Page 88 of The Love We Make

“There are a couple of other things you haven’t done in years that you’ve vigorously taken up again recently.” Mimi grins at me.

“A movie is very different than a TV show. DoingUnbreak My Heartis right in the sweet spot of my comfort zone. I mostly get to work with the same people again every season, with Stella and Jo and most of the crew that I know, while doing what I love the most.”

“You know Elisa.”

“I know her, but we’re not that close.”

Mimi plasters a huge grin on her face. “Sorry. I was already picturing you in that movie with Elisa Fox. I’m not sure I can erase that image from my mind.”

“Are you dreaming of another woman while I’m sitting next to you?” I grin right back at her. “Or are you having a senior moment and forgot who I was for a second?”

“Ouch.” Mimi pretends to be very offended. “You have no respect for your elders.”

That couldn’t be less true, and she knows it. Being with Mimi, who has such a relaxed view on aging and all it entails, has been enlightening. Since we got together, I haven’t made any appointments to add filler to my lips or Botox to my forehead. Not because she tells me I don’t need it, but because she shows me, every single day, what aging gracefully can look like. That it can be natural and joyful, instead of resorting to chemicals and stressing out about how that wrinkle’s going to look on camera.

“My kids claim that sixty-five is the new fifty,” Mimi says. “I trust them completely.” She lifts Izzy from her lap and cradles her in her arms. “But back to that movie. How about you wait for the script? We can read it together and see what it feels like. If it’s so good you can’t ignore it, we’ll talk more then. No need to worry about it too much now.”

“Okay.” I keep my gaze on her.

“What?” Mimi tilts her head as she returns my gaze.

“I’ve been thinking about something else. About you.”

“Do you hear that, Iz? Your mommy’s been thinking about me.” Mimi waggles her eyebrows.

“Maybe… you should direct an episode ofUnbreak My Heartone day. Not this season, but maybe the next one.”

“Me?” Her eyes go wide. “But I’m not a director.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t still be one. You just said sixty-five is the new fifty.”

“This isn’t about my age. I don’t have any experience. I don’t have the first clue about directing a TV show.”

“Of course you do, Mimi. Especially with the amount of time you like to spend on set.” I nudge her with my toe. “Or did you have other reasons for getting hands-on with our show?”

“I plead guilty to that.” She sinks her teeth into her lip. “But directing is not something you pick up by osmosis. I don’t have the technical knowhow, for starters.”

“Yet,” I say. “But you can learn. If you want to. You’d have to check with the CEO first, obviously. Ask her if the assistant director could use a mature intern.”

“Amatureintern?” Mimi shrugs and it’s hard to say whether she’s taking me seriously or not. Either way, it’s just a suggestion—but maybe one she wouldn’t necessarily think of herself. “That’s very sweet of you.” She puts Izzy on the couch and leans over. “That you remember I told you about wanting to become a director. But that was a long time ago, Nora.” Her face is close to mine, but I can still make out her smile. “I’ve pretty much become everything I’ve wanted to be.”

“Or maybe you just can’t face the prospect of being an intern again. You might not have that kind of humility in you.” Mimi’s been plenty humble with me, but I’m just teasing her.

“How about I think about it, just like you will think about doing that movie.” Her lips move against my cheek as she speak.

“Deal,” I say, before I pull her in for a kiss.

* * *

“Between action and cut, those magical minutes when I play a character, when I’m someone else but also still me, that’s what it’s all about,” I say. I might have made a couch potato out of Mimi in the past few weeks. I didn’t think it would be possible, but she fits right into it, and I fit right into her arms when she’s lying here with me. “It doesn’t matter which character I’m playing, as long as I get to embody someone else.” I’m pretty sure I’m not explaining it right—story of my life. “I’m addicted to that feeling.”

“Of embodying someone else?” Mimi strokes the side of my arm.

“Yeah. To be someone more…” I have to be careful what I say, not just because I’m talking to Mimi, but because I’m talking about myself, and I’m trying to get the hang of saying much nicer things about myself than I previously would have. “To be the kind of person I’ve secretly always wanted to be, but never could be when the camera’s not rolling.”

“But the women—thecharacters—you play don’t exist. They’re made up. Entirely fictional,” Mimi says.

“I know that, but…” Maybe some things can’t be explained. Maybe I’ve run out of ways to explain the gap between who I am and who other people think I am. Or, just maybe, Mimi’s right. Maybe the person I’ve always believed I needed to be, simply doesn’t exist in real life.

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