Chapter 21

Nora had a new outfit from a little boutique where the salesgirl guaranteed she would look bohemian chic. Nora wasn't sure that was the aesthetic she was going for, but it sounded fun and different. In the Before, she dressed for these dinners like she was headed to a funeral. In the After, she wanted a completely different vibe. Something that made her feel joyful. "It's in the little things,"Grandpa had said.

Her outfit was mostly pink silk, with a filmy, blousy top that featured full-length, off-the-shoulder sleeves. The skirt was a slim-fitting brocade made from different fabric designs and colors, almost as if someone had gone into the remnants bin and created it from scraps of cloth. It was all very I Dream of Jeannie, and Nora loved it.

She added some dangly gold loop earrings and a small pink bag she'd picked up at the thrift store. She put the finishing touches on her makeup—the blue eye shadow was a definite first—and headed for her parents' house.

Her parents had bought their mansion after a successful suit against Amtrak. A train had derailed the day before Thanksgiving and four people had died; the suit November and Sons won had made her father rich.

"Or so he claims,"Lacey had once muttered ominously under her breath. "They could be up to their eyeballs in debt for all we know."

The ten-thousand-square-foot house had more baths than bedrooms and a room with an en suite bathroom for Sharon, the housekeeper, next to the kitchen. Tonight, the Novembers had arranged for valet parking, borrowing a neighbor's ridiculously long private drive for the occasion.

Sharon answered the door in her formal uniform. She was holding a silver tray featuring a selection of wines in crystal goblets. Her untamed eyebrows rose nearly to her graying hairline as she took in Nora's outfit.

"Hi, Sharon."

Her mother swanned up behind Sharon, a cocktail in hand, all smiles. She was wearing a white Chanel dress—classic, simple, and boring. She was about to speak... but then she noticed Nora's clothing and her smile faded. "What in the world? Are you trying to embarrass us?"

"No. I love it. It's different. Artistic."

Roberta sighed. "Oh, honey. Why can't you just act normal? It's been weeks now since the accident—can you reallynot shake it off?"

And there it was, the crux of the problem. All her life Nora had wanted a relationship with her mom that went deeper than appearances, but she never could seem to get there. Wasn't a mother's love supposed to be unconditional? But Nora upset her mother in every conceivable way, was unable to be tolerated, was made to feel contemptible for not fitting the ideal her mother wanted for her.

Tonight, however, she felt righteously indignant that she had to work so hard for her mother's love.

A little colony of buzzing bees began to wake in her chest. This house, and her mother's reproachful expression, was firmly in the oppressive Before, where Nora no longer resided nor had any desire to be.

"All I'm saying is that you didn't dress like this before the accident, so I can't help but think you're trying to make some point."

How had she tolerated this treatment for so long? She was a grown woman; she ought to be able to wear what she liked. "The only point I'm trying to make is that I like color and a different look from you."

"Here we go," her mother said with a slight roll of her eyes. "Why won't you let me send over my stylist to help? She's a genius when it comes to hiding hips."

"I'm good," Nora said curtly.

"Wine, MissNora?" Sharon asked, practiced in the art of heading off a family argument.

"Thank you." Nora picked up a glass of wine and walked away from her judgmental mother. She set the wine on the first table she came to, knowing it would soon be whisked away.

One look around and she could see that Important People packed the living room, all of them holding wine goblets or cocktail glasses. She spotted Lacey speaking to an unfamiliar man. She walked over to say hello.

"Hey, there you are!" Lacey said brightly. "You remember Ted Norgren?"

Not even vaguely. "Hi, Ted."

"Glad you're back to health, Nora. I'm going to get a refill." He did a little tick-tock with his empty glass and sauntered away.

"Who was that?" Nora asked.

"No idea. Not that it matters." Lacey was dressed appropriately in a dark tailored suit. She always wore tailored suits to these dinners—it was her concession for refusing to ever wear a dress. "Look at you," she said, taking in Nora's clothing. "So subdued!"

"It's called bohemian chic and Mom hates it."

"Well, sure. It's splashy and draws attention to you, and you know Dad's supposed to have all the air in the room."

Nora would have laughed, but they both knew it was not a joke, and it made Nora feel even angrier.

"There she is. Nora, darling, let me introduce you," Roberta November's voice trilled.

"Uh-oh," Lacey muttered. "Incoming."

Nora braced herself and turned. Her mother was clinging to another unfamiliar man's arm. "This is Trystan Russell. He's one of the VPs at Dell, and he's considering a run for agriculture commissioner."

Nora forced a smile. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You two have something in common," her mother chirped. "You both attended Rice University."

Nora looked at him with renewed interest. "You're an Owl?"

"Yep." Trystan was checking out her outfit, and a lopsided smile turned up one corner of his mouth. His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. "I'm sorry, I really need to get this." He held up one finger and stepped away from them.

"What an ass," Lacey whispered loudly. "He didn't even speak to me."

"He didn't actually speak to me either," Nora pointed out.

"Because he was so confused by your clown outfit," her mother complained. "Lacey, Claudia Wainwright is driving me insane. Go talk to her."

"About what?"

"I don't know—use some of those brains we paid a fortune to educate." Her mother tugged Nora's arm and made her walk with her. "You need to make a point of saying hello to everyone so they can see that you're fine."

Nora snorted. "I don't care if—"

"Nora, please," her mother said curtly. "Don't make a scene."

Good Lord, how she hated this. All she wanted was to be who she was, not the person her mother wanted her to pretend to be. But Nora dutifully carried on. She knew her part—she was to say a polite hello to all the Important People. Hardly any of them were actual friends of the family (did the family have actual friends?), but all of them had something to offer. Or exploit. She greeted people whose names she didn't catch or didn't remember, agreed that yes, the weather was finally warm, and no, she hadn't had a chance to see any of the bands during the SXSW Music Festival. This was not the new her—this was the ghost of Nora, performing her role.

Two servers dressed in ubiquitous black pants and white shirts moved through with cocktails and single-bite appetizers. Her mother picked one cocktail off the tray and handed it to Nora. Nora turned and handed it to another server.

Her mom's tennis partner, Patti Michaels, was excited to tell Nora that her son, Kellen, was heading up the commodities department in some Wall Street firm now. Nora was nodding along to the news when she felt her father enter the room. She didn't see him, but she could sense the distinct deadening to the air. She glanced over her shoulder, and there he was, speaking with a couple who gazed adoringly at him. He had that effect on people—he was handsome and confident, and absolutely brimming with magnetism.

Her father noticed her too. His gaze flicked over her, and his expression briefly soured before he turned back to his guests.

This room suddenly felt too warm, too crowded, too suffocating. The Before was squeezing the breath from her.

And if there was any hope of escape, her mother dashed it by pulling Nora away from Patti and back around to Trystan.

Trystan asked what her plans were now that she was home. She briefly debated explaining that she was busy creating her After, but said simply, "Oh, pursuing new interests. I'm thinking of taking one of those painting classes."

"A painting class," he repeated slowly. "What... you mean one of those paint-by-number things?"

"I don't think numbers are involved. But snacks and wine are." She chuckled.

He glanced away, disinterested. "I think my mom did one of those with her book club. It's for women, right?"

Sexist Puritan. "Actually, they're for anyone who has an interest in art." She silently dared him to say something derogatory about women or painting—she was ready. She had so much rage bubbling in her that she was itching for a reason to lop off his head.

Trystan wasn't a fool, apparently. He said, "Well... enjoy." And his gaze went back to his phone.

Whatever.She had more in common with the kid from the cooking class than this guy.

She made another circuit of the room, avoiding conversation, but was intercepted by her mother once again, and this time she looked furious.

"What?" Nora asked.

Her mom glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear. "Do you think you're funny?"

"Sometimes," Nora admitted.

"Did you really tell Trystan you're going to a paint-by-numbers class?"

Nora was so surprised, she laughed. "Did he tell on me?"

"For God's sake, Nora. That man is a great catch. Could you just maybe act like a normal young woman?"

Nora's brain was suddenly filled with flashes of memory from her childhood and the many times she'd been made to feel too ugly, too awkward to be loved. "Could you stop asking me to be normal, Mom? I am normal."

Her mother snorted her exasperation. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. You want me to be the version of me you wish I was. But I'm not her, Mom. I never have been, although for some weird reason, I damn sure tried. But I'm not trying to fit into your mold anymore, okay? I'm going to be me now. The real me. Take it or leave it."

Her mother's mouth gaped open with shock. "How dare you speak to me that way. And what are you talking about? There is no mold. I loveyou, Nora! All I ever do is work hard to help you be the best that you can be."

Nora's rage soared so high that she felt lightheaded. It was sheer arrogance that her mother could believe she knew better than Nora what was best for her. A lifetime of secret grievances and hurts began to gnaw away at her. "That's my point—you don't love me;you love your version of me. Don't help me, Mom. I've got this."

Her mother looked thunderstruck. Nora expected fat pinot grigio tears to spill at any moment, but her mother suddenly caught her elbow and squeezed hard as she pulled her close. "You haven't got anything, Nora—you never have. Stop this ‘I'm so different' charade before you ruin the evening." With that, she let go and walked away.

Nora's heart was pounding. She felt ill with fury, ill with grief. Not for her mother but for herself. For the ghost of Nora. What a sad life that poor woman had led.

Lacey caught her eye, looking a little panicked, and gestured Nora toward the dining room along with everyone else. She resentfully followed the herd.

The dining room had a view of the hills and river below. David November directed the seating, because something as simple as suggesting who sat where gave him power, and he never missed an opportunity to wield it. Tonight, there were sixteen of them seated around the dining room table.

As beautiful and stylish as this room was, it made Nora sad. She remembered so many wretched holiday dinners here, especially when Gus's parents had been alive. She could picture her father making his way through half a bottle of scotch as he belittled everyone around him. Her mother desperate to keep the peace by urging everyone to conform. One Christmas Eve, her dad and Gus's dad had such a horrific argument that he'd thrown the whole family out. With a roar of angry vitriol, he'd called his sister-in-law a bitch and Gus's father a douche.

She'd thought that was it, that she'd never see Gus again. But, as was so often the case where her dad was concerned, after a week or so it was as if the fight had never happened. She and Gus were allowed to go for ice cream again. The four adults went out to dinner.

Those nerve-racking dinners had taught the ghost of Nora her place. She'd felt small and buried under the weight of being inconsequential. And even now that she was an adult, the little bees of anxiety that seemed to have permanently lodged in her chest woke up from their nap and started sniffing around as she took her seat.

She was seated next to Mr.Donaldson, who was hard of hearing but whose deep pockets for her father's End SIDS foundation made up for that flaw. To her right was Mason Livingston, who had recently been made partner at November and Sons. Like most people at the firm, he had no use for Nora and kept his attention on guests at her father's end of the table. Mason's wife, wearing a shimmering blue dress, sat across from him. She was blonde and pretty, and she kept looking down the table at Nora's dad with a sultry little smile on her lips. Did no one else see this?

The servers stood against the wall, each of them holding two salad plates, and at her mother's nod, they moved to place the salads before the guests with the precision of a royal palace service. A shadow slipped by Nora's peripheral vision when a server put a Caesar salad in front of her. The same boring salad they had every Sunday.

"Nora?"

She glanced up—Claudia Wainwright was seated across from her. She was smiling, amazingly, given how tight the skin was on her resurfaced face. She hadn't yet picked up a fork. "I've been thinking a lot about you. How are you feelingafter your terrible accident?"

"Oh." Nora sat up a little straighter. "Pretty good, thanks. I have a couple of memory problems, but I'm good."

"Your mother said you were clinically dead." Claudia whispered that word as if it were a curse word.

"I was. For several minutes."

"It's a miracle! What happened?"

"Claudia, I already told you. It was a surfing accident," her mother interjected. "They never should have let her try to surf on that beach. I'm sure Nora doesn't want to relive the whole terrible ordeal again."

"I don't mind," Nora said. "Unfortunately, I don't remember much of it."

"That's probably best," Claudia said. She eased back and picked up her fork.

Nora had no appetite for this boring salad and left her fork on the table.

At the end of the table, her father was talking about the upcoming elections and how important it was to keep people hostile to Wall Street out of office. Nora's untouched salad was removed and her wineglass refreshed, even though she hadn't taken a sip. Trystan, seated next to Lacey, was talking about something that required the extensive use of his hands. Mason's wife—what was her name?—kept smiling at Nora's dad. The light caught Mr. Donaldson's heavy gold and crystal watch and created a spark.

She felt as if something were sitting on her chest. She desperately needed some air.

As the main course was served, a man emerged from the kitchen and introduced himself as Chef Adnan. He said they would be dining on Dover sole, zucchini squash blossoms, and a fennel mousseline.

"Chef Adnan recently cooked for Sandra Bullock," her mother proudly announced.

Lacey met Nora's gaze and rolled her eyes.

Nora was studying the fish before her when Claudia Wainwright leaned over her plate again. "Nora? I'm so sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

Did she look uncomfortable? "Not at all."

"I don't know how someone comes back from that, you know? It must have been such a profound experience."

"It truly was."

"I had an uncle who had a near-death experience. Afterward, he abandoned his medical practice and moved to New Mexico to live in a yurt."

"Oh my God," Trystan said with a snort. He was listening. So was Lacey.

"I understand," Nora said. "I don't mean the yurt part, but the need for change. For me, things that had seemed unimportant before the accident are so important now. Mostly things I regretted not doing."

"Really?" Claudia Wainwright asked excitedly. "Like what?"

"Like... painting," she said, looking at Trystan. "I always wanted to learn to paint, but never attempted it. So I've signed up for a painting class. And I've taken over my grandfather's garden plot. Oh, and I'm finally learning how to cook." A nervous laugh escaped her. "I don't know, but I have this strong sense of urgency now to do all the things I wanted to do but never got around to."

"Don't forget the corner store guy, Nora," Lacey reminded her.

"What's that?" her father asked.

"You probably don't remember, Dad," Nora said. Although it was unclear to her why he wouldn't—it had been kind of a big deal in her life. "Several months ago I was in a corner store when a man tried to rob it. He held me and two other customers hostage."

There were audible gasps from around the room. She had everyone's attention now.

"What does that have to do with your accident?" her father asked with undisguised impatience.

"Nothing, really. But one of the other hostages and I had this... insane connection." She unthinkingly smiled as she recalled it. "I want to find him and thank him for getting me through that terrible night."

Her father signaled a server to top off the wineglasses. "You've always had a fanciful imagination, Nora. You're in a great position with the firm, in an office with one hundred and fifty lawyers, with some very important cases on your desk. And yet here you are, entertaining a fantasy of finding some bystander from a robbery?" He chuckled.

The bees in Nora got into attack formation. Instead of mentally curling into a ball as she would have done in the Before, she surprised herself by smiling down the table at her father. "Exactly right, Dad. I am entertaining that fantasy."

The awkward silence that followed assured her that everyone in this dining room could feel the tension rising from her parents like smoke signals.

Nora looked at her plate. She could feel her dad's eyes burning through her. She was not being the model obedient daughter, and he didn't like it. Well, she didn't care. Put that in your uncle's NDE pipe and smoke it, Claudia.

"I posted about him on a missed connections site," she announced, because now that she'd crossed the line, she was going all in. "And I posted it on some other social media sites too."

"That is so awesome," Lacey said at the same time her mother hissed, "You did what?"

"What a wonderful idea," Claudia Wainwright chimed in.

"Unfortunately, I can't remember that night as clearly as I would like. But I do remember it was raining heavily—downtown flooded. And it was the night of some protests."

"I remember that," Trystan said.

"Your feel-good project sounds delightful, but perhaps we might turn the conversation to something else," her father announced grandly from his end of the table. "Roberta?"

"Nora," her mother cooed obediently. "I don't think our guests really want to hear about this."

"I do," Claudia said. "I'm fascinated. Aren't you, Roberta?"

"It's just that she's been through so much, and as her mother, I would prefer Nora get on with her normal life."

Which was the last place Nora wanted to be. She smiled across the table at Claudia. "I'll keep you posted."

"Never mind all that," her mother said. "I have an announcement to make!" She picked up her wineglass and held it up, smiling down the table at her husband. "David has received some wonderful news. He is to be honored with the American Philanthropy Foundation's top award for all his work to end SIDS."

Nora turned her attention to her meal, and her father turned attention back to himself, accepting the congratulations from around the table, talking about his passion for understanding SIDS, saying that even after thirty years, the loss of a child was keen and he couldn't bear for it to happen to another parent.

There was no more inappropriate talk from Nora November, no sir. In fact, her parents' vexation with her was so great that neither one tried to stop her when she claimed another engagement after dinner. Her father didn't acknowledge her exit. Her mother whispered hotly that they would speak later.

"Okey dokey," Nora said as she walked out into the spring night air, because the new Nora understood they wouldn't really speak later, and she was fine with that.

Once she was outside of that stifling house, she felt great. Like she'd picked up a heavy gauntlet and could run with it.