Page 42 of You Will Never Be Me

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 doan 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 tagher 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. Ineed 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.

21

There are two things thatAmerica is obsessed with: guns and beautiful women who go missing. Meredith wasn’t white, but she was beautiful, and she was a “huge TikTok sensation,” or so the news calls her. I was very much hoping that the police would consider the last message she sent—“I need a fucking break”—as a hint that Meredith chose to leave on her own volition. But I quickly learn that was merely wishful thinking.

The very next morning after Clara reported Meredith missing to the police, two detectives show up at my house. One female, one male. Detective Garza and Detective Clarke. And far from popular belief, they haven’t come as Good Cop, Bad Cop. They’re both really nice, actually. I have them take a seat at the dining room table and make them each a matcha latte, then I sit down across from them with Sabine on my lap and say, in my most earnest voice, “How can I help you, officers?” My insides are twisting like trapped snakes, but I have prepared for this eventuality. I can do this. I must do this.

They smile at me. Detective Garza takes a sip of her matcha latte. I decide I like her more than Detective Clarke. “When was the last time you heard from Meredith Lee?” Detective Clarke says, flipping open a small notepad. I wonder why cops insist on writing things down on a notepad instead of typing into their phones like normal people do.

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