Love? I never said anything about love. What made him say that?
We keep chopping vegetables, side by side, in silence, as I listen to Norah and her sisters talk about the latest gossip going around town that, thankfully, has nothing to do with me or Norah. I’m sure most of it is nonsense, but Norah’s eyes go wide as she listens to Layla’s over-the-top story about someone finding love notes from another man in his wife’s underwear drawer, so the man’s staying in the local hotel. The wife is adamant that they aren’t hers, that she found them in a hollowed-out tree in the woods behind their house, but the husband could be heard screaming in their driveway, “How many Suzannahs do you think are in this town?!” I’m inclined to agree with him on this point. And what’s the likelihood of them just happening to be behind an actual Suzannah’s house? Sure, coincidences happen, but I don’t think this is one—if it’s true, at all.
Layla finishes the story, and the women go quiet, contemplating all the details in their heads. My mind drifts back to Norah, as it so often does these days. I watch her stand beside her mom at the stove, talking in quiet whispers. Her mom tucks a strand of hair behind Norah’s ear and says something that makes Norah’s eyes grow wide. Norah bumps her hip into her mom’s, and they both laugh as they stir the food together.
Norah says something else, and her mom kisses her on the forehead. My heart swells three sizes, and I immediately know that Mr. Bobby knew what he was talking about. I am completely and undeniably in love with Norah Sullivan. Unfortunately for me, Norah still thinks this relationship is a sham no matter how many times I try to show her otherwise.
Norah
I watch my dad and Colby as they sit together at the bar and talk. They seem to be enjoying each other’s company well enough. My dad needs more male companionship in this house. Don’t get me wrong, he loves all his girls, but we can be a little much sometimes.
Brian, Chelsea’s husband, is gone a lot for work, and Madeline’s boyfriend is scum. We don’t even really count him since he doesn’t bother showing up for family stuff anymore. He is firmly on Dad’s bad side without any hope of recovering.
“What are you thinking about?” my mom asks. I glance over my shoulder at Colby and Dad again, and my eyes meet Colby’s. His look is smoldering, and I wish I could read his mind to know what he’s thinking. Is he having a good time? Is my dad giving him the third degree? Is it okay that he got put to work even though it’s his first time here?
“Just wondering how Dad and Colby are getting on over there,” I say. Mom looks over at them with a smile, and now I wonder what she’s thinking of him, too. “Do you like him?” I ask.
“The question is, do you like him?” She raises an eyebrow in question, and my tummy does a flip-flop. What a silly thing to ask. Do I like him? Of course I like him. He’s patient, honest, thoughtful, and hopelessly romantic, if that picnic date taught me anything.
“Well, I see the way you’re looking at him, so I’ll just take that for my answer,” Mom says as she tucks my hair behind my ear. I bump my hip against hers since I have to keep stirring this pasta sauce and I can’t shove her away.
“I like him so much that it scares me, Mom,” I finally confess. My mom’s eyes soften, and she kisses me on the forehead. We concentrate on cooking and listening to Madeline and Layla’s lively chatter, but thoughts of Colby are never far from my mind.
After dinner, Madeline and Layla settle in on the couch in the living room to watch some reality TV show, and Mom and Dad each grab books to read. It takes about ten minutes for Dad’s book to fall into his lap and his snores to fill the room. Across the room, snuggled under her fuzzy blanket, Mom looks up from her book and laughs softly at him. She goes right back to reading her book, as if the racket coming from the other side of the living room is no big deal.
I watch all of this from the loveseat, where I’m huddled together with Colby, watching stupid videos on his social media. It’s the same almost every night, and I love that no one feels the routine has to change because my “boyfriend” is here. I want what my mom and dad have. The cozy house that only stays clean when the kids are away, so the clean house actually makes you sad. The knowing glances the two of them share across a noisy room. I want my man (admittedly, in all my dreams lately, it’s Colby) to grab me in the kitchen and dance with me while I pretend I’m too embarrassed. I used to gag when my parents did that when I was younger, but in my head, I was adding that to my list of requirements for a future partner.
My parents’ marriage is far from perfect. My mom’s a little too frazzled, and my dad is too laid-back. Sometimes, that works to balance them out, and other times, they drive each other crazy because of it. But they can always laugh about it later after they’ve calmed down.
I could see Colby and I being like them twenty years from now. I’ll tell him he needs to calm down when he gets too worked up, and then he’ll be annoyed with me because I’m not worrying enough. We’ll fight, kiss, and make up, and then two hours later, we’ll laugh about how silly it all was. It sounds perfect.
But I have to remember, this relationship isn't actually real. He says it is, but it’s not. I’ve trapped him. He’s only seeing how it goes because I forced him to lie to Principal Spears, and I have to stop forgetting that. He’ll eventually realize that he can do way better than me—a thirty-one-year-old in crippling debt, living with her parents—and move on with his life. I’ll be a distant memory for him, while he’ll still be filling up all my fantasies. I can’t forget, or else this will crush me in the end.