Before bed, I take a long, hot shower. It’s the first time all day that I’ve been completely alone with my thoughts, and I find them drifting back to my handsome carpenter.Jesse. Itisa name that begsto be moaned. And truth be told, I wouldn’t mind testing it out for myself.
There have been a lot of good-looking men in my line of work, but there’s something about Jesse that’s different, more authentic than the ones who grace the silver screen. Maybe it’s the fact that I know those muscles aren’t just for show but rather to build and create something new and beautiful. Maybe it’s the juxtaposition of those soft curls and warm eyes against a rough beard and calloused hands. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he was so kind to my children, without expecting anything in return.
Whatever it is, he’s starting to occupy space in my brain, poking at a need I usually keep buried. An itch that’s begging to be scratched. Would it really be so terrible if he were the one to do it?
Pooja is right—my sex life has been nonexistent. It’s not that I don’t want to date again, to be touched again. I know that I put myself last. It’s just that I’m afraid. Afraid of trusting someone again. Afraid of getting hurt. And maybe most of all, afraid of being rejected.
I wipe a hand across the bathroom mirror, clearing away the fog to study my reflection. Leaning closer to the glass, I examine the lines on my forehead. Since my face is no longer stretched across a movie screen, I’ve seen no reason to keep up with Botox, and creases are slowly returning, no matter how diligently I apply tretinoin each night. There are dark crescents under my eyes, and I’m certain my jawline is starting to droop. I turn to the side and inhale a deep breath, sucking in my stomach. Then I blow it out and allow my body to return to its natural shape. A shape that is still not entirely familiar.
Some days, I barely recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. It’s not that I’ve struggled to accept my body after becoming a mom. I love my body. This body carried two beautiful, healthy babies, and for that, I am grateful. It’s just… different than it used to be.
I’ve lost the baby weight and I’m only one size larger than I was before kids. But everything sits differently now. My breasts hang lower; my waist and hips are wider. My stomach doesn’t lie flat anymore and there are ripples of cellulite on the backs of my legs. It’s the body of a mother who loves her kids more than anything on earth. But is it stillmybody? The body of the person I was before, when I wasn’t a mother but just a woman? It’s certainly not the same body I had when I last appeared on-screen. Or shared a first kiss. Or fell in love.
Part of me is ready to date again. But there’s another part of me that’s riddled with self-consciousness. I’ve always been a self-assured person. You have to be to survive in my industry. But over the past few years, I’ve felt less than confident in my own skin. Blame it on the conditioning of my generation, blame it on the internet, but it’s deep in there. That little voice whispering that I could look better.
It’s been ages since I was naked in front of a man. How would one react to the sight of my bare skin? Would he still find me desirable? Because while I may be out of practice, I haven’t lost an ounce of interest. If anything, my sex drive has only increased as I’ve gotten older. My unintended celibacy has swelled my craving to be desired by a man.
Not just any man, my subconscious whispers. My cheeks heat and I know it’s not the humidity of the bathroom that’s warming them. I reach upward to cup my breast, pretending it’s the rough, calloused touch of my carpenter. A man who is most certainly skilled with his hands.
My eyes flutter shut as my fingers brush over my nipple, and I begin to lose myself in a daydream. I imagine his other hand on my waist, pulling me against him. The way my name sounds in his low voice as he exhales hot breath against me. The sensation of his stubble scratching my skin as he dips his head lower to take me into his mouth. The way he would—
The sound of coughing startles me out of the daydream. I grab a towel off the rack and wrap it tightly around myself just as the bathroom door opens slightly, a tiny face appearing through the crack.
“Mommy,” Levi whispers, “I need water.”
My skin is still blazing, but now it’s more from mortification than excitement. This is exactly why I’ve been out of the dating scene for so long. I am never alone. Being a mom is a twenty-four-seven gig. And yes, maybe I’ve lost a part of myself along the way. But doesn’t that happen to everyone when they become a parent?
Under the stark beam of reality, the thought of dating is almost laughable. How could I fold another person into this balancing act? I’m barely managing as it is.
After getting Levi a glass of water and tucking him back into bed, I follow suit, tucking myself in and pulling the covers up to my chin. Closing my eyes, I force myself to clear my mind, banishing all thoughts of handsome contractors and their skilled hands.
Outside, a summer rain thumps against the windowpane, eventually lulling me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
11MARISSA
On Monday, both kids are out of sorts at afternoon pickup. Isla, hot and sweaty, is monosyllabic during the drive home, her face impossible to read. And Levi? It’s clear that he’s on the precipice of a meltdown. He’s been glassy-eyed and nonverbal since I picked him up, flicking his ear while gazing numbly out the window in the way he always does when he’s agitated. His counselors assured me that he did well today, but of course, there’s going to be a period of adjustment for this change in routine.
It’s the hardest part, watching him muddle through the beginning stages of something new. I tried to make the transition as easy as possible. I prepped a visual schedule of the day and showed him pictures of the camp layout. I didn’t fight him on any of his choices, didn’t say a word when he insisted on wearing his favorite, beat-up sneakers, even though they’re half a size too small and he’s got a new, unworn pair waiting in his closet. But there’s no way to prepare for everything, and the closer we get to the house, the more dread pools in my stomach.
I steal another glance at Isla in the rearview mirror. Her jaw is tight, highlighting the small scar on her chin from falling off her bike. She was only four when she insisted that she no longer neededtraining wheels, that she was independent enough to ride on her own. She’s always had that stubborn streak. If she’s determined to resent me for the entire summer, I have no doubt that she’ll succeed. Kids don’t appreciate your attempts to protect them. Such is motherhood. I’d still rather her be angry at me than be confronted with the ugly chaos that awaits us back home.
I’d managed to avoid Jesse and the rest of his team this morning, busying myself with errands. But when we pull into the driveway, the Legacy truck is still there. The first person I see when we walk through the doorway is a woman with long blond hair and a heart-shaped face. Shelby. She turns, absolutely lighting up at the sight of us.
“Hiiii!” she calls out, walking briskly toward the door. “Great to see you again, Marissa.”
There’s something about the way she says my name that sends my hackles up. Shelby seemed perfectly nice at the café. But it was also clear that she was a fan, and the idea of inviting fans inside my home elicits a sense of hot panic. Home is supposed to be a safe space. Especiallythishome, the setting of so many joyful childhood memories, a place where I was able to just be a kid and not a celebrity. I’m realizing that I desperately want to keep this space separate from my home in LA. That I want to keep the lake house pure and untarnished by fame.
Maybe I haven’t picked a place far enough away.
But then I catch a glimpse of Jesse over her shoulder, and his blue-gray eyes meet mine. He gives me a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, and a feeling of calm settles over me like a warm blanket. There’s something about his presence that tells my body this is still a safe space, that I’m protected here. Which makes no sense; he’s just as much of a stranger to me as his sister-in-law. Yet there’s still a sense of unplaceable familiarity about him that I can’t quite shake.
Shelby’s voice snaps my attention back in her direction.
“After spending some time here today, I’ve got a bunch of ideas and have done some preliminary sketches. Do you mind if I go over them with you, get your thoughts?”
“Oh, sure. Let me just get the kids situated. Unpack their bags, make them a snack.”
“Oh! Of course!” For the first time since we walked in, Shelby shifts her gaze to my kids. “How are you guys settling in?” she asks. “Did you have a good day at camp?”
