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So far, Connor’s work has consisted of slow, panned shots of him wearing nothing but jeans and a tool belt as Clover and her BFF ogle him from her porch. The “hunk” catches her staring and delivers a self-depreciating remark, for comedic value. He’s nailed each one and even came up with an ad-lib of his own, which we’re using: “Holybejeezus, have you seen where I left my shirt?”
Today is Connor’s final day on set. The only kissing scene and it’s with my friend Clover. He claims he isn’t nervous. Even if that’s true, I’m nervous enough for the both of us. Quite honestly, I’m not looking forward to it at all. Even though I’m a professional actor and have kissed—oh, hundreds of actors over the years—including years when I’ve been in a committed relationship with Connor—I can admit I’m irrationally jealous.
There, I’ve said it. I don’t like the idea of my husband kissing another woman. Even if it’s pretend. How he put up with it, I donotknow. The man has the self-confidence of…well, a saint?
I guess I’m not a saint.
Like most sets these days, we have an intimacy coordinator. Her job is to set boundaries so actors are comfortable filming love scenes. In the consultation, Connor was adamant that he wouldn’t go further than touching lips with Clover. She agreed. They both want to be respectful of me, which I appreciate.
My production challenge is the scene is written as a passionate, breaking-out-of-her-shell moment for Clover’s character. A midlife sexual awakening with the hot construction guy. It’s got to be believable. We’re using camera angles and blocking to make it seem realistic, but I’m anxious all the same.
To soothe my nerves a bit, I’m up early with the twins. They’re so cuddly in the morning. If I have time, I love to sit on the couch and read to them before I head off to set. I treasure every second.
“Mae, you’re up unusually early.” Connor joins us on the couch, his hair as wild as a lion’s mane in a wind tunnel. “I missedmymorning cuddles.”
I shift so the three of us are ensconced under his arm. “I couldn’t sleep. The boys were up babbling in their secret language, so I thought I’d get a little extra time in today.”
“Cool. You stay here. I’ll go make us something to eat.” He kisses my head and crosses the room to our tiny kitchen. We keep just enough groceries on hand for morning breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Cereal. Milk. Oatmeal and Cream of Wheat. It’s a rare treat to be home to sit with my family. Mostly, I run out the door with a tub of yogurt and some fruit.
Now that they know their papa’s awake, Tristan and Torin are a bit squiggly and fussy. Our quiet time is over, so I set them in the playpen with their favorite toys. It’s hard to believe how much I hated the idea of playpens until I had twin toddlers. We never leave them in there long, but when I have to pee or make a meal, or go kiss my husband, it’s a life saver.
I stroll up behind Connor and wrap my arms around him, resting my cheek in the middle of his back. “Are you ready for your big kissing scene today?”
“Can’t feckin’ wait.” His voice is animated, but he doesn’t stray from his current task of cracking eggs into a bowl.
I pull away and spank his ass. “Can’twait?”
He turns and rests his big palms on both my shoulders. Catches my gaze. “Mae. I was joking. Remember, you’re the one who got me into this. I’ve already set my boundaries with that intimacy woman. My lips will barely touch Clover’s. Truthfully? I want to get it over with. I’m ready to go back to being just a bass player in a rock band.”
“Me too. I’m kinda sorta regretting casting you a little bit. I don’t want to see…”
“Seriously.” Connor’s annoyed now. “I donotwant to kiss another woman for pretend or otherwise. You’re a professional actress, surely you realize this isn’t going to change how much I love you. How much I’d rather be kissing you. My plan is to nail it in one take and be done.”
My head thunks against his chest. “I’m being so stupid. I know it. How did you put up with me kissing those men all those years?”
“I’m a feckin’ saint, so I am,” he mutters and kisses the top of my head before turning back to the counter. “Go shower or something. I’m already nervous enough.”
While Connor finishes breakfast, I do shower. By the time I return dressed and made up, Yolanda’s sitting next to Connor and the boys at the dining room table. Leaving me with the seat at the end. I take a spoonful of yogurt and watch her cut bits of sausage and feed bites to my sons. The gesture, even though it’s her job, causes a pangdeepinside me.
I’m missing outon beingtheir mother.
Connor’s ease with this particular domestic scene is infuriating. He’s not doing anything deliberate. It’s his—their—normal daily routine. He looks to Yolanda, not me, to feed our sons. To wipe their mouths. To get their juice. Glumly, I stir my yogurt.
I’m the fifth wheel here, not our nanny.
The second we wrap, I’m doing something about this.
On the way to the set, I’m quiet. Connor and I clutch hands in the back seat of the car. He fidgets, which is unlike him. I feel bad that I said anything. Rather than being a professional, I put all my insecurities on him when I should have just done my job. I was supposed to make him feel comfortable. At ease.
“I want to apologize for my behavior this morning, babe. I didn’t mean to stress you out. I trust you. I trust Clover.” I thread his fingers with mine and squeeze. “You know your lines. You’ve brushed your teeth. It’s going to be a piece of cake.”
He brings our clasped hands to his thigh. Kisses the side of my head. “Aye. It’ll be fine. While I’ve enjoyed our time in Vancouver for a while, I’m ready to get back to normal.”
“What’s normal?” I keep my voice light and teasing, but inside my heart is pounding.
He leans back against the soft, black leather of the car. “Dunno. I’d like for us to figure out what our normal is. Together.”
I rest my cheek against his shoulder. I know how he feels.
