We sit on the messy couch, and she listens while I complain about all the jobs that have fallen through.
"What if this is it, and you have no more jobs?” she asks eventually. “What would you actually want to do?"
Everyone's always just assumed that stunt work was my passion, my calling, the only thing I could possibly want.
"I don't know," I admit. "I've never really thought about an alternative. The stunts came so early and so naturally that I just... went with it. I never considered that there might be something else."
"Then we'll figure it out," Sharon says. She squeezes my hand. "Not today. But we'll figure it out."
I look at her for a long moment. She's looking back at me with those brown eyes that seem to see everything. She's not trying to fix me. She's not trying to make this better with grand gestures or false promises. She's just here. Present. Witnessing my fear and not running away from it.
After about an hour, I notice it’s getting darker outside. The sun is setting outside the windows. The light is turning golden and soft.
"I should go," Sharon says, but she doesn't move.
"Stay a little longer," I say. "Have dinner with me. I can order something. We can keep talking."
She hesitates for just a moment, and I can see her thinking it through.
"Okay," she says. "But I'm ordering the food. You look like you've been eating junk all day.”
"That's because I have been," I admit.
"Yeah," she says, and there's a smile in her voice. "So, I'm getting you something with actual vegetables."
She pulls out her phone and scrolls through food delivery apps while I watch her. She's still sitting close to me. Her shoulder keeps brushing against mine as she moves. Her scent keeps mixing with mine.
She orders Thai food with an excessive amount of vegetables and insists I also get a green smoothie, which I protest against until she gives me a look that suggests I don't have a choice in the matter.
We eat on my couch, sitting closer than we probably should be. She teases me about the way I eat. I tease her about her obsession with broccoli. We fall into an easy rhythm that feels natural and comfortable.
"Do you actually hate the stunts?" she asks. "Or do you just hate what the industry is becoming?"
I think about that question carefully. It's a good question. It's the kind of question that gets to the heart of the matter.
"I hate that it's becoming less about the craft and more about saving money," I say finally.
"But you love the actual work," Sharon says. It's not a question.
"Yeah," I admit. "I love knowing that I'm protecting people."
"Then maybe the answer isn't to leave the industry," Sharon says. "Maybe the answer is to find a different way to do what you love. A way that doesn't involve actors trying to be heroes."
"That's smart," I say.
"I know," she says, and there's humor in her voice. "I'm not just a pretty face.”
I reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It's a small gesture. Like I need to touch her to confirm that she's real and that this conversation actually happened.
"Thank you for coming," I say. "For listening. For not trying to fix everything."
"Thank you for letting me," she says. "For being honest about what you're feeling. That's not something that comes easy for you."
"No," I agree. "It doesn't."
When she finally leaves, I walk her to the door. She stands in the doorway for a moment, looking at me like she's trying to memorize the moment.
"Figure out the career thing," she says. "And when you do, it's going to be something amazing."
