Marissa
TWO MONTHS LATER
For once, I’m not the last parent to arrive for afternoon pickup. When I pull into Brentwood Elementary’s carpool line, there are only five cars ahead of me, and for the second time today, I feel on top of the world.
Things are finally falling into place. Pooja and I took a meeting this morning that energized me, and I’m really excited about what comes next.
And when I spot Levi bouncing in the school doorway, it’s clear he had a good day too.
He throws open the car door and practically leaps inside, a wide smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Mommy, I got a note!” His face is lit with pride as he reaches forward to press it into my hand. The paper is curled, damp with perspiration from his palms. When I unfurl it, I see three bold words at the top: POSITIVE OFFICE REFERRAL.
Beneath it, written in tidy cursive:
Levi was a champion during today’s unannounced fire drill. He remained calm, followed all directions, and even helped a friend who was scared. We are so proud of all the progress he’s making this year!
I lift my eyes to meet Levi’s. They’re illuminated and bright, a shimmering emerald. His legs pump up and down as he grins back at me. He’s proud of himself, and he has every reason to be.
I had mixed feelings about starting him in public kindergarten this year.
He was comfortable in the small, supportive environment of his preschool and I wasn’t sure how he would acclimate to a larger school.
But he’s surprised us all by thriving. Even his speech has taken off.
He reminds me every day that sometimes, the biggest gains can only be made by taking a risk.
I’ve been trying to match his bravery, taking a few risks of my own since we got back to LA. For the first time in years, I’ve been allowing myself to follow my passions, to stop putting myself last, and to chase the things that bring me joy. Most importantly, I’ve changed how I view myself.
I used to think that becoming a mom meant my career was over.
That no one would want to hire me because I couldn’t give 100 percent to a job anymore, the way I did before I had kids.
And in a way, I was right. You can’t give all of yourself to both motherhood and your career.
Once you become a mom, your attention is always going to be divided.
My mistake was thinking that was a bad thing.
It’s true that motherhood changes you. From the first moment that sweet little baby is placed on your chest, the world stops revolving around you and begins orbiting someone else instead.
But that doesn’t diminish who you are. On the contrary, it makes you fuller.
It makes you stronger. It adds new depths to your soul and builds empathy in your heart.
When you become a mother, you don’t wither.
You grow. You become more than you once were.
And the more you have to give, the more you’re capable of giving.
I no longer have a wide-open schedule. Time is more precious now, which means I’ll be more mindful of how I spend it.
Moving forward, I’ll be selective in the projects I choose.
I know it isn’t possible to have it all.
But I also know that acting is my passion and that tapping into my creativity brings me joy and fulfillment.
And I’m a better mom when I fill my own cup.
Funny enough, any lingering worries about being a working mom dissipated after talking to my kids.
Since I announced that I’d be making a new movie, Isla has been my biggest cheerleader.
Her excitement is palpable when she asks to look at my scripts or when she proudly tells her classmates that her mom is a movie star.
I sometimes wonder how different things would be if I hadn’t waited so long to reboot my career.
Still, I can’t bring myself to regret a single thing.
I wasn’t ready any sooner. I needed to learn this lesson.
I needed every fork in the road that led me to the path I’m now on.
Especially this past summer’s detour to Pennsylvania.
It may not have ended the way that I hoped it would.
But in my heart, I know I would do it all over again.
Even the parts that have left my heart a little bit broken.
A familiar face starts to materialize. Murky blue eyes the color of the lake.
A cheekbone edged in stubble. My breath hitches as the image slowly builds.
But before it’s fully formed, there’s a rapping sound, knuckles against my window, and my daydream dissolves.
Through the glass, I see a woman with pale skin, auburn hair, and a perfectly complementary red lip.
Bree Sherman. Of course. Who else would it be?
If I thought I could get away with it, I wouldn’t roll down my window. But I’m sandwiched between two cars, and since I’m still waiting for Isla’s grade to be dismissed, there’s nowhere to run. I barely manage to suppress a groan as I lower the glass and plaster on a smile.
Bree’s smile is as plastic as my own.
“Hey, lady!” she says brightly. “A little birdie told me you’re starring in a new movie. Just wanted to say how excited I am for you!”
I’m not the least bit surprised by Bree’s sudden enthusiasm for my career.
This town is built on schadenfreude. But it’s also built on ass-kissing and social climbing.
Power is currency, and nothing resurrects one’s social standing like a return to wealth and success.
People like Bree are barnacles, eager to attach themselves to anyone who’s on their way up.
I give her my best attempt at a sincere smile. “That’s right. We start shooting in a few months.”
“That’s terrific! Well, you know I’m here if you’re looking for extras on set.”
She winks and my fake smile grows strained.
I don’t know why I’m surprised by the audacity.
All the friendships I’ve made in this town operate this way.
Interest in your welfare is only extended when people think you have something to offer.
I’d almost gotten used to the transactional nature of it all before this summer, when I’d surrounded myself with people who supported me and cared about my well-being without expecting anything in return.
Who knew the real me and liked me just as I was.
It wasn’t just friendship I found at the lake. It was unconditional acceptance. I thought that I came to the mountains to escape. That I had taken the fork in the road, a detour before getting back onto the main path. Instead, it led me back to the place where I had belonged all along.
It led me to love.
Love. What Jesse and I shared wasn’t just the fleeting, summer kind of love.
Ours was the type that fundamentally changes who you are as a person, that awakens parts of you so long buried that you nearly forgot they were there.
The type that makes you feel cherished and brave, like you can overcome anything, as long as you’re together.
I spent so much of my adult life trying to become the person everyone thought I was, to retrofit myself into a more palatable mold.
Jesse was the first man I allowed to peek behind the curtain.
I was my most authentic self around him and he embraced every part of me.
It took me a whole summer to realize I am enough, just as I am. But to him, I always was.
Hot tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I rapidly blink them away.
I don’t allow myself to think about Jesse.
Not anymore. What we shared was transformative.
It was everything. But it’s also over. Not every love story lasts forever and that’s okay.
At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself, hoping if I say it enough, it will become true.
Maybe one day I’ll wake up, and it won’t hurt so much to think about him.
But the only way forward is to put the past behind me.
The sooner I can move on, the better off I’ll be.
The sound of Bree clearing her throat jolts me back to reality. She’s pinning me with an expectant look, and I realize I never answered her question.
“I’ll be sure to let the casting director know,” I manage.
Luckily, the school doors have burst open again and I am saved by Isla heading toward the car.
My daughter gives me a knowing look as she slides through the passenger door, and it’s the empowerment I need.
A reminder that I am no longer willing to give my energy to people who don’t deserve it.
I turn back to Bree, my smile no longer polite. “I’d better get going so I don’t hold up the carpool line. I’d hate to become the subject of another PTA meeting.”
Her cheeks flush to match the tomato red of her lips at the reminder of last spring’s fateful meeting.
Bree had delivered a heated tirade about disrupting the flow of the carpool line, only to later find herself the subject of an equally heated group chat that went viral after someone posted it to Reddit.
Bree Sherman, you are, and always have been, the asshole.
Rolling up my window, I pull out of the line and we make our way home. I am anticipating one more confrontation tonight and I have no intention of being late for it.
I hear Rocky’s car before I see it. No doubt because his M series has a stupid fake engine-noise setting that’s audible from half a mile away.
Rocky says it enhances the driving experience, but I’ve always seen it for what it really is: a series of bells and whistles designed to mask a less-than-impressive product.
In other words, my ex-husband in a nutshell.