Page 20 of You Will Never Be Me

He tries to go in for a kiss, but I shy away from him. “Sorry, little guy, your kisses are really drooly, and Mommy spent an hour on her face. Tomorrow, there will be all the kisses in the world, okay?”

I sing along to “Baby Shark” the entire drive down to Clara’s. Luca, sensing my good mood, is all grins and lovely coos. Everything is falling into place for me, just the way it should’ve done so many years ago.

Clara accepts Luca with a smile, but when she turns to face me, the smile fades a little. “You look nice,” she says in a way that somehow turns it into not-a-compliment. “Big date?”

“No,” I laugh, waving her off. “No time for dates. I got an invite to this big mixer in the Hills.”

Disapproval lines Clara’s features. “You know, I thought that when this little guy came along, you’d give up on this whole thing and settle down.”

I’m dressed in Fendi and my makeup and hair are immaculate, but somehow, Clara knows just what to say to make me feel like a piece of crap. An acidic retort makes its way up my throat,but I swallow it back down. If I piss her off, she might refuse to watch Luca. So I just nod and say, “Yeah, well. It’s work. Thanks, Clara.” I don’t wait for a response before heading back to my car.

“What time will you pick him up in the morning? I’ve got my tennis lesson at nine.”

“I’ll be back way before that!” I call out, already sliding into my car. I throw kisses their way and back out of her driveway. As I drive away, I see their silhouettes in the dim glow of the sunset—Clara lifting Luca’s little fist and making him wavebyeto me. There is a small twinge at the sight of my son, so tiny in my sister’s arms. But then I make the turn to the main street, and the twinge is replaced by a spark of excitement. I’m headed to Tanya Dylan’s mansion, and I want to scream at the thought of it.

With over thirty million followers on TikTok, Tanya Dylan is one of the biggest momfluencers there is. She used to be a runway model, which was how she first became an influencer. When she got pregnant, she quit the runway and focused her content on anything and everything that had to do with raising kids. She’s still drop-dead gorgeous and LA-skinny, of course, and her fashion sense remains as sharp as her cheekbones.

But that’s not the only reason why I’ve got pinpricks of excitement zinging through my body. As if the thought of meeting Tanya Dylan in person isn’t nerve-racking enough, guess who else was invited to Tanya’s party? Yep. Aspen. You must’ve seen this coming, right? Despite my meddling, Aspen still has over six million TikTok followers. She’s been part of the M club for quite a while now, and Tanya is one of Aspen’s many momfluencer buddies. Not that she would ever deign to introduce me to Tanya. Oh no, Aspen keeps her contacts very close to her chest—yet more proof that Aspen was a shitty friend. I was tempted to fudge thedate of Tanya’s party on Aspen’s calendar, but in the end, I left it alone. Tanya’s party is a huge deal that people keep posting about. Aspen might get a reminder about it and find out that her calendar’s been borked. I am trying to minimize the number of appointments that I mess up on Aspen’s calendar. I’m not a total monster. Also, I don’t want her to get suspicious.

Tanya’s mansion is a stunning glass structure overlooking the Hollywood Hills. She hired a valet service for the event, but I end up parking one block away because I don’t want anyone to see my beat-up Honda. One day, my career will be so smashingly successful that I’ll turn up at events in some flashy sports car. (It’s important to dream big, you know.)

God, when was the last time I came to a house this beautiful? It seems like forever ago that I was invited to places like these. But this is different from all of the gorgeous homes I used to go to. Those had been bachelor and bachelorette pads, all sharp angles and minimalist decor. This house is a family home—a Pinterest-worthy place of light grays and whites with touches of bright colors here and there. Instead of avant-garde art, the walls are hung with pastel-colored photographs of Tanya’s children caught mid-laugh, all of them framed in sleek gold. The kids aren’t around, though; this is an adults-only party. The music is loud enough to drown out any awkwardness, but not so loud that you have to shout to be heard, and there are enough people to fill the space, but not so many that you end up feeling squished. Servers slip through the crowd, carrying trays of drinks and canapés.

There is a horrible, cold moment where my anxiety goes almost into overdrive, and every cell in my body screams at me to leave, because surely they will all see that I do not belong in this gorgeous crowd. They’ll kick me back down, I know it.

But then my social skills, honed through years of gliding through party after party, kick in, and a dazzling smile finds its way onto my face, and I plunge into the crowd. I embrace its energy without a second thought, mirroring the other partygoers. Are they air-kissing? One- or two-armed hugs? Are they calling one another “Hon” or “Babe” or “Bro” or—? And within minutes, I remember just how good I used to be at this stuff. I am in my natural element once again. It feels like I’ve been yanked out of a deep slumber and back into the light. I have come back to life.

I’m chatting with a DJ who has just under two million followers (hey, I did my homework before coming to this party) when I spot Tanya Dylan. She looks amazing, her platinum blonde hair swept back in a tight ponytail, sporting the “clean girl” look with minimal makeup that, nevertheless, looks like it took three hours to get just right. She’s wearing a silver jumpsuit that hugs every curve of her body, and it’s only in person that I get to fully appreciate just how unfairly gorgeous she is—how genetically blessed. I must talk to her. But that’s easier said than done, because, of course, everybody in this room has the same thought I do. Everybody is gravitating toward her, calling out her name and touching her arm and flocking to her.

But I’m not like everyone else. I’ve done my homework. Yesterday, I spent over four hours scrolling down Tanya’s accounts, going all the way to the very first posts she made on Instagram and TikTok. Her latest posts are mostly TikTok dances with her ridiculously talented kids, but the ones from six, seven years ago had her talking about how hard it is to raise a kid with ADHD. She has three children—a boy and two girls—and it seems that the boy has ADHD. She doesn’t talk about it as much now, maybe because those videos didn’t get that many views compared to the dancing ones.

I wait until the knot of people around Tanya untangles, leaving a bit of breathing room available, then I quickly slide in. No time for hesitation. I catch Tanya’s eye, smile, and say, “You look like you could use a drink.” Pause. Apologetic laugh. “Oh my gosh, that sounded like such a bad pickup line.”

Please laugh, plea—

She laughs. I release my breath. “I’ve heard worse,” she says.

I pluck two flutes of champagne from a passing server and hand one to her. “Yeah, sorry about that, I swear it sounded way better in my head, but I recently got diagnosed with ADHD, so my mind’s like—ack, you know?” I mime a mess in my head.

Her eyes widen. “Oh wow. Really? That’s so interesting, because I actually got diagnosed with ADHD myself a few years ago.”

“Seriously?” I cry. “No one else I know got diagnosed with it as an adult. What are the chances?”

Tanya nods. “Yeah, I—well, my son has it. He was diagnosed when he was four. So, of course, I had to educate myself on the condition, and the more I read up on it, the more I was like, hang on…”

“Oh my gosh, right?” While we talk, I’m smoothly navigating us toward the patio, away from the hungry crowd. I’m an expert at this. I do it so gradually and so subtly, keeping up our easy-going chatter the whole time, that I doubt Tanya even realizes it. Then we’re out of the house, away from the din, and on her beautiful patio. There is a handful of people out here as well, but it’s far less crowded, and the noise level is more manageable. Tanya leads me to a sofa and we sit down, drinks in our hands, and I work my magic on her.

There is a very fine balance to go for in conversations where you want to be appreciative but not fawning. People love to be flattered, but nobody likes a sycophant. I am a master at this. I’mnot bragging; it’s just how it is. I’ve never been good at sports, but getting people to like me, that’s my superpower.

Within half an hour, Tanya is saying stuff like, “Oh my god, where have you been all my life?” and calling me “Mer” instead of “Meredith.” I am glowing. I am fully in my element, my humor charmingly self-deprecating and oh so relatable, and I do not want this night to end. I do not want to return to my messy apartment and sleep in my twin bed and wake up to pick up my cranky baby and then spend the whole day tending to said baby. I want to capture the magic and glitz and glamour of tonight and bottle it. I want to—

A flash of dark brown curls appears for a moment in the crowd inside the house, and I lose my train of thought. I don’t have to catch more than a glimpse to know that she’s here. Of course, I know who it is immediately. I know Aspen probably as well as my own reflection. Probably better, because we spent almost every day together for years and years. My brain has memorized the way she moves, the way she stands. And seeing her again after all these weeks of not talking to her is electrifying. Quite literally, it feels like an electric shock to my system. So many emotions jolting through me. A yearning for our old friendship, and resentment, and jealousy, and of course, thrumming through everything else, there is guilt.

“Whoa, you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Tanya says.

I tear my eyes away from the small figure swimming through the crowd and force a smile. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Then it hits me—people bond over negative things so much easier than positive ones. Just look at how Tanya immediately warmed to me when I told her I’d been diagnosed with ADHD. Still, I know Ineed to step carefully. I don’t think she and Aspen are close—heck, I don’t think she’s close to most people at this party—but there is a chance that they are a lot friendlier with each other than I know. Aspen is a chronic brownnoser; she wouldn’t be able to resist sucking up to someone like Tanya. “I think I saw my ex-best friend in there.”

Tanya’s eyes widen with curiosity, and she straightens up. “Oh, who?”

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