Page 27 of You Will Never Be Me

“Argh,” Clara grumbles, taking him from me. “You are such a brat.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say to your only nephew.”

“I’m talking about you.”

I grin at her and hand Luca’s diaper bag over. “Love you, sis.See you later!” I skip down her front steps while still blowing kisses at Luca. I am definitely thankful for a sister who works from home.

When I get to the open house, I park across the street and stay there for a while, not quite sure just what the hell I’m doing. I think of driving off. Instead, I take a deep breath, check my reflection one last time in the rearview mirror, and get out of the car.

Soft classical music spills out of the open front door, and there is a delectable scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. I’ve known Ben long enough, been dragged to enough of his open houses by Aspen, to know that he takes a tray of frozen cookie dough to each open house and slides it into the oven right before he starts. Tacky, but it works. My mouth is watering.

Ben is in the kitchen, speaking to a young couple. “Hi, welc—oh,” he says when he registers who just came into the house. “Meredith, hi. Ah, one minute.”

“No worries,” I say in an easy-breezy voice, though my mind is screaming,WHAT AM I DOING HERE?I wave him off. “I’m just going to look around a bit. Take your time. Hi.” I give the couple a friendly, nonthreatening smile, and go deeper into the living room.

The house is a recently renovated three-bedroom that’s slightly nicer than what Ben usually gets. I guess he’s moving up in the Realtor business. Though it’s still in Alhambra, so he’s not moving up that much. Nonetheless, it’s a lot nicer than my current apartment. I stand inside the master bedroom for a long while, imagining living someplace like this. Spacious and modern. Big enough to have a space that’s separate from all the baby clutter.

Ben’s voice startles me. “Looking to buy a place?”

I turn and see him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of him. It’s been a while since I saw Ben. I always thought he was good-looking in the way that a math teacher might be—safe and predictable. But now I’m seeing him in a different light. Which just goes to show how much motherhood messes with your head. “Yeah,” I lie without much effort. It’s not like I can say no; I’m here because I’m missing his wife.

“Cool,” Ben says. “I’ll give you an overview of the place.”

I follow Ben quietly as he shows me around the house, pointing out things like “a newly installed bathtub” and “low-key ambient lighting,” and so on and so forth, and it’s very strange to see Ben so in his element. So in charge. At the end of it, we stop at the living room, and he says, “So what do you think?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s asking about the house. Of course he’s asking about the house. Come on, Mer. I give a noncommittal nod. “Seems nice.”

“It is, isn’t it? It’s good for a small, young family.” He starts talking about mortgages, which makes my head swim.

Before I know what I’m about to say, I blurt out, “How’s Aspen?”

Ben stops mid-sentence. He closes his mouth, then narrows his eyes. “Did you just—did you come here to check in on Aspen?”

“No,” I say, and we both see the lie, plain as day. I wonder if he’s going to throw me out of the open house. Ben never really had much of a sense of humor. Or maybe he just didn’t find me or Aspen funny. Same thing.

Instead, he snorts. Then the snort turns into a laugh. He shakes his head. “Mer,” he mutters, not unkindly.

My cheeks grow warm. I don’t know whether I should try to convince him otherwise or give up the ruse.

“Why don’t you two just talk to each other? You know, be mature adults.”

“Okay, I’m going to overlook the patronizing tone this time. I—” I fumble for the right words. “I miss her, but…” What can I say? Everything I’ve been ruminating about for months, all of the infractions that have sliced into me, now seem so petty. Like her being buddy-buddy with other big influencers and making content with them and calling them her besties. Every single post she made with them had pummeled into my heart like a battering ram, each Reel a betrayal to our best-friendship. But I can’t say that to Ben. What do I even say? That Aspen is supposed to be my best friend and mine only? That would make me look about as mature as a six-year-old. Oh god, it was a mistake coming here. I don’t even know what I was thinking.

But before I can make up an excuse to leave, Ben says, “Yeah,” and his voice is raw with so much emotion that it makes me do a double take. “I know.” There is so much weight in those two words, so much empathy, that I look again at Ben. Really look at him this time, finally seeing him. The tiny frown lines etched into his face, the bitter sadness in his eyes. And I realize that all those times Aspen had gushed about how sweet Ben is, and how thoughtful, and what a doting husband he is, and what a perfect marriage they have…were, like the rest of her social media content, nothing more than fucking lies.

12

ASPEN

If anyone were to havetold me that one day I would be grateful to have had my tires slashed, I would’ve laughed and asked just how much weed they’d smoked. But that is actually how I feel. Ridiculously grateful. Because without the slashed tires, Liv wouldn’t be coming over to my place for the third time this week, and Liv’s presence is a godsend.

Her daughter Rain gets along beautifully with Sabine. Well, about as beautifully as two babies can get along, which is to say they alternate between ignoring each other and sucking on each other’s toes. But the most important thing is that the two girls keep each other occupied in the playpen, leaving me and Liv gobs of time to devote to our work.

Liv is a meticulous worker. Her organizational skills are to die for, and she has a natural eye for spotting early trends. I suppose I should’ve known all of this before she came to work in person, but somehow, when she was working for me remotely, it was tooeasy for me to miss just how brilliant she is. How capable. How likable. In just a short time, I went from seeing her purely as my assistant to both an employee and a friend.

“You’re probably sick of me saying this,” she says, “but I still can’t get over how Pinterest worthy your entire house is.”

I roll my eyes with a laugh, but inside I’m glowing with pleasure. Because I’ve poured so much effort into making sure our home is, indeed, Pinterest worthy. Every choice I made in home decoration was through the eye of a phone camera. What might look good in person doesn’t necessarily translate well to the nine-by-sixteen Reels format. And Ben is forever snorting and telling me we need more colors in the house that aren’t some shade of nude or gray or white, but the thing with bright colors is that it’s too easy for them to end up looking garish on a phone screen.

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