“That, and…taking it to the next level would have meant taking it public. Eventually. It wouldn’t be ours anymore. It would be everybody’s. And then, if it didn’t work out…” She shook her head. “Things were so overwhelming during that first year. It just seemed like all this extra pressure to put on it, on ourselves. It would’ve been too much to handle.”
“But that’s part of the bargain you make as an actor, isn’t it?” Dr. Deena asked. “That if you’re successful—if you become a public figure—you give up a certain level of privacy in your personal life. That’s no reason to shut yourself off from love and relationships entirely.”
“No, I know. I only felt that way aboutus,me and Shane specifically. I think it was just, like…if we weretogethertogether, it would’ve been like our feelings were…a commodity, or something. Something they could sell alongside the show. That’s not the kind of relationship I wanted.”
Dr. Deena nodded. “Is that how you felt, too, Shane? Were you concerned about public scrutiny impacting your relationship?”
Lilah snorted. “Please. He jumped from me right into the most public relationship he could find.”
“Oh really?” Dr. Deena asked, with mild curiosity.
“Um…” Shane shot Lilah an annoyed look. “I was with Serena Montague, yeah. For three years.”
Dr. Deena stared at him intently for a moment, brow furrowed, before a look of comprehension dawned on her and she snapped her fingers. “You know, I didn’t recognize you with the beard. You looked younger without it.”
“Iwasyounger,” Shane muttered.
“I thought you don’t watch TV,” Lilah said, a hint of petulance creeping into her voice.
“Well, I’ve been to the supermarket and the doctor’s office and had quite a few haircuts,” Dr. Deena said with a smile.
Lilah slouched back against the couch. “I guess that proves my point, then.”
“I suppose it does.” Dr. Deena shifted in her seat, tucking her legs beneath her. “Have you ever been in love, Lilah? If not with Shane, then with anyone?”
Lilah’s mouth went dry; she was intimately aware of Shane next to her. “I feel like we’re getting off topic.”
“Humor me.”
Lilah’s gaze flicked to the clock behind Dr. Deena’s head, contemplating whether she could try to stall until they were out of time. But they still had a good twenty minutes left, so she was stuck.
“No,” she said quietly. “I haven’t.”
“And do you think of yourself as lovable?”
Lilah recoiled like she’d been slapped. “What?”
“Do you think you’re worthy of love?” Dr. Deena repeated.
Lilah opened and closed her mouth a few times, stunned into silence.
When Lilah was sixteen, her first serious boyfriend had dumped her the first time she’d had a panic attack in front of him. He’d at least had the decency to wait until the next day to do it, pulling her aside between classes and informing her that she was “too much drama.”
Naturally, she’d retaliated by covering his car with mayonnaise: sneaking over to his house with a Costco-sized jar while his family was out of town, so that the acid would eat away at the paint as it baked under the hot sun, the stench seeping through the cracks and into the upholstery. If she’d already earned the label, she reasoned, she might as well live up to it.
She hadn’t had much luck in the subsequent years, either. She was a magnet for men who would pursue her relentlessly, only to realize once they had her that they wished she was someone else. Men who’d coveted her for her appearance but resented everything she had to do to maintain it. Men who’d been attracted to her status and success, then complained that she was always busy, seethed with jealousy over her onscreen love interests, and grumbled about the attention she got when they went out.
But even before all that, she’d always been—as her bubbe had half-affectionately, half-derogatorily declared her many times as a child—a handful. Opinionated, self-righteous, stubborn, with a brain hell-bent on twisting every good thing in her life until it found the angle that made her miserable.
When she’d met Richard at Juilliard, performing in a reading of one of his plays, she’d recognized a kindred spirit—someone even pricklier and more difficult than she was (though of course, as a writer and a man, it was seen as proof of his brilliance and not an innate character defect). She’d been flattered to make the cut as one of the few things he didn’t hate, addicted to the thrill of chasing his conditional, unpredictable approval. It had been enough to sustain their relationship for years, on and off and on again, his interest revitalized every time she ended things.
But she’d never felt trulysafewith him. Her sense of security had come from knowing he was always just out of reach, that he’d never see her as anything more than a supporting character. That she’d never have the power to break his heart, or him to break hers. It wasn’t love, but it was as close as she’d thought she could get.
After Richard, Shane had been such a shock to her system that she’d had her guard up practically from day one. It felt strange, now, to remember how worried she’d been aboutaccidentally hurting him, when she’d spent the next several years trying as hard as she could to do it on purpose.
But then, she’d misjudged him, too. He had more edges than she’d given him credit for. Not only could he take it, he could dish it right back. Or maybe she’d just been the first person to bring out that side of him—maybe the impulse for cruelty could be sexually transmitted.
It wasn’t the first time she’d behaved badly in a relationship—that honor went to her condiment-based vandalism—and it wouldn’t be the last. She couldn’t change any of that now. Over the years, she’d done the work to love and accept herself as she was, flaws and all. That didn’t mean that anyoneelsewould ever be able to, though.
