Page 100 of Anyone But the Superstar

The phone in my hand vibrates.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I take a deep breath and smile before sliding my phone open. ‘Hi,Mã?—’

‘What’s wrong?’ She leans forward, studying my picture on her iPad, noticing the swelling under the make-up I left on for her call. ‘Did you get hurt on set?’

‘No, I?—’

‘I knew it.’ She leans back, throwing her hands up and letting them fall on the table in front of her with a smack. ‘All those years doing such dangerous stunts and you hurt yourself on a romantic comedy.’

‘It’s just a black eye. It doesn’t hurt.’ It doesn’t hurtnow, but it hurt like a bitch when it first happened. I’m just thankful as hell that Jack showed up when he did, stopping Elizabeth’s brother from bashing in the other side of my face.

‘There’s something else besides your eye.’ She tilts her head, still assessing my face. ‘What else is wrong?’

I flinch, wondering how the women I care about can see through me so easily.

Woman. Singular. Anne/Elizabeth doesn’t count anymore.

‘I—’ I pause, emotion suddenly choking me now that it’s time to confess.

Jack and I agreed that as Camilla has already gotten people focused on my mother, whether she leaked the news or not, it would be better to brace Mom for the possibility of people finding out she’s in rehab before she finishes the program and checks out of the facility next week. That way, she can set up more sessions with the in-house counselors to help her manage any anxiety the attention may bring.

‘Coração—’ The word falls softly over the call ‘—you can tell me anything.’

‘I’m sorry,Mãe.’ I press my index finger and thumb against my eyelids, trying to ease the sting. ‘It’s my fault.’

‘What’s your fault,meu filho?’

Holding up my phone, I stare down at the floor between my legs. ‘Someone knows you’re in rehab.’ I’m wearing the cowboy boots Anne/Elizabeth bought me. ‘I’m doing my best, but the press may find out and?—’

‘So?’ My mother’s relieved laugh draws my eyes up. ‘Who cares if they know?’

Shocked silent by her reaction, I look at my mother,reallylook at her. Shoulders back, spine straight, her usual vibrant red lipstick a flat, prideful slash against the darker olive hue of a healthy complexion. Not a trace of the broken woman I checked in to rehab a few months ago.

‘Did you think I wasn’t going to tell anyone? That I shouldhide it?’ She scoffs at whatever expression I’m making, her eyes narrowing. ‘Are you ashamed of me?’

‘No.’ The word falls hard and fast from my mouth. ‘Not at all. I just didn’t think?—’

‘That it would be good for your image to have an addict as a mother?’ She crosses her arms over her chest, the stance she’s shown me many times over the years as she took me to task.

‘But you’re not an addict, Mom. It’s just because the doctor knew you were my?—’

‘Iaman addict,coração.’ Her voice is as strong and steady as her expression. ‘And my addiction has nothing to do with you.’ Staring at my no-doubt bewildered expression, my mother’s eyes soften. ‘Iwas the one who asked for more pain pills. AndIwas the one who took them. I was also the one who hid the fact that I was taking them.’ She uncrosses her arms, laying her palms flat on the table to lean forward. ‘I, Sofia Maria Santos-Jones, am an addict.’

I swallow hard as my mother smiles despite her words, my mind failing to reconcile itself with that fact. ‘But, if it weren’t for me?—’

‘Then I would never have gotten such great care.’ She gestures to the room around her. ‘And I wouldn’t have a strong drive to get better.’ She shakes her head at me. ‘You had nothing to do with this,meu filho.’

Tears I can’t press back spill over. ‘If I had just been there, though. If I had noticed sooner?—’

‘If, if, if…’ Mom waves away my guilt with a flutter of her hand. ‘If I hadn’t fallen in love with your father, if you hadn’t gotten your first big break, if you hadn’t been scratched by the neighbor’s cat when you were little.’

She smirks at the last, surprising a laugh from me as memories of the first time I met Mike Hunt pop into my mind.

‘So many ifs, so many ways life could’ve gone.’ She holds my eyes. ‘Não se pode viver assim. The ifs mean nothing. Theychangenothing.’

I stare at the woman before me. A woman who’s spent her whole life overcoming challenges. Losing her husband, being a single mom, and now, an opioid addiction, and I wonder why I ever thought that she needed me to fight her battles.

Maybe my acting roles have gone to my head. Because she’s the real hero.

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