She holstered her lethal gaze, staring down at her shoes. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
Josh sighed. “Honestly,” he said, “I can.”
Naomi whipped her head toward him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re fucking exhausted, Stu.”
He was the only one who called her that goofy nickname. A play on her legal last name, Sturm. All the years they’d known each other hung in that word, all the times he’d asked and asked and asked her to tell him what was wrong—first as her co-star, then as her boyfriend, now as her business partner—and she never let him all the way in.
Naomi thought about protesting now, but he was right, she couldn’t even muster up the energy to fight. “I didn’t know it was so obvious.”
“Well, it’s kinda ridiculous that you thought you could add the lecture series and night classes”—he held up a hand, stalling, soothing—“yes, Clara told me, you can hiss at her later—to your already packed schedule, all while starting a new relationship. There aren’t enough hours in the day. Anyone would be struggling to keep up.”
“I don’t wanna—”
“I know you don’t wanna be just anyone,” he finished, indulgent, “but too bad. You messed up, and you’re gonna mess up again. We’re gonna keep on forgiving you, so you might as well just get used to it. The business won’t fold if you’re not constantly circling it like a hawk. It’s time for you to have a little faith in what we’ve built. And in your friends.”
She studied a chip in the handle of her mug, pressed her thumb over the rough ridge of it for a long moment.
“I promised myself when this whole thing with Ethan started thatI wouldn’t compromise. That I wouldn’t succumb to the temptation to trade in Shameless for any other community.”
Josh moved so his back was against the wall beside her, and then he slid down until his butt hit the ground, long legs splayed out in front of him. “Come down here.”
Naomi scrunched her nose. She wasn’t in the habit of sitting on floors. But Josh pointed his big dumb cow eyes at her—and whatever—she guessed a tiny part of her was still fond of him or something, because she sat, creasing her pencil skirt.
“It’s not us versus them, you know. No one’s asking you to choose,” he said softly. “You’ve got every right to have a whole, messy life—with all the different parts of yourself spilling over each other.”
She shook her head. “I’m supposed to be tough.”
“Youaretough.” He brought a hand down to squeeze her knee. “You’re the toughest person I know, but fuck anyone who tries to tell you that’s all you’re allowed to be. What a terrible, gross burden.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. A simple word acknowledging the countless hours she spent upholding the mantle ofbad bitch. “It really fucking is.”
“You know what you taught me?”
“That wrist flick thing for when you’re—”
“Besides that,” Josh said, cutting her off. “You taught me that the bravest, hardest work anyone can take on is facing their own shit. Challenging all the lies we tell ourselves. Admitting when we’re wrong. Cleaning up our own mess. You’re the queen of all that stuff.”
“Yeah, but no one wants to see it. It’s not glamorous.” She blamed exhaustion for the way she let her head fall against Josh’s shoulder.
“When have you ever given a single fuck what other people want?”
“Good point.”
Maybe it was hypocritical to preach about balance after hours, to hound her employees about taking all their PTO, to demand transparency and trust from everyone else, and not live by her own rules.
“Go home. Get some sleep,” Josh said. “I’m gonna talk to Clara.She’s been angling forever to get some of the administrative stuff off your plate. That’s the whole point of having staff, of hiring people we know and trust. We would have delegated at least twenty percent of your workload a year ago if you’d let us.”
Naomi’s mind caught on a wisp of a lesson from her courses. A scholar from Jerusalem posited that two types of rest exist.
One is rest from weariness, respite when our bodies and minds are worn down. Tired. We rest only so we might wake up and continue working. This first rest—sleep—brings relief, but not joy.
The second type of rest, the one Naomi had never really considered, came only at the end of reaching a goal, never in the middle. This was the rest of release. Of knowing that one had done something or made something worthy of satisfaction. Menuhat margoa, rest in achievement. Rest that brings peace.
Naomi supposed she could bask. A little.
Eventually, Josh got to his feet, offering her a hand up.