone else. Just whip up another movie. But in this instance, she’s onto something. I can feel it tingling on the top of my head. What if I could write the story of Leo and me? What if by writing it, I could be rid of it, stop ruminating on it? What if I could write my way out of this hole?
* * *
? ? ?
After the Fourth of July we are back in Laurel Ridge and settled into the slow soupy routine of summer. Arthur has turned eleven and is sleeping later, leaving Bernadette and me to our morning routines. Bernadette has an all-day soccer camp that starts at nine. Arthur has an acting camp that starts at noon. I have time for my run between drop-offs, but there is no real time to settle in and write.
I decide not to fight the situation, to give myself a real summer vacation from work. I’ll be broke by the end of September, and I’ll probably have to run up a little debt before I sell another TRC movie. The thought of going back into any debt at all makes me feel like my hair has been set on fire, but the thought of going back into the tea house is worse.
Even just standing at the sunroom window and seeing those gorgeous hydrangea at either side of the tea house door, the ones that Leo is not, in fact, here in July to see, is too much for me. It’s ridiculous but I look at them and see a lie: He did not wait around to see what would bloom in July; he did not stay. Bernadette likes to cut them and bring them into the house, which is normally the joy of our summer, open windows and giant blue hydrangea covering every surface. This year I suggest she put them all in her room.
I consider trying to write at the library, but the truth is I’m not ready to write at all. I’m not ready to make light of love affairs and heartbreak. I certainly can’t see myself moving toward a happy ending. I know that I need to build my world back up around me. My schedule was my armor and I need to reconstruct it. I need new routines so that I don’t see Leo every time I roast a chicken. Plenty of people don’t roast chickens, and I will be one of them.