Chapter 20

20

Liv gapes at me. “I—I don’t understand.”

I resist the urge to laugh in her face and call her a moron. “It’s simple. I have six million followers. You have…” I wiggle my hand at her.

“One hundred and fifty thousand,” Liv mumbles.

“Right.” I purse my lips. “Well. So I have a lot to offer you.”

“You can’t give me your followers.”

Oh my god, how is it that this bumbling fool thinks she can be an influencer? “No,” I say patiently. “But I can help to promote you. We can do cross-promo content, where you’re in my videos and I tag you…”

Liv’s face lights up as the idea takes root in her slow-moving mind. “We can cook together!”

“Yeah, exactly,” I say with an encouraging smile. “We can do everything together. We can cook, like you said; we can do videos with the kids together, that would be really cute; we can—”

“We can do TikTok dances together!” Liv cries. “Oh my god, I’ve always wanted to be part of a dance duo. Those videos do real numbers on TikTok.”

I wince. I’m good at pretending to garden and cook, less good at dancing. But it’s not like I have much of a choice here. “I’m game, we can definitely try a few dance moves, yeah.”

For the next few moments, Liv is quiet, though her fingers drum the countertop as she mulls over my proposal. “And you’ll do cross-promo videos with me every day?” she says after a while.

I nod. “Sure. If you want.”

“For as long as I want?”

“How about until you reach half a million followers? That should give you enough momentum to strike out on your own.”

“No, I want six million followers like you.”

“Liv,” I say gently, “I can’t give you six million followers. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why?” she says petulantly. “You’ve got six million followers.”

“Yeah, but first of all, they don’t all like the same thing. Some might like me because of my cooking. Others might like my morning routine. And others might like the kids. These are individuals we’re talking about. Not all of them will like our cross-promo content. Once we get you to half a million followers, you’ll find that your account will grow organically. The algorithm will feed your content out to people who will like it, and you’ll get followers on your own. You won’t need me anymore.” Not strictly true, but it’s true enough.

Liv nods grudgingly. “Okay. Fine. But I want an open-door policy with the cross-promo stuff.”

“I’m not sure I understand what that means.”

Liv sighs theatrically. “I mean, if I ever ask you to do a cross- promo video, even if I have, say, two million followers, you need to agree to it.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Within reason. Sure. Once you hit half a million followers, I would like to cut back on the cross-promo stuff, but yes, if you need it, we can do it occasionally.”

“Deal.” Liv holds out her hand, and I shake it. “When can we start? Now?”

Despite everything, this almost makes me smile, because Liv’s eagerness reminds me of myself. You have to have passion to make it as an influencer, and she obviously has it in droves. I need to use this to my advantage somehow. Can I? Maybe, but I can’t think of it while she’s here, studying my every move. I shrug at Liv. “Sure, why not?”

She grins and actually claps, like a little kid. It highlights just how young she is. Well, maybe not that young; she’s only a few years my junior, but she is so inexperienced. Was I like that too? When I first met Mer? Did she see what I’m seeing in Liv now? Someone to take under her wing and mold in a way that pleases her? The thought stokes my anger toward Mer all over again. She could only handle me when I was pliable dough in her hands. But once I hardened into my own form, all Meredith could think of doing with me was to smash me onto the floor—to break me down so she could rebuild me all over again.

“Okay!” Liv says, her eyes shining. “What should we do? Oh, there’s this dance I’ve been wanting to try, let me—” She picks up her phone.

Oh lord. The thought of doing a TikTok dance with Liv is enough to make me want to stab myself through the head. “Actually, how about a gardening video? We could harvest a few veggies together?”

Liv makes a face. “No offense, Aspen, but that sounds boring as shit.”

“None taken.”

“And it’s not really my brand, you know?”

I don’t know, actually. Come to think of it, I don’t really know what Liv’s brand is. I haven’t taken the time to study her social media accounts. “That’s a good point,” I say. “Let me see your profile.” I settle down on a chair and scroll through her profile. It is a mess. There isn’t a single cohesive thread throughout her posts. “What is your brand?”

Liv stiffens. “Well, it’s—it’s like your brand. Momfluencing.”

“Yeah, but what’s the angle? Are you the relatable mom whose hair is always messy and who forgets everything? Are you hashtag MomGoals? Are you career mom?”

Liv groans. “I just want to be myself. Nobody is ever just one of those things.”

“True, but for the purposes of social media, it would be helpful for you to have a brand that people can recognize.” I study Liv for a bit, considering the options.

“What’s your brand?”

“Mom goals,” I say simply.

One corner of Liv’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “Oh yeah. Fake and unattainable.”

I shrug, refusing to let her words sting me. “We could set that up as your brand, too, if you want. I could show you how.” And for all her talk about fakeness and authenticity, I can tell that Liv is tempted. As she gnaws on her bottom lip, I add, “Think of how pissed off your enemies would be when they saw you living your best life.”

“I don’t want to be fake,” Liv says.

“Stop looking at it as being fake. It’s not fake; it’s part of your life. Look, you can even do it your way. You could have a series of videos where you talk to your followers about how you pull everything off. How you can have it all. People would love that.”

Liv’s eyes widen. “You’re right. Yeah, I would be helping people that way.”

“Exactly. You could share mom tips on how to make their lives easier. There are so many ways you could help fellow moms.”

A frown crosses her face. “Then why haven’t you been doing that?”

I school my expression into one of regret and give a long sigh. “You’re right, Liv. I…I guess I lost my way. I got too caught up in all the bullshit, and I forgot why I started doing this in the first place. But now you’ve reminded me what’s important to me. I want to help other moms too. I don’t want to make anyone feel like they’re not good enough.” My stomach clenches at the crap I’m spewing, but somehow, I manage to make my hand reach out for hers. “Thank you for reminding me of what’s important. Let’s do this together.”

Liv grins. “You’re welcome,” she says, with such magnanimous pomp that it’s all I can do not to hit her over the head with a wine bottle.

···

In the end, we do an outfit change video. “1 blazer, 6 looks!” We each pair the blazer with three different outfits, and Liv loves it because she thinks it’ll somehow revolutionize how moms dress. I’m not about to argue with that. I show her how to edit it in a way that makes the video snappier and catchier, then I schedule to post it tonight, at prime social media time, and tag her as a collaborator. She leaves beaming, practically skipping out of my house with Rain in her arms.

After that, I slump onto the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling until Sabine starts fussing, then I pick her up and rock her for a while until she falls asleep. I gaze down at my baby, taking in her features: the tiny nose, the curved lashes, the soft skin. I breathe in her scent and close my eyes, losing myself in the sweetness of her. I would do anything to protect my family. And I have done the worst thing, in fact, to protect them. Because in a way—a very big, very real way—I killed Meredith for them. It wasn’t just about my social media accounts. My social media presence is what keeps a roof over my babies’ heads, and when Meredith fucked with that, she fucked with my children. That is the real reason why she had to die. And now there’s Liv to deal with, and Clara. What am I going to do about them?

I put Sabine down in her crib and pad softly back out to the kitchen, where my phone is. I send a text to Clara.

How did it go at the police station?

Three dots appear, and I watch them for what seems like ages. Then, finally, the reply.

They took it rly seriously, because she’s been gone for over 72 hrs. They’re going to talk to all of her contacts. Expect a call from them.

All of the feeling seems to leave my legs. Standing becomes next to impossible. I stagger toward the nearest chair and sag into it, burying my face in my hands. Expect a call from the police . I need to get ahold of myself. Get my shit together. Prepare myself for the coming interview. They must not see even a single crack.

I count to ten and breathe slowly. I’ll be okay. They won’t suspect me. Not All Day Aspen with her pumpkin sourdough focaccia recipes and her beautiful children. All I need to do is figure out how an innocent person would react to the news that her best friend has gone missing and commit to it.

I’m running through the dialogue in my head when Ben comes home with the twins. Elea drops her schoolbag in the front foyer before rushing into the living room and parking herself in front of the TV. Noemie hangs up her bag neatly and comes to the kitchen to give me a kiss. I hug her tight and breathe her in.

“Hi, baby,” I say. “How was your day?”

“It was okay.” Noemie looks around the kitchen. “Huh.”

“What’s up?”

“You’re not cooking or shooting a video.”

“Oh. Right, no, Mommy did that earlier today.” With Liv , I think bitterly. I give Noemie another kiss, and she toddles off into the living room to join her sister. I gaze at the two of them for a second, admiring, as always, how Instagram-ready they look. They’re beautiful, my twin girls, with their long brown hair that turns gold in the sunlight, and their natural grace and peaches-and-cream complexions. I’ve been blessed, I know it.

Ben walks into the kitchen and the lovely moment crumbles into ash. I have to actively stop myself from scowling as I turn to face my husband.

“How’s it going?” he says, opening the fridge and taking out an AriZona iced tea. He takes deep, loud glugs, and somehow the sound of him gulping down cold tea is repulsive, but I can’t take my eyes off his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Fine.” I wrench my gaze away from him and busy myself with emptying the dishwasher.

“Liv left early?”

It’s disturbing how good of an actor Ben is. The question comes out so casually, without any weight in it whatsoever. If I hadn’t seen them at the open house, I wouldn’t even have noticed anything off about it. I am living with a seasoned liar , I realize. The back of my neck prickles at the thought. I can’t bear to look at him, so I focus on the dishes instead as I say, “Yeah. We got done early today.” Then I look up and say, “Why?”

Ben shrugs. “Just wondering.”

Something comes over me then. I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t help myself. “We had a really good talk today, Liv and I.”

“Oh?” His hand tightens ever so slightly around the can. Again, it’s such a miniscule tell that if I hadn’t been looking for one, I would’ve missed it. What else have I missed over the years? Who else has my husband slept with?

“Yeah, a real heart-to-heart.” Careful, Aspen. I don’t want to confront Ben. Not yet. And definitely not with the girls in the next room watching their cartoons, and Sabine napping in her room. “I should go wake Sabine from her nap.” I give Ben a terse smile and bustle away, leaving him clutching his stupid can of tea. My stomach is clenched so tight, I have to remind myself to breathe. If only my world weren’t threatening to fall apart at the seams, then maybe I could figure out how to deal with my philandering husband. But for now, I must remain patient. I must play the loving wife and beloved momfluencer. Only when the ashes from Meredith’s case settle can I then scorch the earth of my own home.