The Rule Book: A Novel

Fifteen quick steps and I’m out in the hallway. What is happening? I repeat, what is happening?

I double over by the ice machines and clutch my stomach. I’m grasping for breath like a claw in a toy machine—can’t quite get it.

Derek wants to woo me?

Do I want him to?

My head is spinning. I’m terrified, and yet the smile on my face is drawn in permanent marker. I should find a way to wipe it right off, though, because no good can come from this. First of all, we’re married and need to get a divorce. How would we throw dating into the mix? Do we just stay married? Do we divorce so we can date? Second, I’m his agent and I want to continue being his agent. Third, I want him to take all my clothes off and—

Shoot. That’s not supposed to be a point. And I’m not really the casual take-my-clothes-off-just-for-the-hell-of-it person. No matter how much I wish otherwise. When my clothes come off, my little monogamous backpack of feelings clips on. I can’t help it. It’s the law of my body governed by a cute little prudish policewoman that I really wish would go away sometimes.

And therefore I need to call my mom. My best friend. She always knows what to do.

I swipe through my phone as quickly as possible to find my mom’s name. Two rings later, she answers. “Hi, honey! How’s your fake honeymoon going? Oh, by the way, I got on Instant Gram this morning to see if you sent me any new cute animal reels and my gosh, honey, your face was everywhere! Well, yours and Derek’s faces and mostly pressed together making out on the beach. But still. Did you know that you’ve gone vital?”

Calling Pam is always the right decision. “Mom, first, it’s called Instagram. And it’s not going vital, it’s going viral.”

There’s music in the background, as well as someone talking loudly.

“Like a virus? Ew, why would we call it that?”

“Because it spreads quickly, I guess.”

“I like vital better.” Someone shushes my mom.

“Agreed—let’s change it. But no, I haven’t gotten on social media at all, and now I’m glad I haven’t.” The music on her end is booming. “Mom, where are you?”

“I’m in the movies. But it’s just the trailers playing right now.” She pulls the phone away from her ear a little to talk to someone around her. “Oh—for pity sakes, it’s just the trailers! No one cares about these movies anyway and this is my daughter on the phone. Do you have a daughter? Well, you would know how important it is to not miss this call if you did! Okay, okay, I’m leaving!”

There’s a muffled sound like fabric scraping the phone and then, “Nora, you still there? I’m in the lobby now.”

“I’m here.” The wall is solid at my back. I slide down it and sink down to the floor—tucking my knees up into my sweatshirt. “What movie are you seeing?”

“That action flick where the guy takes off his shirt.”

“Oh yeah—the guy with all the abs?” I set my chin on my knees.

“Yes. And good hair too.”

“Right. I know exactly the one you’re talking about.” We both chuckle. “I wish I was there watching it with you.”

“Why, pretzel?” she says, playfully using the ridiculous nickname. “Are you not having a good time on your fake honeymoon with your ex-boyfriend?”

“That’s the problem.” I whine like I would never whine to anyone else but my mom. I’m safe to be absolutely obnoxious with her. “It’s getting complicated because I’m having too much fun. And just now…”

I launch into a lengthy explanation of every single detail of the last twenty-four hours. Even the parts a daughter would normally leave out from telling her mom, I tell mine because I’m not kidding when I say my mom has become my best friend. Partly out of necessity because either I tunnel-vision on work too much or I’m simply too much for people, and both options leave me pretty lonely at the end of the day. But also because my mom has always given me room to make mistakes and tell the truth without fear she’d use it against me. We’re genuine friends, and her opinion is the shiniest gold in my eyes. Which is why it’s a little unnerving that she’s completely quiet during my story.

It’s unlike Pam to be silent. By now there should be a hundred different gasps, and he didn’t! comments.

After I’ve finished, my mom asks me one question and one question only. “Nora…is your silverware drawer stocked?”

My mouth falls open, but it takes me a second to form any words. “Is my…? What? Mom, I just told you my ex-boyfriend-slash-fake-husband-slash-client wants to woo me and all you can ask is if my silverware drawer is stocked? You’re giving off one-fry-short-of-a-Happy-Meal vibes right now.”

“Well, honey, I’ve seen the state your spoons are in,” she says emphatically, like that explanation is reason enough. “Those things have gone down the garbage disposal more times than any spoon should, and I’ve personally thrown a few of them away—so I’m worried that there won’t be enough utensils for two people.”

Movement by the ice machine catches my eye and I spot a woman approaching the reusable water bottle filler station. She has five water bottles in her arms and can’t figure out how to get the tap to turn on.

“I have two spoons and three forks and one knife,” I tell my mom while watching the woman wave at the dispenser like it’s motion activated and requires an interpretive dance to work. Solid logic, honestly. Everything seems to be motion activated these days. I often wonder how many hours of my life I’ve lost while waving at hand-drying machines until they turn on.

My mom hums knowingly. “Thought so. I’ll stop by the store tomorrow and restock them for you.”

I laugh like she’s finally cracked. “Mom! Why are you going to restock my silverware drawer?”

Pushing off the floor, I walk over to the woman and gesture for her to let me have her water bottle. She eyes me up and down speculatively because in my ratty old sweatshirt, and seemingly nonexistent short-shorts underneath it, I must look like a failed influencer who just lost all her money on a shampoo pyramid scheme and is trying to secretly live within the resort.

The lady reluctantly hands over her empty water bottle and I hold it under the fountain, pressing the little pedal on the floor to release the stream of water. The lady gasps and smiles wide. I feel like a top-tier magician. How glorious. Maybe a change of professions is in order.

My mom continues while I work to fill this lady’s water bottles one after the other. “Because, Nora, my only daughter just got married. And I want her new husband to be able to eat cereal with her in the morning without cutting his mouth.”

“But Mom—right now it’s fake. F. A. K. E. You understand that, right?” I say, and then remember the woman beside me and hope she has no idea who I am. I smile awkwardly at her as she hands me another bottle. I’m no longer a magician to her—she thinks I work here. “We haven’t even talked about what will happen when we go back home. All he said is he’s going to woo me on this vacation.”

The lady beside me waggles her eyebrows and nudges my shoulder. “That sounds fun,” she whispers. I nod several times because it really has the potential to be a good time.

“Darling, I love you with every fiber of my being, but I’m angry at you for thinking any of this is fake. Or even has been fake since the beginning. And since I happen to know with all my motherly wisdom that it’s not fake and that that boy will be sleeping over at your house before you know it, I want to restock your silverware drawer. Don’t worry, I have a key to your apartment.”

“I do worry, Mom! I worry about the state of your comprehension skills right now. You’re not listening. This could go badly a thousand different ways. And besides, where is my fiercely feminist mother who usually tells me to consider my career first?”

“Now I worry about your comprehension skills. Have you not been listening to me all these years? Feminism, my love, is about uplifting women and fighting for our rights to equality and choice. If your choice is to follow your career, I will fight for that until my dying breath. If your choice is to be married and become a mother, or even a combination of both, I will fight for that until my dying breath too. It’s not about what that choice is, it’s about your freedom to make it. All I’ve ever wanted—and continue to want for you—is a partner who is going to uplift you as much as I know you will uplift him—and to cut loose anyone else who would dare do otherwise.”

The lady beside me must be able to hear my mom’s voice through the phone because she gives me moony eyes as she covers her heart with her hand. She shoos me away from the fountain to finish up her remaining water bottle herself and signals for me to go talk to my mom. Take the day off from your water bottle job, her eyes say. And this is what I love about women. Movies prefer to portray us as catty—but I know better because of moments like this. And moments where complete strangers have banded together in the bathroom to find me a tampon when I started my period unprepared.

“And Nora, my little butternut squash, you don’t make rash decisions. Everything you do has a motive and reason behind it. Even when you’re drunk. Honey, remember last year when we accidentally drank a little too much at that wine tasting and then you ordered your pink couch online. You laughed it off later as a frivolous drunken mistake, but you forget that I follow your Pinterest boards and I happen to know you had been pinning pink couches for a month before that. You wanted that couch.”

I did want that couch. I wanted it more than anything.

My bare feet pad back down the hallway toward our suite before I even realize what I’m doing. “What are you saying, Pam? That Derek is my pink couch? You think I’ve been nursing a broken heart all these years and pining for him? I’m the one who broke up with him because I wanted to pursue my career, if you will remember.”

“I think you already know the answers to those questions and don’t need me to point them out.”

She’s right. I have been nursing a broken heart, I’m just embarrassed to admit it to my strong mom. And it doesn’t matter that I ended it with him—my heart was still broken. The only difference is that I’m the one who shattered it myself.

“Nora, you are so excellent at thinking with your head. I’ve always admired your ability to look at life ten steps ahead and maneuver yourself in the safest most efficient route.”

“Thank you. You should see me play checkers.”

My mom doesn’t stop for my quip. “It’s worked for you because you really needed that stability and self-preservation from the way your dad has always come and gone from your life. But now, my darling goddess…you’re standing on your own two feet. You know who you are and what you want out of this life, and I think it might be time to think with your heart a little bit and give your brain a rest. And if your heart wants Derek…well then, my sugar plum fairy, as of tomorrow, you’ll have enough silverware to accommodate him.”

I’m silent for a minute, digesting everything she said in little bite-sized lumps. And when I can’t think of any adequate or profound ways to tell her I love her more than the ocean or rainbows or Sprite from McDonald’s after a stomach bug, I settle for a fact. “You know Derek has a mansion, right? Full of spoons.”

“But does his mansion have a beautiful woman and a pink couch?”

The door to our suite looms in front of me, and I eye it as if it’s a fire-breathing dragon. “I’m frustrated with myself, Mom.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re right about all of it, obviously, and I do still have feelings for Derek—love him, even—and did when I broke up with him too. But I really thought there wasn’t a way that we would work out back then and be able to pursue our separate dreams.” I also might have been trying to beat him to the punch by breaking up with him before he had a chance to break my heart. “But now that I’m here and we’ve both achieved our goals and our feelings have lasted all this time, I can’t decide if I regret breaking up with him or if I’m happy I followed my career?”

“I think both realities can be true. You don’t have to pick. Maybe Derek was always the right person, just at the wrong time.” I can hear the smile in my mom’s voice because she knows that what she’s saying is profound, and she will likely turn it into an inspirational quote for Pinterest after we hang up. She’ll take up embroidery just so she can stitch it onto a pillow.

“Now, I’m just your old mom, but I say Derek’s right and you could ease up on yourself this week. Use this time to get to know him again and figure out what you really want. Have some fun.”

It feels like my stomach grows wings and dashes off a cliff at those words. Have some fun. The concept is definitely long overdue.

“Do you want shiny silverware or matte?” she finally asks.

“Matte. Thank you, Mom.”

“I’m just a call away if you need me, lovey. But maybe wait until my movie is over because those people in there would be excellent hall monitors and I’m scared to find out what they’ll do to me if I act up again.”

We end the call after exchanging I love you’s and Mom reminding me to wear sunscreen (a little too late for that, lady) and then I lower my phone and eye the door again. I would touch it longingly if I didn’t think the security cameras out here would catch me looking angsty.

Before I let myself start thinking too hard about this, I fill my lungs with a breath so big they might pop and then I march into the suite.

Derek is on the floor foam-rolling his right hamstrings when I storm into the room. His eyebrows lift.

“First of all, that is a very scandalous position you’re in, sir.”

“I’ve learned not to do this stretch around any cameras for a reason,” he says. “Do you have a second following the first?”

“Yes,” I say with one final, definitive Nicole-esque head nod. “Let’s break all the rules, Derek Pender.”