“And I’ll do the same. Goodnight.”This last is said quickly, like she can’t wait to get away from me.Then the line goes dead and she’s gone.
My chest aches with the hollowness that’s been there since the day I moved out of the house we used to live in.The day I finally gave in to what I’d known was coming—I was a terrible husband, and I was slowly driving Kim insane with my inability to be what she needed. When I left, I’d leaned into the one hope I still had—that by giving her up, she’d be able to find someone who would make her happy in all the ways I couldn’t. Six years later, it still hasn’t happened, and the idea of starring in a film with her makes me happier than it should, happier than I’ll ever let on, because it means I’ll get to spend time with her.
Even though I know it’ll never mean to her what it does to me.
Three
Kim
When I wake up at five-thirty AM on day one of shooting, the first thing I do is tell myself this is going to be like every other movie. It’s a job like all the others.There will be people I enjoy working with and people I have to endure.There will be incredible days—where the scenes go better than expected, where there’s this energy on set and everyone can feel it—and miserable days, where things go wrong and everyone’s tired and we all remember we’re filming in Miami in July.
Working with Blake won’t make any of that different.
I can do this.
I let out a breath and sit up, which wakes the huge dog curled on the pile of blankets next to my bed. Costanza lets out a snort and a loud fart and swings his head in my direction. His brow furrows, like he’s confused as to why I’m waking up so early and what on earth that nasty smell is.
I laugh, swinging my legs out of the bed and scratching him behind his ears. “Good morning, cutie,” I say. His tongue lolls out happily, and he licks my arm. His cloudy eyes gaze up at me. His face is so trusting, even after all the abuse he’s been through, and it breaks my heart. “It’s going to be a bit of a weird day. Maybe even a weird couple months. But you and me, we’re tough, right? We’re going to be okay.”
He makes another snorting sound I take as agreement, and I give him a kiss on his furry head and get ready for the day. I take my shower and get dressed but don’t bother doing anything with my hair—my stylist will undo it all, anyway. I put on the barest amount of makeup to make it so I don’t look like a sleep-deprived zombie in the dozens of photos that will be taken of me on the walk from the hotel lobby to the car that will be waiting to take me to the film set.
Then I take my meds. I pause, staring for a moment at the newly refilled prescription bottle. Only one other person knows about my diagnosis, other than, of course, my doctors.
I know I shouldn’t be ashamed. I know mental health is a thing that often requires intervention and treatment. But my OCD—and how late I learned about it—has cost me so much. It’s this part of me I know I have to accept, and so I do, but only enough to keep it from ruining my life any more than it has.
One day, I’ll find the words to tell the kids.
One day, maybe, I’ll even be able to tell Blake. It won’t change anything, won’t undo the past, but I feel like I owe him an explanation for the way things turned out between us.
One day. But there’s no way in hell it’sthisday.This day I just need to survive.
It’s six o’clock by the time I knock on the door to the adjoining room, which is where my kids and their nanny, Marguerite, are staying.The kids’ room has a little living area with a couch and table, and then three beds on the other side, one for each of them and one for Marguerite. On theotherside of the kids’ room is the room where Blake is staying, with his own adjoining door. It wasn’t easy finding a nice hotel with these exact specifications, and the rooms aren’t as posh or spacious as usual because of it, but that’s fine. I figure it’s more important that the kids have fairly equal access to both of us—and that we can still do our approximation ofThe Schedule, wherein Blake and I should only have to interact while actually filming. I definitely wasn’t going to do a traditional suite with a shared living space. I can not share a living space with Blake.
Lukas opens the door, blue eyes shining and a wide smile on his face even at this hour. My kids are both early risers, but Luke has always done so with joyous gusto. “Mom!” he says, giving me a big hug, as if I wasn’t the one he had to spend all day at the airport with yesterday and who tucked him in last night.
“Good morning,” I say, returning his big smile. Luke’s joy is always infectious, his smile like sunshine.
He takes after his father that way.
He pulls me into the room, which smells deliciously like coffee, and I see Marguerite sitting at the table drinking some, reading a textbook that I’m guessing is for her online marketing class. One day we’re going to lose her to some amazing marketing firm, a day I am selfishly dreading, as she is incredible with the kids. She smiles at me, though she looks a little tired. I don’t blame her; it’s not easy to sleep in with two kids in the same room.
This next couple months are going to be intense for her, too. Luckily, she’ll have lots of free time when Blake or I take the kids after work.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“No, thanks,” I say. “I’ll caffeinate up on set. I’m sorry the kids woke you up so early.”
“I was being quiet!” Luke protests, and Marguerite grins.
“He was, actually,” she says. “But I needed the study time. Big test later this week.”
I grimace in sympathy. I never went to college, but I can imagine how stressed out I would be over tests. “Well, we’ll make sure you get plenty of time to—”
“Mom, Mom.” Luke tugs on my hand, clearly done with being patient. “You have to see the tower I built.” He leads me toward a surprisingly intricate Lego fortress nearly as tall as the the couch it sits next to. He must have gotten up even earlier than I thought, because this sure didn’t exist when I put him to bed last night. Costanza follows me, short stubby tail wagging so hard his whole back end shakes, and I hold him back so he doesn’t keep walking right into Luke’s tower. No matter how sturdy Luke has built it, I don’t see it withstanding the attack of the seventy-pound boxer.
“That’s fantastic, Lukey,” I say, crouching down to examine it. “You’re a regular Frank Lloyd Wright.”
Luke throws his arms around Costanza, who licks him happily. “Who is he?”
