Page 90 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“Sorry, I made it weird,” I say.

“Well, you’re a weirdo,” he teases.

I smirk over at him. “I don’t know how to accept compliments.”

“Then I take it back. You’re hideous.”

I spin around. “It’s out there now. You can’t.”

“No, forget it, I’m totally taking it back. Words can’t describe how pretty you are, but numbers can. Two out of ten.”

I laugh and smack him on the arm. “You think I’m pretty. Ha.” Maybe I could learn to accept compliments.

I settle in my seat, smiling throughout my whole body. It’s fun. Nice. Easy. Safe. And it’s totally not a date.

The endorphins racing through my body get the best of me, and I hear myself say, “Do you remember asking me before what makes me happiest?” I don’t look at him—I don’t want to lose my nerve. It’s not Friday, after all. And if I answer the question, it’s a freebie, and not part of our deal.

“Hmm. Vaguely.” He’s still in teasing mode.

“The truth is, when you asked me that, it kind of caught me off guard,” I say.Finally, I dare a peek at his profile. He’s casually holding on to the steering wheel, looking like he’s ready for his close-up, and I feel like more of a mess than ever.

“Bertie talks about adventure and fun and life and all of this stuff like it’s just out there—all over—waiting for us to take it, but...” I trail off. Because how do I make this make sense?

“But?”

“I thought I knew how to find those things. I followed my passion. I’m doing what I love. Something I think I’m pretty good at.” I go still. “I hearadventureand I think of jumping out of a plane or snorkeling the coral reef or even just going on an unplanned road trip. Do you think that’s what she meant?”

“If that’s the kind of adventure your life needs, I guess.”

“It’s not. None of those things sound fun to me.”

Which begs the question—what does? “I don’t think I’ve been happy in a really long time,” I say quietly.

“But acting makes you happy, right?”

I think for a second. “Yes. It absolutely does. The work does. Figuring out characters. The craft of it.” I shrug. “It just... it just got sohard. It became about what everyone else thought I should do, or who everyone else expected me to be. My job is contingent on being liked.”

“Ooh. Yeah, that would suck,” he says. “Some of my patients hate me, but I don’t care as long as they do their exercises.”

I want to laugh, but I’m stuck in this loop, in the middle of admitting something out loud that’s surprising even to me. Because what am I saying? I’m not going to quit acting—I love it too much.

“Auditioning is an endless cycle of judgment, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m cut out for it.”

He goes still, the only sound the tires on the seams of the highway.

“It’s okay to change direction, you know.”

“Bertie said kind of the same thing,” I say. “Find a new way to look at the old dream.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“But that feels like quitting.”

“Quitting something that isn’t working for you isn’t a bad thing.”

I sit with that.

Is that where I’m at? This isn’t working for me anymore and I need to change course? Start over and hope it’s as exciting as Bertie seems to think it could be?

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