Page 46 of Marisol Acts the Part
Normally I thrive at parties—especially ones I’ve organized.
I knew from the minute The Limit was nominated for the Best Limited Series Emmy that I wanted to host an after-party to celebrate, no matter what the outcome was.
I just hadn’t anticipated the emotions that would come with attending my first major award ceremony.
The high of seeing your face on screen in a room filled with dozens of actors you only ever dreamed of meeting.
The panic as you wait for your name to be called.
The crashing low as you realize it wasn’t your time. Not yet, at least.
I step out onto the patio at Capri, sliding the door closed behind me until the chatter from the dining area dulls to a hum.
The irony of having an after-party at the same place where Miles dumped me almost two years ago isn’t lost on me.
I’d originally booked a different venue—a bistro right on the water in Santa Monica—but they’d double-booked us with a wedding and I scrambled to find a replacement last-minute.
The universe works in cruel and mysterious ways.
I’m careful to keep the hem of my dress from dragging on the ground.
Dad already warned me that the delicate pink fabric would stain easily, and there’s no way I’m going to be photographed throughout the night with a stained dress.
With the bottom of my dress and my heels in hand, I sit down on one of the tables on the patio overlooking the city.
The sky is alight with stars, and there’s a peacefulness in the distant music playing in the dining room and the rumble of conversation.
Every crew member and castmate I’ve come to love gathered in one place after months apart.
“You okay?” a familiar voice calls from the doorway.
I extend my hand to Jamila as soon as I see her, a smile tugging at my lips as she strolls toward me and slides her fingers through mine.
I’m still not over how stunning she looks.
The rich lilac silk of her evening gown is the perfect complement to her radiant brown skin and full, free curls.
She’s always made my heart beat at triple speed, but tonight she takes my breath away.
“I’m good,” I reply, resting our linked fingers in my lap. “Needed a break.”
“I get that,” she says with a sigh as she leans back in her seat and looks up at the sky.
Jamila had more to lose tonight than I did, with her individual nomination for Best Supporting Actress.
She’s been pinching herself ever since Delia called and told her the news, worried that it might’ve been a mistake, but I’ve assured her tonight, and every day since then, that it was more than deserved.
Still, she’d taken her loss in stride, smiling throughout the ceremony even after her category.
Her mom blew up the group chat we’re in with her and Fatima with a very colorful series of insults for the winning actress, which Jamila politely shut down.
She didn’t even have to learn that bit of etiquette from me—she has natural grace and poise.
I can take credit for her red carpet walk, though. She can walk in five-inch heels without clinging to me for balance now. They grow up so fast.
“Is it weird that I’m glad we didn’t win?” I ask as we gaze at the stars together, my thumb running along the back of her hand.
Jamila glances over at me, brows furrowed. “You are?”
Of course I was excited when we were nominated for Best Limited Series—even more so when Jamila snagged her own individual nomination.
All the pipe dreams I wouldn’t let myself believe in when I was pushing through those difficult first few weeks of shooting The Limit had come through.
The nominations—not just the Emmy, but a dozen different nominations, including a Golden Globe.
The job offers rolled in shortly after my profile in Hollywood Today.
Suddenly, the highbrow directors and showrunners who wouldn’t look my way were sending me scripts and requests for lunch or coffee left and right.
For once, I had choices. I could wade through the dozens of scripts I’d been sent and decide what my next project should be.
Noir crime thrillers and gritty historical dramas and high-fantasy series, all with plenty of promise.
Jamila quickly accepted another series regular role in a new fantasy series about several talented thieves competing against each other to pull off a high-stakes heist, but I took my time picking my next role.
In the end, I listened to my heart. As soon as Posie sent me the script for Everything Comes Back to You —a sapphic rom-com about rival cheerleaders who are stuck in a time loop together—I knew it was the perfect next step.
The writing is smart and swoony and hilarious, and most importantly, my character loved pink. What more could you ask for?
I’m sure some people will say it was a mistake—that I should’ve taken The Limit ’s push and stacked my résumé with prestige roles. But I’m done pretending to be someone I’mnot.
And I think that’s why I was afraid of the win.
As proud as I am of my performance in The Limit, I haven’t been able to watch the footage since we wrapped.
Even now, well over a year later, I’m still brought back to those grueling days on set.
All the ways I changed myself to be who Rune wanted me to be.
How I almost let him convince me that I wasn’t enough.
I don’t want that performance to be the one my career is defined by.
The first credit listed in my Wikipedia bio.
The top title on my IMDb page. The role everyone cites when they try to think of where they know me from.
I’m grateful for the opportunities The Limit has given me, and that I still got to be in the final cut of the show after everything that happened with Rune, but I want to be remembered for a role that I didn’t take to prove a point.
If this was the biggest moment of my career, it would prove right what everyone said about me back then—that I wasn’t a “serious” actor until I got that role.
“I guess I’m glad this isn’t going to be the biggest moment of my career,” I say eventually, struggling to summarize all my disappointment and relief and gratitude and guilt in one succinct sentence.
I turn to her with a smile, holding our linked hands up to press a kiss to the back of hers.
“Meeting you was the best part, though.”
“Obviously.” She snorts, giving my hand a squeeze.
“I wouldn’t mind if we won for Vida and Priya, though,” I add with a raised brow.
There’s no guarantee that the pilot script Jamila and Fatima cowrote together last summer will be picked up anywhere, or even if it does, that we’ll star in it together.
Two years ago, I didn’t think any of this would be possible, though, and look where we are now.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Jamila teases with a raised brow. “Think we could share a trailer again?”
“You? An Emmy-nominated actress sharing a trailer?” I scoff, playfully shoving her shoulder. “As if.”
Jamila giggles, grabbing the arm I shoved her with and slinging it across her shoulders so she can lean her head against mine. “I’m willing to make an exception for my very cute costar.”
She punctuates the statement with a kiss on my cheek, but it’s not enough. I cup her cheek and close the little bit of distance between us, kissing her until I can taste the subtle raspberry cheesecake flavor of her lip gloss.
As frustrating as The Limit was, I’ll never be able to regret the experience.
Because it brought me Jamila, the one person who has never made me feel guilty for being myself.
Who helped me take charge of my life. Who held my hand as I learned to love myself again, only for me to fall in love with her along the way.
No matter if we won or lost, no matter if we never get nominated again, I still got my happy ending.
Family in New York City who always welcome me home with open arms and a plate of tostones.
Roles that let me be exactly who I am—no adjustments necessary.
And a love story like the ones I was meant to star in, with the most Ridiculously BeautifulGirl.