Chapter 17

Saturday morning was punctuated with the foghorn blare of Nora's phone. She grabbed it to shut it up and saw it was a video call from her mother. With a groan, she tapped the button to answer.

"Good morning," her mother chirped. She brought the phone closer to her eye. "I really wish you hadn't cut your hair."

Nora put her hand to her head.

"I'm calling to remind you of dinner Sunday evening. I've told everyone you'll be back."

As if she needed to be reminded. Sunday dinners were something her mother had done for years without fail. Even though Nora had been on approved Sunday dinner leave while recovering, her mother consistently reminded her of them, listing the illustrious dinner guests she'd missed. Roberta and David November—Bastions of Rob Roy mansions, Pillars of a Select Society of Rich White People living on the shores of Lake Austin—held sacrosanct twice-monthly dinner parties for their wealthy clients and friends. Attendance was mandatory for anyone with the last name of November except in cases of life or death. Which, Nora supposed, she'd tried and, predictably, failed.

In the Before, even at her lowest point, she'd attended. She didn't have the energy to put up the fight necessary to keep her mother off her back. Now she still had no desire to go, but without a firm excuse, she knew it was easier to go along to get along.

There would be enough fireworks in the family when she quit her job.

"Six sharp. And for God's sake, please don't wear anything from that thrift store. And do something with your hair."

"Should I also lose ten pounds?"

"You've done remarkably well keeping the weight off since the accident. You look great. Other than the hair, which may be because you haven't styled it. And the clothes, of course."

Given a platform, Nora's mother could single-handedly set the progress toward body positivity back fifty years. Nothing is as good as skinny feels had been a quote on a little plaque her mother had kept in her kitchen until it mysteriously disappeared. Lacey and Nora had taken it behind the house and smashed it with rocks one blistering hot summer afternoon.

"You're getting out and not moping around your apartment today, I hope."

That was her mother's way of asking if she was depressed. The vagueness of her question, her arm's length from the truth, hurt. In the Before, her mother's distance had made Nora feel unworthy of her concern. Now it aggravated her. Her mother never looked for a way to support Nora—she looked for a way to find fault or avoid her at her low points.

Nora remembered a time when her mother had put her and Lacey in matching red velvet dresses for a Christmas party. Nora had gone outside to see a neighbor's new puppy, and she'd come back with muddied paw prints on the skirt. Her mother had hauled her into the bathroom to try to clean her up. "Why do you always find a way to hurt me?" she'd demanded hotly. Nora had been six years old.

"Why do you automatically assume I'm moping around?" she asked her mother curtly. "I've been very busy."

"With what?"

Nora glanced at her laptop, still on the side of the bed where she'd left it last night. Every day after work she scoured the employment websites and law firm postings for jobs and sent off résumés. And when she wasn't trying to find a new job, she was boosting her post about the corner store guy and spreading the search onto other social media sites. She'd posted on all of them, even making a cringeworthy video for TikTok in which she tried to sound cute and adorable but came off looking like an excitable cat lady—but without the cat.

She'd tried to get Gus on the phone again, but her calls rolled to voice mail. So she texted him a link to her TikTok. What do you think?

An hour later, he responded. You're weird. I love you, man.

She was so happy for a response that she instantly texted back. I'm going to come see you. I have something exciting planned.

Gus didn't respond to that text, but he read it.

"A million and one different things," she said pertly. "Hey, Mom, didn't Grandpa plant some calla lilies at your house?"

"Did he?" Her mother tapped a finger against her bottom lip. "Maybe near the pool. Why?"

"Because they were Grandma's favorite and I want to plant some in his garden. I think he'd like that."

"Why do you talk about him like he's alive? That worries me. And I hope you're not ruining your skin with all that time in the sun."

Nora sighed. God forbid she get a little too much sun and bring even more shame to the November family.

"I have to run. Dad and I are playing in a tennis tournament this afternoon. Don't forget about dinner tomorrow—our friends are anxious to see you."

"To see how skinny I am?"

"Claudia will be so jealous," her mother said gleefully. "Oh, I almost forgot. We're announcing your father's award."

"What award?"

"Didn't I tell you? He's getting an award for all the work he's done to fund SIDS research." She glanced off for a moment. "It's a special man who responds to the death of his baby boy in such a way. He's raised more money for End SIDS than anyone."

"Oh. Wow," Nora said faintly. What a wonderful accolade. How lucky for Nathan that, thirty years later, their father was still more interested in him than her.

"Don't be late," her mother said.

"I never am. Bye, Mom." She clicked off and then, in a surprise to herself, hurled her phone across the room.

***

She dressed in another thrift store outfit—a long jersey skirt, a battered sun hat, an old denim jacket over an Austin City Limits T-shirt, and her combat boots. She really liked those boots.

She looked forward to her first stop of the day—Dr.Cass.

Dr.Cass inquired after Nora's health, confirmed she was taking her medicine and sleeping, and asked about her progress toward her reverse bucket list. Nora reported it all. Her conversation with Lacey, her confrontation with her father, the mess she'd found at Grandpa's garden. "It was so bad," she said. "Dead and overgrown. Look at my hands." She held up hands scratched and raw from pulling weeds. "And this woman showed up and told me I was a horrible person for not coming to see Grandpa."

"Oh my! That's not true."

"Yes, it is," she said flatly. "If I'd gone when I promised—" The image of him lying on the kitchen floor, cold and lifeless, roared to life. She doubled over and covered her face with her hands. The memory never got easier—the regret was always right there, wanting to choke her. If she'd gone when he expected her, if she'd been there, she could have called an ambulance. "I'm sorry," she said through gasps for air. "Emotions keep exploding in me when I least expect it."

"I know it must feel like your emotions are racing out of control. But really, you're peeling the layers. Your life wasn't a particularly happy one before you drowned, right? To be happy in this new life, you must keep digging to discover the real you and why you couldn't be the real you before. I think you're doing great," Dr.Cass said. "Let's keep going with this—how are you feeling about everything in general?"

"I think good, mostly." She did feel good... but there were also moments she felt in over her head. "And hopeful. But I still get buzzy, and these emotions that keep coming at me from nowhere are so frustrating. I had panic attacks before, but this feels different. Like I'm on the verge of vertigo. I feel great, and then I don't. I feel confident, and then I don't."

"You're experiencing classic fire hose."

"Classic what?"

"Think about your NDE and the trauma to your brain. You were clinically dead for a few minutes. You were in a coma. You went to rehab to heal your body, and all that time, your brain was on bed rest. So now you're reentering your life after a significant traumatic event, and with a new reverse bucket list you're tackling. But the world is overstimulating. With the noise and movement and expectations from your job and your family, on top of your expectations for yourself, and then feelings you've kept buried for years are bubbling up—it's like you're being blasted with a fire hose while you try to piece your life together."

Yikes.Hearing it laid out like that made her want to crawl in bed. "That sounds horrifying."

"Transformation after trauma isn't easy. It takes a lot of work. Don't judge yourself for setbacks. You get a blast of emotion and revelation, and your brain adjusts, and you try again. But eventually everything will fall into place."

"I'm afraid I've spent so much of my life trying to fit into someone else's idea of me that I won't know when the pieces are all in place."

Dr.Cass smiled. "Really? Because you've made yourself a road map with your reverse bucket list, haven't you? You already know what pieces need to be in place for you to be happy. For example, you said you were looking for a new job?"

Nora nodded. "I've been sending out résumés."

"Wonderful." Dr.Cass smiled brightly. "Have you thought about starting your own practice?"

That was so out of reach that Nora laughed. "I have medical bills and rent—I need a steady income."

Dr.Cass kept smiling.

"I wouldn't even know how."

Dr.Cass's expression didn't change.

"I mean, that's not something you up and do without a lot of preparation."

"No doubt. But you don't know how to cook either, and you're learning that skill."

A solo law practice was a vastly different animal than a cooking class.

"Oops, that's our time," Dr.Cass said. "By the way, Nora... I'm really proud of you."

Something in Nora's chest puffed up instantly. No one ever said that to her. Moreover, she'd never said it to herself. And she really wanted to be able to say it to herself.