“Sorry, where’s the bathroom?” I ask.
Toby gestures to the small room beside the front door and I murmur a quick apology as I hurry away from the table. Once inside, I close the door behind me and sink to the floor, leaning my back against the wall. The tears come quickly, streaming down my face in hot rivulets, dripping gracelessly into the V-neck of my T-shirt.
They have the decency to grant me five entire minutes before there’s a knock on the door. I inhale a wavering breath, swiping my palms against my cheeks as I ready my voice into something convincingly cheery. I am, after all, still an actress.
“I’ll be right out,” I say as brightly as I can.
The door cracks open. I’m expecting to see Jesse, so I’m surprised when Shelby’s face appears inside.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
I nod and shift aside. I don’t have the energy to be self-conscious.
She steps into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her. She grabs a handful of tissues from the box on top of the toilet and hands them to me, then slides down to take a seat against the opposite wall. The bathroom isn’t huge, so our ankles are touching. I expect to feel claustrophobic, but instead, it’s comforting.
“Toby can’t cook for shit, I know,” she says. “But I’ve never seen anyone react this badly.”
I let out a laugh-sob. “The lasagna was fine.”
Shelby shakes her head. “Oh, no. Friends do not lie to each other. And we are friends, aren’t we?”
I give her a small smile and nod. “Of course.”
“Good. Now let’s start over. The lasagna was an abomination. Toby’s nonna is rolling in her grave.”
I sniff. “Toby has many other redeeming qualities.”
“Yes, and thank god for that.”
She allows a long silence between us, one where I try to decide which thing I’m trying not to be: too open, too guarded, too apologetic, too whiny.
“I’m sorry,” I settle on, as I usually do.
“Hey,” she says, knocking her knee gently against mine. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
I lean my head back against the wall and stare up at the ceiling.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I admit. “Go back to work. Make this movie.”
“Why not?” she asks. Her words are light, free of judgment.
“My kids aren’t ready,” I say. “They’re so little still. And you see how Levi is tonight. Two weeks off his routine have caught up with him and now he’s drowning. I know how he operates. I know that he needs structure, regularity. How can I know this and still choose to disrupt his life again by dragging him onto a movie set?”
“So don’t drag him onto a movie set,” Shelby replies. Her words are so simple and blunt that my eyes snap in her direction.
“What?”
“If you don’t want to bring him, keep him at home with a nanny,” she says. “If you want to bring him to set, bring the nanny and have her keep him in as much of a steady routine as possible. You have options, not to mention plenty of resources at your disposal. You can make choices that work for you. But what you are not going to do is walk away from this movie.”
“You don’t think it’s selfish?” My voice is so small that I almost don’t recognize it.
Shelby scoffs. “Why have we allowed society to convince mothers that having a career is selfish? Do you think Rocky has ever once felt selfish for being away from his kids while he works on a movie?”
I snort out a bitter laugh. No need to answer that one.
“I know you want to be a good mother,” she continues. “We all do. But you cannot pour from an empty cup. You can’t be your best mom self if you are not fulfilled as a person. You also matter, Marissa. If you want to be good to your kids, then you need to be good to yourself too.”
A fresh wave of tears springs to my eyes.
