Page 25 of You Will Never Be Me

There is a stereotype aboutAngelenos—well, there are many stereotypes about Angelenos—but the most pervasive one is how fake people are here. I feel compelled to clarify that we are not fake, not in the way Southerners are, where they say, “Bless your heart,” when they really mean, “You fucking idiot.” Angelenos would totally tell you you’re a fucking idiot, but we’d also hand you a kale smoothie while we did it, and tell you it’s okay that you’re dumb; at least you’re skinny. See, Angelenos just get hopped up on oat milk matcha lattes and the endorphins that come with chatting with the Trader Joe’s cashier and end up calling everybody their best friends. We make way too many plans with said best friends—plans that we never have any intention of fulfilling—but in that moment, it would be impossible to say no to anything, because that’s just the magic of LA.

I know all of this, and yet. And yet, days after that magicalnight at Tanya’s party, when Tanya texts me to say she’s sooo bummed but she can’t join me for infrared yoga after all, I can’t help but feel utterly dejected. The only person I’m mad at is myself, because I should’ve known better than to believe, even for a moment, that someone as huge as Tanya would want me as her BFF.

Oh god, I just used the term unironically, like a freaking twelve-year-old. To be fair, she used it first. That night at the party, after bonding over our mutual hatred for Aspen, Tanya had introduced me to at least three people as her BFF. Okay, so she was on maybe her fifth glass of rosé, but still. You mustn’t judge me too harshly for feeling disappointed.

If I had six million followers like Aspen does, Tanya would never cancel on me. That’s the thing about LA. To make meaningful friendships, it is imperative to be somebody. LA is full of wannabes. It is weary of wannabes. Its skin has been hardened by cynicism (and Botox), and it has no time for wannabes.

“What does that mean for Mommy?” I muse out loud to Luca as he bounces happily in his bouncer. He doesn’t even glance at me. “It means, my sweet baby, that we need to growfaster.”

It is truly incredible how fast the joy that came with hitting 1M followers faded away. The first few days after it happened, I carried that shiny fact like a piece of jewelry in my pocket, taking it out now and again, caressing it lovingly and feeling the warm, secret smile spreading throughout my whole body. I thought (foolishly, naively) this feeling would last me years. Or at least months. But no, within a week, it quickly faded into a mere background fact that I got used to, like the sky being blue. It’s pleasant, but it doesn’t give me that jolt of happiness anymore. Like an addict, I need a bigger hit.

And for that, I turn to Elea’s iPad. (Sorry, kid. I hope you have a replacement by now. If not, blame your mother; she can easily afford one, and the only reason she has for withholding buying it would be spite.) Thank god I have this device, because, truth be told, since I rage-blocked Aspen’s number, I’ve been really missing her. Even though she obviously doesn’t deserve it.

Aspen’s calendar gave me appointments with sponsors I wouldn’t otherwise have had access to. Her cloud storage showed me how to divorce myself completely from reality in order to produce the most aesthetically pleasing footage. Both of those things have been super valuable, of course, but I need more. I need ideas for content. Things that would set me apart from the chaff. Not just the same old recipes, the same old workout videos, the same old talking-head videos spouting the same old observations. Aspen was always taking down little fun thoughts and ideas on her phone. Where would they be stored?

I swipe left until I get to the final screen, then swipe right, scanning each app. Then I see it. Notes. I tap on it, and bingo! Lists upon lists of Aspen’s ideas. I’m not sure how to describe the sensation of reading through these lists. It feels like I’m peeking into Aspen’s head, and I’m torn between love and admiration for my ex-best friend and soul-crushing envy because she is so fucking good at this. So naturally good at coming up with ideas with such amazingly relatable hooks.

Cooking/baking with Sabine (make sure she’s wearing cute chef’s hat and have everything be within her reach so she can grab hold of anything she wants to for comedic effect. Remember to bake a separate batch that looks good for final shot!)

Outfit change: Line up the girls and have one tap the other’s shoulder, and with each tap, the girl’s outfit changes

Time lapse: Me rushing the twins to ballet when they were toddlers, them stumbling around in ballet class, and now, them dancing beautifully

Such sweet and cute ideas. And the recipes! Oh my gosh.

Homemade burrata? Maybe can be used on homemade pizza? (Make sure pizza sauce is made using “homegrown tomatoes”)

Sourdough bread with butterflies on top made out of flower petals

Beef bourguignon but cooked inside a giant pumpkin

Then there are the sponsor baits.

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