Page 62 of Marisol Acts the Part
We lie like that, hugging on my bed with Bruiser squished between us, for what feels like hours. Until the rumble of my stomach breaks the silence. We let out quiet laughs as we pull apart, my stomach betraying me again with an even louderroar.
There’s a knock at the open door and Dad’s head appears cautiously in the doorway. My stomach sinks at the sight of him, not out of anger but embarrassment. Guilt over how I went off on him last night.
“You ladies doing okay?” he asks as he takes a tentative step forward.
We both nod, my cheeks growing hot as he finally enters the room, a plate of waffles in hand.
“Jerome figured you might be hungry since you missed dinner last night,” he explains as he sets the plate down on the nightstand jammed between my air mattress and the wall.Bruiser leaps to attention, but Mom swiftly catches her before she can eat our breakfast.
“Your abuela dropped off some food for you last night too, if you want that.”
My stomach does the talking for me, letting out its loudest roar yet. This time, we all laugh together at my insatiable hunger. But when the laughter dies down, my eyes drift toward the floor.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say, unable to get my voice above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you yesterday.”
“It’s all right, munch,” he replies, squeezing onto the opposite side of the bed, my mattress groaning from the unexpected weight of three humans and a dog. “We both said some things we regret. You were right, I never should’ve spoken about your mom the way I did.” He looks past me over at Mom, reaching out to take her hand in his. “She’s one of the strongest women I know.”
Mom wipes at the corner of her eye, sniffling as she squeezes his hand and wraps an arm around me. “And we’rebothso proud of you and the woman you’re becoming.”
Dad’s arms wrap around me too and they both envelop me in their combined warmth. Mom’s perfume, Dad’s cologne. The smell of Abuela’s sofrito wafting in the air. The ever-present smell of sunscreen I associate with California. For the first time I can remember, we hug as a family.
“Things are going to change from here on,” Mom promises as we pull apart.
“You can come visit us whenever you want,” Dad continues, gesturing toward my cramped room. “Consider this your room permanently now.”
Before I can let that news sink in—the thought of coming back here, of creating a real, concrete life here—Mom clasps my hands and frowns.
“I’m sorry we let you think your dad wasn’t interested in being involved in your life growing up, because he wanted to be. He wanted to be there for you so, so badly. But we both knew we didn’t want the same thing. I had dreams of moving out to LA. His dream was to stay here, with his family.”
Dad nods in agreement, resting an encouraging hand on Mom’s shoulder as she continues.
“We thought it’d be easier if you stayed with me full-time. Shuttling back and forth across the country every couple of months would be disorienting and confusing, and we thought that was best for you.” Mom exhales sharply, and I finally see the exhaustion written all over her. Swollen purple bruises beneath her eyes, gray hairs streaked between her pristine blond strands. “When things got difficult for us, I…I never told your dad. Not because I didn’t want his help, but because I felt…ashamed. I’d spent so long talking about this dream, of becoming an actress, and none of it was panning out the way I’d hoped.”
My grip tightens on her hand as her voice trembles. The thought of Mom in my position, alone and terrified of failure, doesn’t seem possible. Like Dad said, she’s the strongest woman I know. We both knew things were hard, but she never let it show. How she juggled all of it—multiple jobs, a crumbling dream, and me—by herself is something I’ll never understand, but will always be grateful for. Especially now.
“But I should’ve told him,” Mom continues, steadier as shesmiles at Dad. “Because your dad is my best friend. And he hasalwaysbeen there for me.”
Again, we hold each other close. Stay quiet as Mom struggles to catch her breath and hold back her tears. We don’t need words—we say it the way we grip each other like we’ll float away if we don’t hold tight enough. I’m not sure how long we spend sitting there, curled into one another, but I don’t care. This is all I’ve ever wanted, really. A family united.
When we finally pull apart, Mom does her best to wipe the smudged mascara beneath her eyes and morph into business Momager.
“C’mon,” she instructs as she stands up. “We have work to do.”
“We do?” I ask, blinking around in confusion. I’d sorta been hoping we could do brunch or something. Maybe go for a walk in Central Park with Bruiser.
She turns to me with a beaming smile, Dad joining her at her side with a grin of his own. “We’ve got a director to dealwith.”
True to her word, Mom gets straight to business. Once it’s a more acceptable hour on the West Coast, she hops on the phone with Delia to explain the situation while Dad and Jerome comb through the various contracts I signed for the show. I realize with a sinking feeling in my gut that Joannadidwarn me about the exact clause that let Rune fire me. She flagged it as a concern, but we agreed to wave it off due to thesuper-tight shooting schedule. If we hadn’t come to an agreement within a week, I wouldn’t have been allowed on set. At the time, we couldn’t have imagined that the “we can fire you for whatever we want whenever we want” clause would actually be used. Yet, lo and behold.
We take the video-call debrief with my entire team from the kitchen/dining/living room, the only space that can accommodate the four of us comfortably. Joanna, as expected, reminds us that she did, in fact, tell us this could happen. Slightly off-screen, I hang my head in shame. That’s the last time I ignore a red flag from my lawyer. Once I’ve swallowed my guilt, I shift back into frame. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Delia assures me she’ll do the best she can but can’t make any promises.
“You’re not the first person to have issues with him,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
That I’m well aware of. I messaged Eli this morning to tell them what happened but haven’t heard back yet. I’m not sure what they would be able to do to help with this situation, but it’s at least comforting to know I’m not the only person who’s clashed with Rune. Maybe that means there’ll be more we can do, somehow. Or they’ll have their own ideas. Delia ends the call with a promise to keep us updated.
Mom, Dad, and Jerome move on to more pressing tasks—combing the internet for any proof of others who have worked with Rune, then bashed him or talked about their negative experiences on set. There’s a lot they’re able to find on production message boards and Reddit threads about life on Hollywood sets. We’re not sure what exactly we can do withthis information, but it’s helpful for building my case, so we save everything.
Abuela shows up midway through us combing the internet for dirt with what she deems a very necessary delivery of food.
