Chapter 7

7

MEREDITH

Here is where I start sounding like a paid ad for Apple. That iPad changed my life. There, I said it. But it’s not because it’s an iPad. I promise you if it had been an Android or a Huawei it would’ve changed my life as well. Or maybe not? Sorry, but I am a die-hard Apple stan.

Over the next few days, I pore over all of Aspen’s TikTok and Instagram Reels before locating the uncut versions in her cloud storage. I figure out everything. Literally everything.

Take this one, for example: a Reel of her putting together the most beautiful lunch boxes for the twins. She even shows herself making the bread from scratch—low-carb for Noemie, of course. The final version has relaxing music as its audio, but in the original version, I can hear all of them talking.

Noemie: “Mommy, I can’t find my PJs. The ones with the unicorn cupcake on it.”

Aspen: “Oh. I think—uh, hang on, sweetie. It’s in the dryer, I think.”

Noemie: “Can you get it please, Mommy? I really want to wear those ones tonight.”

Aspen: “Ask Daddy to get them. I’m putting together your lunch for tomorrow.”

Here, I have to pause, because Aspen always captions her lunch box posts with something along the lines of “Threw these together in the morning while the kiddos were having breakfast!” But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that these are, of course, prepped well in advance.

Elea: “Are you making that low-carb bread? Yuck. I do not want any, Mommy.”

Aspen: “I know, I know. These are for Noemie.”

Noemie: “Um…”

Aspen: “What?”

Noemie: “Nothing.”

Aspen: “What??”

Elea: “She hates them too.”

Noemie: “I do not!”

Elea: “You throw them away at school.”

Noemie: “I—Elea! You promised not to tell!”

Aspen: “Seriously? You throw them away?”

(No answer.)

Aspen: “I can’t believe this. Do you see how hard I’m working to make them for you?”

Noemie: “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Aspen: “Do the other kids know? Do they see you throwing it away?”

Noemie: “No.”

Aspen: “Okay. Fine. Jesus. Look—can I just—can I have some peace, please, girls? Okay? I’m working here.”

She resumes shaping the dough into cute knots. When they’re done, she places them carefully in the lunch boxes and surrounds them with beautifully sliced fruit and vegetables in an artful pattern. The results are two lunch boxes that look like they came out of a cookbook. Then she takes out the bread knots and replaces them with store-bought crackers before putting on the lids.

In the final version that she posted, the text in the video says: “The girls’ favorite low-carb knots. These are TO DIE FOR! It’s no wonder the twins are always begging for these. If you hadn’t told me that they’re low-carb, I wouldn’t even have known! Srsly, best bread ever. Recipe in the comments! #AllDayAspen #DiabetesAwareness #NoemiesJourney.”

Again, as an influencer myself, I am of course aware of just how much we fake for the ’gram. But whenever I’ve tried to make food that looks appetizing for social media, it usually turns out tasting like crap. Take buttercream, for example. In order to make it look really good, to make those gorgeous buttercream flowers, you need to mix in enough sugar for the cream to be stiff enough to stay in the fragile shape of petals. If you didn’t, they’d melt, and wilt, and generally look like shit. But with so much powdered sugar mixed in, the buttercream tastes awful; hard and sickeningly sweet. There is a metaphor hidden somewhere in here about social media, I know it.

But I didn’t know the extent to which one could fake it for the camera. Seems obvious now, but I never thought of making beautiful food that I would later simply throw away and replace with less aesthetically pleasing ones to eat. And as I scroll through Aspen’s uncut videos, it becomes stunningly clear that this is what she’s been doing for years. Her Reels are…productions. They are not snippets of her life or glimpses behind the curtain. They are entire productions that she’s composed beforehand and then taken time out of her real life to act out and edit. A complete fabrication of what a life governed by aesthetics looks like.

Another example: a video of Elea as a chubby baby, pulling herself up to a standing position.

Aspen: “Oh my gosh, she’s doing it! She’s standing!”

Ben: “Oh wow, go, sweetie pie!” He rushes into the video.

Aspen: “Ben, what the—you’re in my shot. Ben!”

Ben: “What?” He swings around, confusion written all over his face.

Aspen: “You’re in my shot. You’re ruining it.”

Ben: “In your—what? Aspen, I’m trying to watch our baby stand up for the first time in her life.”

Aspen: “Yes, but this is such a huge moment. I’m trying to record it for my followers.”

Ben: “Are you insane? Screw your followers. I’m her father.”

Aspen: “But they—”

(Pause.)

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 cried to 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.”

Lilibeth’s eyes widen with appreciation, and she nods. “It really is.”

“Trust me, I know. I used to do beauty influencing, too, and it is a tough industry to be in. No joke. And you’re one of the few people who do it so well.”

“Oh, I love you!” she cries. “People always assume it’s so easy to do—”

“If it’s so easy, then why don’t they all do it?”

“Oh my god, right?” she laughs. “Thank you. So you used to be in beauty as well?”

“Yeah, but honestly, I was nowhere near as good as you.”

“Aww, I’m sure you’re amazing at it.”

“Eh. But it’s okay, I’ve found my niche now.” I gaze at Luca with affection and stroke his round face. “This little guy.”

Lilibeth’s hand flies to her chest and she aww s.

“Yeah, I’m posting about mom life—my day-to-day life with Luca here, trying to build my brand and, well, trying to date as a single mom. The dating isn’t going so well, as you can see,” I say with an eye roll.

“That sounds awesome. Actually, the person I was supposed to be meeting here is a momfluencer too.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“Aspen Palmer?”

I keep my face blank. I shake my head. “Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell.” I pick up my phone, open up Instagram, and show it to her. “Could you type in her handle for me?” The page is on my profile instead of my feed, and I’m crossing my fingers internally that she’ll glance at my profile before doing a search for Aspen.

Lilibeth takes my phone, and her eyes widen. “Wow, girl, you didn’t mention you’re a major player too! So close to a million followers.”

“Oh.” I shrug. “That’s nothing.” It pains me to say that, but hey, needs must.

“That is not nothing,” Lilibeth says. She scrolls down my profile, looking through my posts. Fortunately, when Aspen and I had our fight, I deleted all of the posts that featured Aspen from my profile. In the last couple of years or so, there hadn’t even been that many posts featuring Aspen. Oh no, she’d grown too big to collaborate with me by then. “I love your vibe. It’s very similar to Aspen’s, actually, but more authentic.”

My cheeks grow warm with delight. “Authentic” is probably the highest form of praise you could give an influencer, and to be called authentic in comparison to Aspen is icing on the cake.

“Thank you. Yeah, I try to be as authentic as I can. I want to empower other women, not make them feel like they’re somehow failing.” Luca finishes his bottle right on time, so I pick him up and settle him over my shoulder. “This little guy is an angel, but he can also be a handful, and I want to show all of that, not just the highlights.”

Lilibeth reaches out and squeezes one of Luca’s chunky thighs. “Oh, he is precious. I love this video of your morning routine. Oh gosh, imagine waking up to that sweet face every morning.”

I nod. “I know, he’s so cute in the mornings.” Actually, Luca is a nightmare most mornings. He wakes up already hangry, screaming for the breast, and usually he’ll projectile vomit his first feed. Then I’ll latch him to my other breast, and that one he’ll keep down. By the time I’ve burped him and changed him out of his dirty diaper and PJs and cleaned up his vomit, all I want to do is flop onto the couch and sleep away the morning. But of course, thanks to Aspen’s behind-the-scenes videos, I now know how to create a morning routine video that is pleasant and relaxing to watch. Ever since imitating Aspen’s videos two weeks ago, I’ve gained almost a hundred thousand followers. Again, the thought makes the anger sear my skin. Aspen could’ve told me this so much sooner. Could’ve spared me so much heartache.

Lilibeth cocks her head to one side, studying me and Luca for a moment. “You know,” she says, “I am glad that Aspen flaked today. Because I would rather work with you. You’re authentic, your profile is a lot less manufactured, and you’re up and coming. I want to support newer voices, not ones that are already super popular.”

I resist the urge to tell her that I’ve been influencing a lot longer than Aspen has. Boy, that took a lot of self-restraint. Instead, I widen my eyes and say, “Oh wow, really? I mean, I would love to work with you.”

“For sure!” she cries. “And look at you, you’re beautiful. I would love to do your hair and makeup. I can already think of at least three different looks for you.”

I so badly want to leap out of my seat and scream and dance around but somehow manage to compose myself. “That would be amazing. Yes, let’s do a collab! I want to help promote you too. Like I said, I love your account. Oh, maybe we could do a bunch of looks that moms on the go can do?”

Lilibeth’s face lights up. “Perfect! Yes, we can do a series of tutorials with me doing your hair and makeup, and then a follow-up with you doing it yourself to show how accessible the looks are.”

“Bonus points if it’s a look that you can do one-handed, so I can carry this little guy on my hip while doing it,” I say, gesturing at Luca, who’s dozed off on my shoulder.

“Aww, yes, of course. I love this!” She practically squeals it. “Oh, Meredith, this is total kismet. I’m so glad we both got stood up. Is that okay to say?”

I grin and lift my glass of neon green juice. “To being stood up.”

“And finding something better.”

I can’t help smirking. “Amen.”