Toby tilts his head to the side, settling fully into therapist mode, and shoots the question right back at me. “Don’tyou?”
Look, do I keep my distance from people? Sure. People suck, and the best way to keep them from disappointing you is to never give them the opportunity. There’s nothing wrong with that. One might even say it’s wise.
Before I can argue the point, he adds, “I’m just saying, you have a history of women leaving you. And that shit messes with your head. It makes you throw up guardrails, whether you realize it or not. And this time, it cost you the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“I was just trying to do right by her,” I protest. “This was her moment to shine. The last thing she needed was me hanging on to her coattails, dragging her down.”
Shelby purses her lips. “That’s one way to think about it. Have you ever thought about how it looked from Marissa’s perspective?”
There’s already a cold certainty creeping in.
“What do you mean?”
“It means,” Shelby says, “that you told her you’d be there for her. That you’d support her in making her dreams a reality. But when it came down to it, you bailed on her. You sent the message that you would be supportive onyourterms. How do you think that made her feel?”
“I didn’t…” I start to protest but trail off.Shit. That’s exactly what I did. Poor Marissa. I feel awful, so I only imagine how she must be feeling. She must think I’m just another man in her life who was happy to take but ultimately didn’t give back. I told her that I was going to be there for her, that I supported her decision to return to work and make the type of movies that spoke to her soul. But when it came down to it, my actions didn’t match my words. And now she’s gone, thinking that I’m just another guy who let her down.
My vision starts to swim. How did I screw this up so badly?
Violet returns to the table with a fresh pot of coffee and my usual three-egg omelet, but I’ve completely lost my appetite. Swallowing the boulder-sized lump in my throat, I look to the three people in front of me for help.
“I need to get to LA.”
“There’s a five-thirty flight out of Scranton. One stop,” Violet says as she slides into the seat next to me.
“Or if you prefer nonstop, we can drive you to Newark,” Shelby adds. “I know connecting flights give you anxiety.”
I narrow my eyes. “May I ask why the two of you know the upcoming flight schedules to Los Angeles off the top of your head?”
They exchange looks. “We’ve been preparing,” Violet says.
“Uh-huh. And how long have you been preparing?”
Shelby shakes her head. “Longer than expected. I thought you would have gotten it together months ago.”
Violet nods in agreement. “Full disclosure, we didn’t think it would take you this long to come to your senses. Like, there’s dense and there’s”—she waves a hand in front of my face—“whatever this whole thing is.”
I stare at them, mouth agape.
“Do you guys spend a lot of time talking about me when I’m not around?”
Violet shrugs. “I mean, there’s not much else to do around here. Especially when there’s bad weather.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to take a deep breath. I can’t get distracted by the three Muppets staring at me—or worse, how long I’ve let this mistake go on. I need to focus on getting to Marissa and making things right.
Decision made, I open my eyes.
“Anyone available to drive me to Newark?”
37MARISSA
I jump at the sound of rapping on my trailer door. I’ve been so engrossed in the book on my lap that I’d completely lost sense of where I was, and the sound of a fist against aluminum is so startling that I have to brush a hand over my chest to steady the fluttering of my heart.
I set the novel down on the small sofa beside me. I’ve been reading as often as possible between takes, and this story about a teenage girl with Down syndrome who dreams of being a pop star is a contender for next month’s virtual book club. The club is still informal, mostly just monthly livestreams from my living room sofa, but my picks always focus on stories that elevate underrepresented voices. I have loved every minute of it. Being able to connect readers and build a community that champions these stories has been incredibly fulfilling. More importantly, it’s reminded me that I don’t have to hide. I can use my visibility to uplift the things that matter most to me.
“Marissa.” The muffled sound of a man’s voice on the other side of the door shakes me back to the present. Its tone has a familiar lowness that sends my heart skittering again—this time in a different way.
It couldn’t be.… Could it?
