Chapter 30 Nora
Chapter 30 NORA
A pparently I hate Tuesdays now, too , Nora thought when she forced herself out of bed at 7AM sharp. Tuesdays were laundry day, but she didn’t feel like it. But she had to. But she didn’t feel like it.
Aiden certainly had a horde of employees to do housework for him. Had he spent a single minute of his precious celebrity time thinking of her, the last few days? No. He was probably busy with interviews, filmings, fancy parties. And here she was, stuck in her normal-girl life. Doing laundry.
At least her physical pain had reduced to a minimum, so she could function normally, and she didn’t have side effects from the medication taken the night before. And she hadn’t overslept. Nora should count all her victories today.
She carried the hamper to the basement. Nora hadn’t ventured there since Saturday. The sight of the emergency box, the paper with the written answers they’d left on the coffee table, the unfinished bottle of wine, the blanket crumpled over the loveseat—fuck the love ; it was merely a seat now—hit her like a punch in the gut.
Of its own accord, her hand reached for Aiden’s piece of paper, with his neat masculine handwriting, his deceptively nice words, and it affected her more than she expected. It was real evidence of his presence, of his deceit, of her own idiocy. Nora held back tears and turned around to face the washer and dryer. Focus.
She opened the dryer and there, right in front of her, were Aiden’s clothes mixed in with hers. They’d forgotten all about them.
“Fuck you, Aiden Elliott,” she shouted at the machine, then took out the clothes and threw them on the floor.
Nora looked at her pink blouse with pity—she used to like that shirt. So she bent down to pick it up, and Aiden’s scent transported her back to the time they spent together, that brief time when she felt complete. Before she knew it, she had all his clothes in her arms, and she sniffed at them like a drug addict, sobbing with abandon. Then she came to her senses and threw everything back to the floor.
“Fuck you, Aiden Elliott! Fuck you forever!” She rushed upstairs and slammed the basement door, wishing she could slam the door on her memories, too.
After a quick shower, during which she did her best to clear her mind and depuff her eyes, Nora noticed she was running late. Her basement meltdown had messed up her morning routine, and now she’d have to grab breakfast in the cafeteria. She got dressed in a hurry, took her purse, found her keys and, as soon she stepped out her front door, a man with a camera strapped around his neck ran towards her.
You gotta be fucking kidding me.
“Hey, Nora, is Aiden around?” he asked.
Nora clenched her teeth and closed her fists, nails sinking into her palms. She knew if she didn’t control herself, she’d just make things worse. The last thing she needed was a video floating around the internet of her being rude to a photographer. People these days got canceled for way less than that.
“What happened Saturday? Why was Aiden so angry? Did you argue?”
She locked her door and started walking, ignoring him. But anger simmered inside her, and she could see how a celebrity could easily lose it and become violent.
“ Mr. Paparazzo ,” she said, with as much sweetness as she could fake, “would you please leave me alone?”
The man seemed amused at her calling him “Mr. Paparazzo.” “Just doing my job. So, are you two together?”
“I’m not the celebrity here. Why don’t you ask him?”
“So he’s around, then?”
Nora was afraid the man would come to her house every day looking for Aiden if she didn’t answer. “He’s not even in Nashville anymore. At least do your homework before preying on others.”
Questions kept coming, and Nora kept ignoring them. Her strategy eventually worked, because he stopped following her as soon as they reached Myra Flay’s house, and he took his position behind the bushes across the street.
Finally, some peace.
But no.
On the way to work, Nora couldn’t stop her thoughts from running wild. It seemed like her mind could focus on two things that week: the man who brought a deep sense of regret, and her reports, who brought enormous guilt.
Nora still hadn’t told them about their imminent dismissal, and the dilemma weighed heavily on her.
As soon as she arrived, Nora went to the cafeteria to get her breakfast—at this point, her empty stomach was growling. When she saw Dave sitting there by himself in a far corner, sipping his coffee, she felt compelled to talk to him. Maybe, instead of telling them all at once, she could talk to them one by one, and it would be easier to give the bad news. But when he flashed her a coy smile and motioned for her to sit with him, Nora didn’t have the guts to tell him the truth. Between being the archer or the prey, Nora found the former to be the hardest. So all she did was chit-chat and eat, as if nothing in the world was wrong.
If only I wasn’t such a coward.
Outside, the sun had already set, and the sky turned a darker hue of indigo by the minute. Inside, the lights had been dimmed for a cozy atmosphere, and in one corner an aroma diffuser emanated a delicious vanilla scent that made Nora’s mouth water. She took her seat in the blush pink armchair, relaxing to its velvety embrace, and stared at her mug fuming on the side table, right by the side of the box of tissues—a staple in every therapist’s office.
Ever so quietly, Patricia rolled her wheelchair until she was in front of Nora, slid her thick-framed glasses up her nose, and scribbled something in her Moleskine. Nora knew that was her cue to start talking.
“I had quite the weekend.”
Patricia kept her eyes on her notebook, tapping it with the pen. “Did you?”
Something about her tone sounded off to Nora, as if she wasn’t surprised. That could only mean one thing. “You heard about it?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But you did.”
“Let’s assume I didn’t.”
Over the years, Nora had questioned Patricia’s methods. She mostly just let Nora talk and come to her own conclusions about her issues, and her remarks were usually so cryptic Nora seldom found any solace in them. They were intriguing, more than comforting. But despite that—or was it because of it?—Nora kept going to her. Her attempts with other therapists had been in vain—they were too intrusive, too pushy, too obnoxious, or just plain annoying. With Patricia, something clicked.
Nora took a sip of her warm chamomile tea, carefully looking for the right words to tell the wrong story. Words eventually came out in a stream, and Nora told everything that had happened, her memories raw: meeting Aiden, taking him inside, the storm, the magazine quiz, her father’s call, the basement, the way they danced, the way his scent made butterflies flutter in her stomach, and how it seemed like they were in the middle of a once-in-a-lifetime, magical experience. Until they went to the café, and between camera clicks, lies and the last thing she said, the magic vanished.
As usual, Patricia let her talk and talk, nodding sometimes, and scribbling often. When Nora finished, having nothing else to extract from that eventful night and feeling emotionally drained, Patricia put the cap on her fountain pen, pressed her lips, and looked at Nora momentarily.
“How would you have behaved if you weren’t in physical pain?”
It was a good question; one Nora had asked herself in the last couple of days. She’d played the scene of their fight repeatedly in her head, creating different scenarios, each one with its unique combination of mutual reactions. If their conversation had been different, would everything else be different? Yes, of course it would.
“If I was thinking straight, I would probably have sat down and let him explain why he didn’t tell me he was an actor before,” Nora said.
If only she had done that, maybe the hollow in her chest wouldn’t be as big as it was now. If only she had calmed herself down, breathed deeply, used one of her pain management techniques, asked for a moment to recompose herself before she lashed out at him. It’s easy to know in hindsight what’s the right thing to do.
“And what does your reaction say about your relationship with your father?” Patricia asked.
Her father? What did her father have to do with any of this? There went Patricia, saying cryptic stuff about which Nora couldn’t make sense.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Think, Nora. You’re always saying all men lie and cheat—”
“And leave. Yes, I do say that.”
“So, the moment you realized Aiden had hidden the truth—lied, let’s say—you wanted to cut him from your life. Because you’re hurt. Because you had enough of it. And even your body responded, triggering a health issue that had been dormant for years.”
Drawing a deep breath, Nora let the words sink. Could her actions have their roots down to the subconscious level? She couldn’t say for sure. She had acted in the heat of the moment as she was confronted with the reality of Aiden’s fame. Like anyone would, right? Maybe Patricia was reading too much into it.
“How did you feel about your father’s call? Did it make you feel good, appreciated?” Patricia asked.
That was a thought Nora had decided to push away and lock into a back drawer of her mind the last few days. Now the memory of her father’s raspy voice asking her if she was okay made Nora sink into her armchair, her limbs like rocks pulling her to the ground. After years of discussing her father in therapy, Nora felt like most of her wounds regarding him were healed—she couldn’t forgive him for all he had done to her mother, but she could finally see everything with clarity, as an adult. Her biggest conclusion was that people make mistakes, and most of the time they don’t realize how much their actions affect other people’s lives—especially children. Nora was almost certain her dad had no idea how much his actions had fucked her up. Actually, she was almost certain he didn’t think about her at all.
The call had caught her by surprise, though.
The lack of emotional engagement, the absence of caring words, his straight-to-the-point way of talking—none of those had surprised her. It was his way. But when he’d asked if she was safe, the words seemed to be laced with true concern, and they’d gone straight to Nora’s heart. Maybe he did care about her; he just didn’t know how to express it. Maybe he wanted to be in touch with her, he just didn’t know how to start it, after all these years. Maybe the call was a beginning. A new beginning for them. As these thoughts had crossed her mind, her heart had raced. Was it really happening? Right there, in the coolness of her basement, with Aiden watching her expectantly?
Then Nora had heard her half-sister whispering in the background. “Go on, ask her if there’s something you can do for her.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” her father had immediately said, as if the words were his.
Nora had frozen, and her heart had pounded in her ears. The fact that her half-sister was orchestrating everything was a blow Nora had never seen coming. But she should have, because all her father ever brought to her life was disappointment and hurt. She should have never, not even for a second, believed he was calling her of his own will.
Nora caught herself reaching for the box of tissues to wipe her tears when she realized she had not answered Patricia’s question.
“No, his call didn’t make me feel good. Not at all. It just resurfaced a lot of bad feelings... which I wasn’t even aware of until this moment, because I didn’t have time to process everything with Aiden there.”
Patricia scribbled, trying to contain a satisfied smile. “Would you like to have a relationship with your father?” she then asked.
Nora wrapped her hands around her tea mug, letting the warmth bring her some comfort. The tears had stopped—she felt peaceful, as if her emotions had settled down after being violently shaken. She was disappointed, but not surprised. “The ‘correct’ answer would be yes, of course.”
“There is no correct answer.”
Nora nodded. “Okay. But that’s what people expect from daughters and fathers, right? That they want to be in touch. That they love each other. But the truth is that there is so much hurt between us, so much trauma... and so little connection, I don’t even know if we have anything in common, any subject to talk about. I know I’m supposed to love my father—”
“You’re not supposed to love anyone.”
That gave Nora pause. Mutual love between parents and their children was usually taken for granted, but hers was not a traditional family. Her father had never nurtured her affection, nor given her any. He was her biological father, but he had never been part of her life. And that was okay. It was the hand life had dealt her, and she was determined to play it the best way she could, protecting her own heart. “Yes. You’re right. So, answering your question... I’ve spent all these years without him, and I think I’d prefer to keep it that way. Whenever he comes into the picture, bad things happen. Like this with Aiden. My dad just reminds me that my mom was right all along: all men leave.”
“Did Aiden also choose to leave?”
A flash of her storming out of the café crossed her mind. Before Nora could say anything, though, Patricia glanced at the wall clock and started making her way towards the exit. The session was over.
“By the way, I didn’t,” Patricia said as she opened the door for Nora to leave.
“Didn’t what?”
“Know about any of this. You and Aiden Elliott. I don’t follow celebrity gossip, or any gossip, for the matter.”
Nora adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Do you at least know who he is?”
“Can’t put a face to the name, no. I wouldn’t recognize him either, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Nora went down the staircase, exited the building, and sighed in relief despite the crisp fall air brushing her face.