Page 15 of You Will Never Be Me

Aspen:“Alright. Fine. You’re right, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I just got carried away.”

The video ends, but the one after that is of Elea on the nursery room floor. She sucks on her feet for a while, then sits up and spots the bars of her cot next to her. Babbling, she reaches up for the bars, grasps them, and pulls herself up to her feet.

Aspen:“Oh my god! You’re doing it, sweetie! You’re standing! Oh my god, you guys, this is the first time Elea is standing! Oh my gosh, look at my little baby go!”

She is so fully committed to pretending that she’s watching Elea stand for the first time that her voice cracks with emotion.

I remember this video, because she’d WhatsApped it to me and said, “LOOK!! She just stood up for the first time!!!” and I’d totally bought it. Did not question it for a second.

And I think this is the moment that births my fury. Because all these years, Aspen has watched me struggle to get my numbers to grow, and all this time she could’ve told me how to do it. How to go all the way with the fabrication and make my life an Insta-worthy one, and she didn’t. She listened to me whine about why I’m failing to capture so many of Luca’s milestones despite my phone being as good as surgically attached to my hand. I’d failed to catch the first time he stood on camera because I was cooking. I’d failed to record the first time he crawled and the first time he rolled over because—oh, I don’t know—probably because I was staggering around, fogged with exhaustion and despair those first few months. And I had blamed myself for it. Thought I was neither a good mother nor a good influencer, and I’d criedto Aspen about it, and she’d—she had shaken her head and said, “I know, it’s so hard, isn’t it, Mer?”

And so you must understand why I did it. Why I created a new account on Instagram, found her latest post—one talking about her skincare routine—and typed out: “Ok but most of us have to actually look after our kids and don’t have the time to do a seven-step skincare regime. Who’s looking after the kids while you do this?? @fandomgurl @Gisssssselle.”

Then, after hitting Post, I sat there, shaking with adrenaline. What good would one negative comment do? Even though I’d tagged two of the most hateful personalities online, I knew it wouldn’t do much to move the needle. I needed to do more. Be proactive. And that was why I went into Aspen’s Calendar and tapped on one of her appointments. I hesitated only for a moment before I hit Edit.

Like I said, Aspen owes me.

•••

I sit in the beautiful,airy café and stir my green juice idly with my rose gold straw. The juice is aggressively green. Whenever I make a green juice at home, the pulverized veg always oxidizes quickly into a brownish shade of green, but not this one, at this café that has been built purely to cater to looking good for social media. When the waiter brought it over, I expressed concern about the unnatural shade of green. I can’t be seen drinking a juice that’s full of food coloring—not I, a momfluencer who is breastfeeding. My followers would report me to CPS. He smiled and said, “Oh, don’t worry, it’s all natural of course! We just put in a few drops of chlorophyll to keep it looking fresh.” Then he left with a wink.

At a different table, two women are taking a selfie with their impossibly pink dragon fruit smoothies. I look around, feeling strangely like I’m being watched, but no one’s even looking in my direction. I wonder who’d suggested this place, Aspen or Lilibeth? Luca gurgles at me, and I smile down at him. I hope Lilibeth isn’t going to be late. I’ve arranged everything today around this meeting, even going so far as to nudge Luca’s schedule so he’ll be at maximum agreeability during the meeting.

I needn’t have worried. Of course, no one can keep Aspen the super momfluencer waiting. At exactly eleven o’clock on the dot, the front door swings open, and Lilibeth arrives in a swirl of blonde curls and a flouncy fifties-style dress. She is striking, her makeup expertly caked on, and her face contoured to structural perfection. Makes sense; she is one of the most sought-after makeup artists for a reason. I can sense the two women at the next table, the ones who couldn’t have enough photos of their dragon fruit smoothies (which are still untouched), staring at Lilibeth.

Lilibeth scans the room, her contoured nose wrinkling when she doesn’t spot Aspen. A waiter leads her to a table adjacent to mine and brings her a menu. After he leaves, she takes a few selfies. Then she scans the menu. Checks her phone. Maybe Aspen has left her messages? (I know, of course, that there won’t be any messages from Aspen. Poor Aspen thinks this meeting is happening tomorrow.) Our eyes meet. I’m ready for this, already armed with a calculated smile—not too wide, not too reserved. I let her wait a few minutes longer, then catch her eye again. This time, the smile I give her is brighter, more inviting. She returns it, and I think:Here we go.

“My Bumble date stood me up,” I say to her.

She snorts. “His loss. I think I just got stood up too.”

I widen my eyes. “Don’t tell me, a Bumble date too?”

“Nah. This influencer—anyway, it doesn’t matter.” She stands.

“Join me,” I say quickly. “Stay and have a freakishly green juice. You came all this way.”

Lilibeth considers this for a moment, then smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”

I grin and gesture to the seat across from me. “I’m Meredith.”

“I’m Lilibeth.” As she orders a green juice, I give Luca a bottle.

“And who is this sweet little guy?” Lilibeth coos.

“This is Luca. Say hi to the pretty lady, Luca! Aww, he likes you.” I look closely at her and pretend to be surprised. “Hang on, you look so familiar. Are you Lilibeth Rose?”

She gives me a bashful smile, obviously pleased at having been recognized. “Yes.”

“I’m a fan! I follow you on TikTok. I love all your hair and makeup tips. That video you did on the no-heat hair-curling technique changed my life. Actually, that was how I did my hair today!” I run my hand through my hair, making my curls bounce.

“Oh wow, that’s so sweet of you. And your hair looks great.”

“All thanks to you.” Her juice arrives and I raise my glass. “To no-heat curls and being stood up.”

Maybe I’m leaning on the “being stood up” a little heavily, but I want to remind her that Aspen has ditched her. She laughs and clinks glasses with me. “Hear, hear.”

We take a sip of our juice, and I don’t let the silence stretch too long. I’m so well prepared for this. “You know, what you do, it’s so much harder than most people realize.”

---