Chapter 39

About a week later, on a Saturday morning, Nora was still in her pajamas when there was an unexpected knock at her door. She peered out the peephole, and with a groan, she opened the door to her mother. "I'm surprised you actually braved the homeless encampment."

"You left me no choice."

In her tan slacks and twin set, Mom looked Nora up and down, her gaze lingering on her bare feet. And then on her pink poodle pajamas. And the uncombed mess of her hair. "Did your flat iron break?"

"Nope."

"You haven't been returning my calls. You missed last week's dinner."

"I know. Want some coffee? I made cinnamon rolls."

"Why on earth would you make cinnamon rolls? Are you trying to put on weight?"

"Don't you miss Grandma's rolls, Mom?"

"No. I don't."

Nora padded into the kitchen to pour coffee. "So... did someone die?"

"Very funny. I want to talk to you."

"Cream?"

"Heavens, no. And you shouldn't either."

Nora poured cream into her coffee. She took a fork from her cutlery drawer and cut off a bite of one roll. This batch was excellent—three inches tall and extra gooey. She was pleased. "What did Grandma put in her cinnamon rolls to make them so good?"

"Extra butter," her mother said and pinched off a tiny piece of the roll Nora was eating.

Then she put down her purse and walked into Nora's apartment. "What happened to all the beautiful furnishings I arranged for you?"

"They weren't my vibe, so I got rid of them."

"I see," her mother said primly. "Used IKEA is your vibe?"

Nora laughed. "I'm still figuring it out."

Her mother paused in front of the canvas Nora had up. "What's this? A salad?"

Her work in progress was supposed to be an impressionist view of the Goodfellow Community Garden, but it did look a little like a colorful salad. "I guess it could be."

Her mother turned from the painting. "I want to fix this thing between you and your father. Between you and all of us. Tell me what I need to do."

Nora picked up her cinnamon roll and coffee and headed to her used couch, settling in. "Just curious... does Dad want to fix anything?"

Her mother perched daintily on the edge of the bucket chair across from her. "He can be stubborn sometimes, but so can you."

Nora rolled her eyes.

"What did you expect, honey? You walked off the job."

"I had to, Mom. I can never be what Dad needs. You know that."

Her mother looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean that I can never be Nathan."

The change in her mother's expression at the mention of her dead son was stunning. She gasped and looked as if Nora had struck her. "What would make you say something so vile?"

"Vile? To me, it's simply the truth."

Her mother's lovely porcelain skin, which came at quite a cost, turned splotchy. She pressed a hand to her heart. "You don't know what you're talking about. It was a terrible tragedy, and of course he mourns his son. But he loves you."

"Mom—"

"You listen to me. You two need to patch things up. Forget about the office. What about Christmas and New Year's? What about weddings and funerals and Sunday dinners? I've lost my parents, my sister, and my baby. I will not lose you too. Doesn't family mean anything to you? Because you have a lovely one, and you are throwing it all away."

Nora's heart began to pound. She was not the one who was throwing it away; Dad was. She was the one who was breaking free of the chains. All these years, she'd lived with the idea that she should have been the one to die. But maybe she was supposed to be the one to live. She was the one who could break the cycle of pretending this family dysfunction was something to aspire to. She put aside the cinnamon roll and said calmly, "That's a lie you tell yourself, Mom. We have an extremely dysfunctional family, and I am getting off the train in order to save myself."

Her mother frowned darkly. "That's ridiculous. We have our issues like any family does, but we are not bad people. Your father understands that you are going through a rough time. He's giving you this grace period to think things through. He admits that he wanted you back at work too soon after the accident."

Nora shook her head. "He has completely missed the point. Or willfully ignored it."

"What he's ignored are the horrible things you've said, which is what any father with a heart would do. You're not thinking clearly."

Her mother thought she could gaslight her? "I am thinking very clearly, Mom. But I'm a different person from the one who drowned. I'm not brain damaged; I'm renewed. Do you understand? I am not the same Nora. And come on, you know how he is. He's a narcissist."

"He is not a narcissist," her mother said, but she didn't sound completely convinced. "He's different from you. He's driven, he's a good provider, and he has held on to the memory of his son and helped so many others through his foundation. He is, in his way, a good man."

One foundation did not erase the damage he'd done to this family. Nora stared at her mother in disbelief. "Mom," she said quietly. "You don't believe that. You know there is more to it than that."

Roberta November straightened her spine. She looked out the window for a long moment, and Nora wondered if she, too, suspected her husband was a philanderer. She met Nora's gaze. "What I believe is that in life, there are trade-offs. No one situation or person is perfect, and every human being must decide which trade-offs are right for them."

Nora stared at her, comprehending for the first time in her life the sort of trade-offs her mother might have made. She wasn't willing to make the same.

"Come to dinner tomorrow," her mother said.

"No."

"All right. Take some time, think about what I've said, what we've all said, and come to dinner next Sunday. Please. For me, Nora. Dad is thinking about it too."

Nora wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. Actually, she wanted to put her fist through the brick wall. "I have plans. I've taken on a pro bono project with an old theater."

"What?"

"The Triangle Theater. It's run by retired thespians and they're staging a musical, and their first show is next Sunday at five."

Her mother looked confused. "That's a strange time for an opening."

"Well, they're senior citizens. They're banking on getting the predinner crowd, and then they won't be up too late."

Her mother waved a hand, uninterested in the seniors. "Then come to dinner after that."

"No. I can't bear to look at him, and he clearly despises me."

"He doesn't despise you. He—" She pressed her lips together. "What do I have to do to convince you to come?"

"I can't be convinced."

"There must be something."

Nora sighed. "Okay... buy a block of seats at the theater and come watch the musical." She almost laughed. There was no possibility her mother would ever agree to that.

"Where is the theater?"

"Just north of the Triangle."

Her mother grimaced. She was probably thinking of the homeless camps there too.

"What's the play?"

"A Streetcar Named Desire: The Musical."

"I wasn't aware that was a musical." Her mother sighed heavily. "Fine. We'll come and have dinner after."

Nora froze with shock. "What?"

"I said, you have a deal."

"Mom, I'm serious. You have to buy a lot of tickets. They're trying to raise money, so you—"

"Nora." Her mother waved a hand at her. "Send me the time and location and how many tickets I have to buy."

Dammit.