Page 143 of Come Apart
She shakes her head. "This has been so hard. Especially on my own."
"You don't have to be on your own. I'll always be here."
"Always?"
"Always." I press my lips into her forehead.
"Even if I sleep with Ryan?"
"As long as you help me hide the body."
She laughs. "You know, I'd never..."
"I know."
She looks into my eyes. Her eyes are so bright, but there's a sadness in them. She's still upset. I wish my words were enough to convince her she deserves every bit of happiness in the world.
She continues. "There's going to be a point, one day, where I'm too old to play the hot ex-girlfriend, and I'm going to be miserable, pulling my hair out."
I formulate an argument, but she's right. There aren't exactly a lot of women in film and TV over the age of thirty-five. And they tend to fit into very narrow roles—the mom, the wife, the innocent schoolteacher. There are exceptions, sure, but not enough.
She hugs her chest. I can tell she wants to say more, that it's hard for her to even entertain the thought. "Is that what you want?" I ask.
"No. But... after that meeting, all I wanted to do was inhale two pints of ice cream and throw them up." She pulls the blanket tighter. "I'm so lucky withModel Citizen. It's a cheesy show, sure, but the work is interesting. Do you know how rare that is?"
"But you get so excited about acting. You light up when you talk about it. How could you give up something that brings you so much joy?"
"But it brings me just as much pain." She hangs her head. "Maybe I would be happier if I resigned myself to this. Just doModel Citizen. Take the occasional film role. It's ridiculous. I'm either the hot chick or the fat chick. It's never anything in-between. No matter what, I'm always defined by the shape of my body. The only way it will change is if I lose fifteen pounds."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking," she says. "It would help my career."
I bite my tongue. She can't be thinking of losing weight for her job. Not now, not when she's come so far with her recovery. I want to tell her how wrong she is, that she's perfect, that she shouldn't risk all the progress she's made.
But I hold back. She doesn’t want another person who tells her how to live her life.
She brings her gaze back to me. "Maybe it would be better if I had a job that didn't rely on my looks."
"Like what?"
"I don't know," she says. "I've never wanted to do anything but act."
"Then you'll find a way to make it work for you."
She nods, but not like she means it.
"I meant it. You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything."
She holds my gaze for a while. "Maybe."
I nod. "You might not get it perfectly the first time, but you'll figure it out."
She pulls her eyes away, bringing them back to the water. There's still something haunting her.
"I'll be here," I say. "If you start to fall, I'll be here."
She looks back to me, the corners of her lips curving into the tiniest smile. "What if that's not enough?"
