“I’d have given up my identity. Instead of being a TNO writer, I’ll be like, Example Seven in an article about nineteen celebs who are totally dating normies. I’ve heard from more people about those parking lot pictures than about any sketch I’ve ever written.”
“I thought you’d like having a place to write, but now I see that I was moving too fast and being presumptuous. Sally, I’m sorry that I didn’t think through how this would look from your perspective.” But in his voice, along with contrition, there was impatience.
“It’s not that you’ve done anything wrong,” I said, “but I don’t know how to do this.”
“This what?”
“I don’t know how to be in a relationship. I think I should go. Like stay somewhere else for a few days and just try to get some perspective. I don’t want to give up my career because of how good it feels when you go down on me.” Immediately, I could see that I had distracted us both with the specificity of this example, that there was an off-ramp for the conversation we were having as well as the course of action I had suggested. And maybe I was being rash but I also was being sincere—I didn’t want to leave TNO because of Noah. I wanted to leave TNO because it was time to leave TNO. As if this resolved anything, I added, “I need to think this stuff through.”
* * *
—
Once, years before, I’d stayed on for a few days after the Emmys ceremony, moving from the downtown hotel where the network put us up to an oceanfront room at a boutique hotel in Santa Monica. This was early on in the time when I could have afforded such a thing, and I’d done little during my stay—I’d read, and walked on the beach, and eaten takeout on the balcony—and, pretty much continuously, I’d experienced disbelief at my good fortune. I didn’t live in Missouri or North Carolina anymore! I didn’t work for a medical newsletter! I wasn’t married to a man who thought I wasn’t funny! I was a TNO writer who had been nominated for an Emmy and could stay at a hotel that cost four hundred dollars a night!
Returning to the same boutique hotel, I tried to remind myself that these facts were still true—by now, I’d won Emmys and could afford to stay at a hotel that currently cost five hundred and thirty dollars a night—but I felt bereft. Though the beach was open, the pier, which I could see from my balcony, was eerily empty, and the streets nearby were quiet. A powerful sense of misgiving had begun to grip me in Noah’s guest room, as I set my clothes in my suitcase then loaded my aunt Donna’s car, which I hadn’t driven since pulling onto his property. He had walked out to the driveway with me, and as he kissed my cheek with an unfamiliar formality, I wondered if I’d lost him already. My regret hadn’t been total as I wound south around the roads of Topanga. But my regret was already strong, and grew stronger as the minutes and hours passed. Why had I voluntarily left? What was I proving, and to whom? Was this when my interlude with Noah would begin to recede as a pandemic fever dream?
I’d checked into the hotel at 3:30, then lay on the bed for a while, planning to read and instead crying myself to sleep for an afternoon nap. When I awakened, I wasn’t sure what time it was, or at first, where I was, and then I realized: 7:18 P.M., and a hotel. I thought of ordering dinner, but instead I texted Viv and Henrietta: Had bad conversation with NB, now in hotel, maybe things are over
From Viv: Oh no what happened
From Henrietta: Are you okay
From me: Weird part is I think he wants a serious relationship/wants me to stay here
From Viv: Of course he does you’re a catch
From Henrietta: Is that what fight was about
From me: Kind of
From me: Would it be crazy if I don’t come back to TNO
From Henrietta: Then who will write my sketches about the 35 year old who hasn’t figured out how to use a tampon
From Henrietta: JK it’s your one wild and precious
From Viv: Do you WANT to stay out there
From me: I don’t know
From Viv: Pretend it’s Monday and you’re about to leave your apt and come to 66 and sit in Nigel’s office for the pitch meeting
From Viv: Are you psyched to be back or are you over it all
From Henrietta: As you inhale the aroma of Danny’s burps
From Henrietta: Or maybe not bc we’ll all be wearing masks?
For almost a minute, I held the phone, biting my lip. Then I wrote, It makes me so sad to think of not seeing you guys in the middle of the night
From Henrietta: FWIW I’m willing to haunt your dreams
* * *
—
In the morning, I went out for coffee and an egg sandwich that I ate standing outside the café, then I walked on the beach before it got crowded, as the surf roared beside me, not washing away my thoughts. Back in the room, I considered texting Noah but instead googled his name. The so-called top stories were about our hike, and I looked at the photos again, and again felt dismayed at the fit of my leggings, though the dismay was almost immediately eclipsed by a nostalgia for this moment four days before, when we’d been casually holding hands, casually chatting.
I took my laptop onto the balcony, sat, and created a new document that I named Pros/Cons. Then I observed the blinking cursor, listing neither pros nor cons of quitting TNO and moving to L.A. I needed some classical music to help me. I went into the room to find my earbuds, and when I returned to the balcony, my phone was buzzing with an incoming text, but it wasn’t from Noah; it was from Viv.
How you feeling today?
Okay, I texted back. Thanks for checking. How you feeling?
She replied with a photo in which she stood in profile in front of a mirror, her belly truly enormous beneath a gray tank top.
Amazing!!!! I replied. You look great
When my phone buzzed again, I assumed it was her, but this time it was a message from Noah: Hey
My heart clutched.
Hey, I wrote back. How are you?
The three dots pulsated for what felt like fifteen minutes but was probably ten seconds. Then finally: The house is really quiet without you
This was so…nice? Mature? Non-game-playing?
As I began typing, another text from him appeared: I’m sorry that I made you feel like I don’t respect your job
From him: I do respect your job
From me: I’m sorry that I failed to express the slightest appreciation about you clearing out your study
From me: That was very kind of you
From me: Even if I turned it into something weird and symbolic
I typed, I miss you, but before I could send it, he texted: About to workout w/ Bobby
From him: Have a good day
I waited a few seconds then deleted I miss you
* * *