Page 2 of Marisol Acts the Part
If the waiters weren’t forced to sign NDAs, they’d make a killing leaking stories to the press.
The completely-in-Italian menu still throws me off as much as it did the first time Miles and I came here, for our first anniversary. Last time, I accidentally ordered what I quickly learned was a whole braised fish. As in head-on, soulless-eyes-blinking-up-at-you whole. The night was so traumatizing, I’ve been a vegetarian ever since. Well…except for In-N-Out. There are some sacrifices I’ll never be willing to make.
God, I could go for a Flying Dutchman.
My stomach rumbles in agreement. I set down my menu and lean across the table, prepared to ask Miles if we can swing by the drive-through on our way home, when I notice that he’s staring into space, frowning. His menu is still unopened.
“Hey,” I whisper as I shift my chair closer to him. “Are you okay? You’ve been…weird tonight.”
He’s been more than a little weird, but calling him out onit won’t make the situation any better. Miles has always been a terrible texter, but he’s reached new levels of terribleness lately. He didn’t even respond when I sent him a video of my French bulldog, Bruiser, chasing her nub of a tail. And healwaysresponds to Bruiser content. The whole reason I even have her is because he adopted her for me on my birthday last year after I, while high on Novocain from a root canal, spent three hours crying to him about how I didn’t book the lead in theLegally Blondereboot. Seriously, who else in Hollywood has a wardrobe as pink as I do? No one.
Not to mention that we’ve barely seen each other this month. If I can get Miles to reply to my texts or answer my FaceTime calls, he usually only has time to brush me off by saying he has “to go to the gym” or has “a meeting in ten.” Who goes to the gym at five in the morning?
Scratch that. I know: soulless people.
Next week, he’ll be moving to New York to settle in before filmingThe Limitfor the entire summer, and who knows how many times I’ll get to see him then. Or if I’ll even get to see him. Showmances aren’t built to last, but we had something different.
Have, I mean.Havesomething different.
While millions of viewers watched our characters, Celia and Joe, play the will-they-won’t-they game for four seasons, our own love story unfolded with a lot less drama. From the moment he came ambling up to me on our first shoot day, offering me a muffin from crafty and a handshake, I knew I was done for. His smile was like a bolt of lightning—sharp and magnetic, leaving me breathless. The brush of his skin againstmine when we hugged at the end of the day made my stomach twist into a thousand knots. On the drive home, when Mom asked how the first day went, all I’d been able to say was that I felt like I’d eaten an entire bag of Halloween candy.
And I still feel that way sometimes. Especially since we wrapped the show. But that strange fluttering in my gut doesn’t feel giddy anymore—it feels…nerve-racking.
Sometimes I wish we could be more like Joe and Celia—or, as the fans dubbed them, Jolia. Childhood best friends turned high school sweethearts who braved new relationships, cheating scandals, and a very dramatic senior year breakup before ultimately finding their way back to one another ahead of prom. A love story trapped in time, sealed with the perfect kiss-in-the-rain ending.
In real life, we don’t get the luxury of a season finale.
“Sorry. M’fine.” Miles shakes himself off before turning back to me with a smile, reaching for my hand across the table. And just like that, with nothing but a grin and the brush of his thumb across my knuckles, I’m that fourteen-year-old girl again. Smitten and helpless to resist the boy in front of her.
I slide back into my seat with a new sense of comfort as our eyes meet—his a vibrant forest green that reeled me in four years ago. Our futures as actors (orartists,as Miles insists) may still be up in the air—well, mine more than his since I’m still very unemployed at the moment—but maybe this doesn’t have to be. Maybe Milesol, another fan-generated nickname, doesn’t have to end because Jolia’s story is over. Maybe I’m overthinking things now that I don’t have anything else to occupy my time aside from teaching Bruiser to sit (pointless) andfilming self-tapes (not pointless, but it sure as hell feels like it when you’re not landing any jobs).
Maybe we can have a happy ending too.
“I think we should break up.”
I choke on my water.
Miles leans over to pat my back as I work through a coughing fit, but I push his arm away, suffering alone. Our waiter eyes us warily as my coughs echo through the dining room. Miles turns to give him a thumbs-up and a reassuring smile.
“W-what do you mean we should break up?” I ask once I’ve caught my breath, finishing off my water before taking his and finishing that too.
Despite the rocky start, dinner had been going perfectly. Miles ranted about the price of short-term rentals in New York, I carefully avoided any discussion of my latest round of auditions, and just when I thought he was going to ask me if I wanted dessert, he springs this on me instead.
I didnotput myself through the torture of wearing shapewearanda push-up bra to get dumped at Capri.
“Well…” Miles begins. He runs a hand along his modeled-after-the-gods jawline. It’s hard not to be distracted by it even when I’m pissed off and confused. No wonder there are several fan accounts dedicated to posting photos of his jaw.
“Well?” I parrot back when my patience runs out. My voice comes out worn, scratchy. As if I didn’t down enough water to keep three camels going for a year.
“I think we’re going in different directions,” he finally blurts out, avoiding my eyes by focusing his attention on something behind me. “I’m going to be in New York soon forThe Limit,and you’llbe…”
“I’ll be…?” I prompt, because I’d love to know what I’m going to be doing for the foreseeable future.
Please enlighten me,Miles.
He bites his lip, clearly weighing what he wants to say as he keeps his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. “This is a big opportunity for me,” he says, pivoting after what feels like a hundred years of silence. “Working on this show could completely change my career, and I want to make sure I’m giving it the attention it deserves.”
“And you can’t do that while dating me?” I question, crossing my arms.
