CHAPTER 20

It’s January and my phone rings while I’m watching the sunrise. I’m wearing a coat and a wool hat and two sweaters over my pajamas. The January sunrise is lower than the others, a quieter drama but a drama nonetheless.

“Holy shit,” says Jackie. “Are you sitting down?”

“Why do people ask that?”

“The Tea House has been nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Original Screenplay.”

I’m silent.

“That’s you. You’ve been nominated for an Academy Award.”

“What about Leo?”

“He’s nominated for Best Actor. Naomi was snubbed. Martin is nominated, as well as Best Original Score, which, to be honest I don’t even remember.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, this is really huge for us, Nora. Huge. You’d better start writing.”

“Can I call you back?” I ask, already hanging up. The sun’s coming up and I want to focus on it. Same sunrise, slightly different because I’ve been nominated for an Oscar.

My hands are texting Leo. Congratulations.

You too, I get back immediately. Sun up yet?

Halfway.

Send me a photo? So I do.

What the hell is that?

It’s called January. They don’t have that in L.A.?

I’m in New York. I freeze at the closeness of him. I’d been picturing him in L.A., if I have to admit that I am occasionally picturing him. It hadn’t occurred to me that he was ninety minutes away. Come over? I want to type, but don’t.

I think the conversation is over, as I can’t come up with a retort for his being in New York, but then there are bubbles. So what have you been up to?

Talk about a broad question. Being a mom? Shoveling snow? Making meatloaf? Trying not to think about you? Selling pain for cash, mostly, I say finally.

Ha. I think you owe me a cut.

I redid my kitchen.

Oh.

It was rude that you sent me all that money, I hope you know I sent it back. I don’t know where this is coming from, but apparently I need to get that off my chest.

I was just trying to make it seem like I was a renter

You were my lover

No kidding. I thought I was covering for you

I’ve got to go. Excited to tell the kids.

Ok I guess I’ll see you guys there.

Where

At the Oscars, Nora.

I need to wake up my kids. It’s a Monday and I’ve sat on the porch way too long. First, texting Leo, then my parents, Penny, and Kate. Kate’s going to take me to lunch to celebrate and also run through this last text conversation for logic.

Bernadette screams when I tell her. Like a real live high-pitched little girl scream. Arthur throws his body around me. “Mom, I knew this was going to happen. I knew you could do it.”

“I see you in lavender,” Bernadette tells me. “But with a spray tan and some highlights.”

“Are you trying to turn me into Writes-A-Lot Barbie?”

Celebratory pancakes are followed by celebratory drop-off and a celebratory run. I meet Kate at the café. She’s waiting with two glasses of champagne. “I can’t freaking believe it.”

“Same.” We toast to that and laugh.

“So what did he say?”

I hand her my phone.

“What was he ‘covering for you’ for?”

“No idea.” I pick at my Cobb salad. “Like, is he protecting me from people finding out we were shacked up? I wrote a movie about it for chrissake. What do I care?”

“I’d tell everybody,” says Kate.

“I can’t decide whether to focus on this, the most exciting moment of my career, maybe life. Or the fact that I’m going to see him.”

“I’d be focused on seeing him,” she says as she spears a piece of shrimp. “Though you need to psych yourself up so you don’t freak out like last time.”

“This feels different. Like last time I saw the two of them I was terrified they’d turn and see me and feel sorry for me. Now that it seems like he’s borderline angry at me, I feel kinda like a badass.”

“Maybe you actually dumped him, but you blacked out.”

“That doesn’t happen, though I like the thought,” I say.

When I get back in the car I have a series of all-caps texts from Weezie. To summarize, she’s really happy for me, and if I haven’t started looking for a dress yet, I’m already behind schedule.

I agonize over who to bring with me. The simplest answer is to go alone, but what if I win and I have strangers on either side. Who do I hug? Of course I’m not going to win, but one has to be prepared. I have a lifelong recurring dream that I am about to give a speech that I’ve known about for a long time, and I’ve forgotten to prepare anything. In the Oscar situation, I’m told I’ll have thirty seconds, which is twenty-five too many anyway. I resolve to memorize three sentences so that I won’t have to resort to notes. I always wonder at actors who thank the six people in the world they are most grateful for and have to look at an index card to remember their names.

I call Jackie and share my concern about who to bring, and she calls Martin. Apparently, this is her first brush with the Oscars too. It turns out Martin and Candy are separated and I could go as his date. He thinks it’s cleaner for the movie if we don’t dilute our block of seats with dates. “Leo and Naomi will be going together,” she tells me.

Naturally.

My parents want to come, which sort of feels like it’s complicating things, but it’s fun that they’re so excited. Martin says he can get them tickets and an invitation to the Vanity Fair party. Penny makes us an appointment at Bergdorf Goodman to try on dresses. My dad springs for a new tux. Everything suddenly feels like I’m getting married, and I resist the urge to cycle between remembering my actual wedding to Ben and imagining I’m flying out to marry Leo.

The dress lady’s name is Olympia, and she escorts my mom, Penny, and me into a large dressing room and offers us champagne. Bernadette is at school, probably still livid that she’s missing this. Olympia brings in four black dresses for my mom before she accepts the fact that my mom lives in Technicolor.

“I’m almost seventy years old,” my mom tells her, “and I’ve never even been to California. This is the biggest moment of my life. I want to be in yellow, like a lemon on a tree.”

Penny and I smile at each other, because my mom is adorable. I don’t know what Pantone’s saying about the color of the year, but there’s no chance there’s a wide selection of yellow dresses for women of a certain age.

Olympia is thrilled. “Oh yay! I was worried you were a bore. I’ll be right back. And, Nora, what about you?”

“My daughter wants me in lavender,” I say. “But I’m open to suggestions.” Olympia claps her hands.

When she’s gone, Penny says, “I’m overthinking the dress. I know I am. I just want Leo to look at you and drop dead from regret. Like I want him to stand and weep. Is that too much to ask?”

“Probably,” I say.

“Like I imagine you in a skintight gold dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. And his jaw dropping to the ground. All of it caught on camera.”

My mom is laughing. “Penny, I don’t know how it ever happened that you’re not the romance writer.”

“I’ve given this some thought too,” I say, which is the biggest understatement of all time. “And the last thing I want is to put myself in a beauty competition with Naomi. And I don’t believe that Leo would fall back in love with me just because I look good. He’s not that kind of person, and I wouldn’t want him if he was. Painful truth, right there. I just want to show up looking like myself and feeling comfortable so I can enjoy the whole thing.”

Penny sighs. “Fine. You can look like yourself, but we’ll fix you up a little.”

My mom ends up with a canary-yellow chiffon gown with long billowing sleeves. She looks like old Hollywood, glamorous in a carefree kind of way. I am more excited seeing my mom in this dress than I have been since I got the call.

In a stroke of good luck, they have one lavender dress, and I happen to love it. It has a wide scoop neck that shows off my collarbones (take that, Leo) and hangs in heavy crepe to the floor. It fits where it should, but nothing pulls, nothing grabs. It’s completely comfortable. When I put it on, my mom says, “That’s the one. I like the way you feel in it.”

Over meatloaf, the week before the event, Bernadette has a million questions. I’ve already answered most of them. Will there be snacks? What if I get cold? Who will drive me to the party after? Have I practiced walking up stairs in my shoes?

Arthur is quiet. “Are you worried about this, Arthur? I don’t expect to win, I just think it’ll be fun to get dressed up and be on TV.”

“Will Leo have a date?” he asks.

“He’ll be with Naomi Sanchez, his co-star.” And I’m not sure why I say it this way, as if Arthur is going to be upset that she’s his girlfriend.

“I bet he liked hanging out with you more than he likes hanging out with her.”

Bernadette and I both look at him, surprised. This isn’t something we really talk about anymore, but it sort of feels like he’s been stewing about it for a while. “Well, who wouldn’t?” I say, and I’m rewarded with a smile.

“Poor Naomi,” Bernadette kids.

“She’s a real charity case,” I say.