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Norma Bates has plans to do laundry, a pile of her (and also Alex’s) clothes she’s gathered in a wicker basket perched on her hip, and she has come downstairs to start the washing machine when her ears suddenly catch wind of an agitated voice.
“How the hell did you even get this number?”
It’s Alex. He’s in the kitchen, obviously sounding and seeming irritated, and from the forcibly hushed tone of his voice, Norma can tell that he doesn’t want her to overhear. This, of course, intrigues her and propagates an investigation. She pads down the hallway until she’s near the doorway of the short walkway leading to the informal dining room and turns her head to the side to get better listening access.
She doesn’t mean to be snoopy, but after the break-in to her house two days ago, she’s been on edge. And can one really blame her for wanting to know what’s going on in her home after that?
It’s not like she doesn’t trust Alex – no, he’s proven his loyalty to her a million times over already – but her curiosity at the moment is like an itch that won’t go away, so she’s scratching it, even ever so lightly.
“Yeah, no crap I’m not answering my cell phone. At least not to you after what you did to the house here.”
Norma blinks, shocked with the realization that Alex is in contact with whoever had trashed her house. Part of her is irked at him for withholding his knowledge from her; the other part of her thinks there might be a reason for his secrecy and that it might be for the better that she didn’t know.
Then, “Listen, Rebecca-”
Rebecca? Redhead Rebecca Hamilton from the bank?
A confused look comes over Norma’s face. Why is Alex’s - and now technically her - banker calling the house? A terrible thought flutters into her mind: maybe since I’ve been behind on several bills, the house is being foreclosed.
Her eyes to start to water at the idea, for she’s been having quite the overwhelming last couple of days, from committing Norman to the Pineview to marrying Alex, and she’s not sure how much more she can take. She loves this damn house and can’t stand the idea of losing it.
She holds her breath now, hoping that Alex can once again work his magic…though how he’d be able to pull this one off is beyond her comprehension.
“-no, I did not find your socks at my house—is this seriously what you’re calling about?”
Norma’s freezes on the spot, chest suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight. There’s no context around his words, but she’s not stupid. Leaving clothes at someone else’s house means you’ve spent time at their house. Means that you’ve changed at their house. Means that…
Is Alex cheating on me?
The thought makes her nearly whimper out loud in anguish, and she immediately chasizes herself for being upset. She reminds herself that though they are married, their union is nothing more than a fraud. A plan to get Norman help. She had said on Alex’s porch that day that their marriage would “just be on paper”, so had he taken that part seriously? Because though she’s only been married for just shy of five full days, she’s forced to confess that she doesn’t want to visualize Alex - her Alex - in anybody else’s arms. To think about his hands gently cupping anyone else’s face, or to think about his husky 7 a.m. voice asking somebody else other than her “good morning, how’d you sleep?”
It’s selfish and ridiculous and just plain stupid, she knows, but the possibility stings. Lost in her own whirlwind of paranoid thoughts, she’s missed some of what he has said – maybe something about a key? – and she begins to walk away, ready to resume her housework and try to forget that now she knows the reason he hadn’t wanted to tell her that first night out at dinner the names of who he’d been sleeping with.
I knew it was too good to be true. And I can’t blame him. Rebecca is beautiful. She has to be at least five years younger than me, most likely doesn’t have a child with a mental health issue weighing her down, probably has known Alex for yea-
Norma’s thoughts are cut short when a curt laugh sounds from behind her, which is then followed by,
“The cooking? Oh, no. I didn’t marry her for the food, though she’s a fantastic cook and I’ve forgotten what a home-cooked meal tasted like. I didn’t marry her for any domestic reason – hell, the first time she did my laundry I was miffed – so I’m sorry to tell you that the reason isn’t as superficial as that.”
Norma creeps back to her original spot, laundry basket and all, and catches his next words.
“What? Yeah, I know. I know I said I’d never get married, but I did. I don’t know what this call was for other than harassing my decision to marry Norma, but I feel like it won’t be the last if I don’t provide some sort of explanation. So here it is.”
Oh my god, he’s going to tell her the truth. The truth about why he married some random lady who lives on a near-abandoned road near the highway. I’m going to sound like a desperate fool, a madwoman for asking the sheriff of this town to marry me for health insurance.
She’s on the brink of charging out from her hiding place, ready to snatch the receiver out of his hands and hang up, when he says it:
“I love her, and I care about her…so I married her. It’s really that simple.”
Norma can feel her eyes growing comically wide but she can’t help it. He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to formulate a spontaneous, half-assed cover story, nor does it sound like a rehearsed lie – and as a mother she’s gotten pretty good at knowing when someone is lying. It’s short, but more than anything, it sounds…genuine.
Alex isn’t done.
“You’re a good person, Rebecca, but we agreed to be friends with benefits only. If you had feelings for me, you should have told me, but I can’t lie to you and say that I had ever felt the same way back.
“Trust me, it was nice to have that no-strings-attached thing: no messes, no real commitment, no worrying about any actual responsibility on either of our parts. However, I didn’t realize that I like waking up next to someone each morning, that I wanted to make a permanent habit out of sharing my life with someone, until Norma came along.
“Norma…she’s- She’s the light of my life. God, that’s so corny. Can’t believe I just said that. Anyways, I’m sorry if it hurts to hear that, but it’s true. If you want me to switch bankers, that’s fine with me. But what’s not fine-” he drops his voice, and Norma hasn’t realized that he’d lost control of the quiet volume of it.
He hasn’t been yelling by any means, he’d just sounded confident while talking about her.
“-is you trying to contact me here. Norma’s already been shaken up this week; I don’t need her scared because people she barely knows are calling the house. So do me and yourself a favor and don’t seek me out unless it’s to discuss official business, and don’t bother my wife again, alright?”
There’s a click, signaling the end of the conversation, and it takes Norma a moment process what she’s overheard.
I love her. I care about her. My wife.
They’re simple phrases, but they speak volumes to Norma, already playing on a loop in her head. She can’t remember if Sam, or even John, had ever said those words. Maybe the “my wife” part, but never with such sincerity as Alex has just expressed.
And as emotion bubbles up inside of her, it hits Norma that Alex isn’t afraid of Rebecca calling because he thinks she’d tell her about his past bachelor lifestyle. It isn’t even fully because he’s worried Rebecca will find out about the truth of the legitimacy of his marriage.
It has nothing to do with him and everything about how he cares for my well-being.
Dylan was right: Alex hadn’t married her just for the insurance. And he hadn’t wanted her just for sex – as demonstrated when he’d winced at her offer of that – for that was the way he’d been with Rebecca, and that arrangement hadn’t been able to fill the void in his heart.
There are layers that are responsible for his decision to marry her, stacked higher than Norma thought possible, and she feels like she’s just uncovered the first one.
And as her heart is catching up with her head – or maybe it’s the other way around? – Alex rounds the corner and nearly collides with the wicker basket.
“Norma! Oh my god, you startled me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Didn’t know standing in my own house constituted as sneaking up on you,” Norma volleys smartly back, and is immediately reminded of the time when they had almost the exact same exchange of words on a sidewalk in town a long time ago.
Then as they lock eyes, she knows that he knows that she’d heard it all. And for a moment, they’re motionless, two bodies so close to each other yet so far, and then the entities collide, simultaneously searching for its match, sharing their warmth and touch, the emotions from Norma dancing from her soul and twirled by Alex’s own into his waiting arms.
She holds him close, much like how she did when he left the motel, but this time it’s not awkward. This time her arms wrap around his shoulders, and it’s her who is the first to let go.
“You…you love me?” Norma whispers, eyes bright and hopeful. She hopes she doesn’t look frantic, and attempts to alleviate her pounding heart with a few discreet, deep breaths.
Alex chuckles lightly, showing her that tiny smile she adores, and says, “Of course I do” right before he kisses her forehead. “How could I not?” The sternness in his voice he’d had a moment ago on the phone has vanished, replaced with a tenderness that comes with a grin like that.
And it’s not like Norma doesn’t want to say it back – the desire to tell him she loves him is clawing at her, desperate to get out – but fear holds her back, and she hates it. She hates the pain she’s endured after trusting men with her heart, what it’s done to her ability to communicate with the most loving man she’s met, but all she can do is open and close her mouth like a fish and feel stupid and guilty at her lack of reciprocation.
But as always, Alex seems to understand and doesn’t push her, simply picks up the dropped basket of clothes with both hands and makes a small gesture towards the laundry room with it.
“These dirty?” he asks, and she nods. “I never sort ‘darks’ and ‘lights’,” he says, earning him a gasp of horror from Norma, which she realizes too late is what he’d been going for. “But I have a feeling that you do it that way. So, Mrs. Romero-”
An eye-roll is directed at him, but it’s half-hearted, and she’s smiling at his teasing insistence on calling her that. So much for “you don’t know me in any social sense other than as your sheriff.”
“-while I’m coming to accept the fact that you’re just gonna do my laundry from now on, you wanna show me how it’s done so I can do yours one day?”