Page 6 of You Will Never Be Me

While Luca feeds, I shove all the junk off my sofa one-handed and settle down with a sigh. I open my Insta and clock the number of followers. 861,292. I frown. Yesterday, I had 861,113. I’m still growing, but it’s definitely hitting a plateau.

“What more do you want from me?” I mutter at my Insta. I click on the Insights. My latest posts—mostly Reels—are doingokay. Most of them are averaging around five to seven hundred thousand views, which sounds impressive, but considering the number of followers I have, it’s not amazing. Unlike Aspen, who has over five million followers—5,152,349 to be exact, but who’s counting? Her Reels are getting over seven million views at the very least. What the fuck is up with that, Instagram? And don’t even get me started on TikTok. My TikTok presence is abysmal. On TikTok, I’m what’s considered a “micro-influencer,” which is only one step above “nano-influencer.” I have around seventy thousand followers, whereas Aspen has cracked the TikTok code and is already at six million and still growing massively. She tried getting me to move to TikTok when it first became big.

“It’s amazing, Mer,” she said, her eyes wide. The twins were about three years old then. I remember because that was right around the time that they found out Noemie was diabetic. “TikTok’s algorithm is completely different from everything else. They really want to push your content out to new people, not just your followers. I’m growing faster than I ever did on Insta. You need to be on TikTok; it’s the next big thing.”

“You said the same thing about Snapchat, and look where that went,” I grumbled. At the time, Aspen had already surpassed me on Insta, so when Snapchat blew up, I made sure to invest the bulk of my time in it. Then everyone moved on, and all that time and effort just went down the drain. I might as well have focused on Tumblr for all the good Snapchat did.

“Forget Snapchat, Mer. Trust me, TikTok’s where it’s at.”

But I fought it for the longest time. I told myself that while Aspen was focusing on TikTok, I could take that chance to try to catch up to her on Insta. Not that it was a competition, of course.She’s my BFF! My ride or die. I just wanted us to do equally well. That’s not jealousy. That’s camaraderie.

Except Aspen was right about TikTok. Her TikTok platform grew ten times faster than any of her other accounts did, and her followers on TikTok followed her on other platforms as well. Her Instagram blew up. I could’ve sworn she gained a hundred thousand followers every fucking week. I was seeing #AllDayAspen everywhere I turned. I muted her. (It’s not mean. I was protecting my mental health.) Then I unmuted her. Rinse and repeat.

Aspen’s girls were born for social media. She’s always dressing them in matchy-matchy outfits, and achingly cute ones at that. They look like little ballerinas, or little princesses, or little fairies. I can just see her target audience—women between the ages of twenty and thirty-seven—lapping up all the whimsical outfits she forces the girls into. I look down at Luca, who’s already emptied my left breast, and shift him to the right one.

“Why couldn’t you have been a girl?” I mutter. “Then you could’ve worn all those cute dresses too. Look at the twins and Sabine in this one. Oh my gosh, sunflowers all over, to die for.” I narrow my eyes at Luca. Maybe I could put him in shorts with sunflowers around the hem? Plus navy blue suspenders. That would be cute. But where would I even find sunflower-patterned shorts for boys? I sigh. Why did I end up with a boy? You know how boring boys’ clothes are? You only have to walk into the kids’ section of any department store, and you’ll see how stark the differences are. The girls’ section is full of different materials—lace, wool, chiffon—in every color possible. Bright primary colors, soft pastels, neutral creams. Everything you could ever wish for, they offer it to girls. And don’t even get me started on the hair accessories. If you turn around and head into the boys’ section, all youfind is tan and navy blue stuff. No frills, no flowers. Only animals allowed in the boys’ section, and not sweet whimsical ones like ladybugs or kittens. Predators only. Sharks, dinosaurs, lions. Zero accessories. Boring-ass shoes.

Maybe I could put him in a dress anyway?

I quickly bat away the thought. It would end up being a statement on gender. I have no idea what kind of statement it would be, but whatever it was, it would only invite trolls. Ah, if only I could be honest and caption it with: “This is not about gender politics. I just think girls’ clothes are cuter.” The thought makes me snort. Oh, I crack myself up. Ha ha.

It’s only when a teardrop spatters Luca’s cheek that I realize I’m crying. What the fuck? I wipe it away angrily. Ever since I had Luca, my hormones have been going batshit insane. I’m crying everywhere, at any time. It’s not postpartum. I know it isn’t, because I love my baby to death, I really do, and I don’t even feel sad or disconnected. I do feel anxious and stressed out all the time, though, but that’s only because my best friend decided she was too good for me ever since she became a huge influencer.

Luca unlatches with a small pop, his head lolling, his eyes half-closed. I heft him over my shoulder and pat his back until he burps, then put him in his bassinet for a nap. I’m so tired. Unbelievably so. How the hell does Aspen do it? She’s got not just Sabine but also the twins to deal with. Then again, she has Ben and Liv, so maybe that evens things out a little. I stretch out on the sofa and close my eyes. I should nap. At almost seven months of age, Luca still wakes up every two hours through the night. Sabine, on the other hand, is the perfect baby, because of course she is.

But when I close my eyes, numbers whiz through my head.Six million. Seven million. Eight million. I wonder if she’ll move out of Pasadena once she hits ten million. How much money do influencers with over ten million followers make? Aspen stopped talking about money a few months after she surpassed me. Whenever I asked how much she was making per sponsored post, she’d give me this pitying smile and say, “Oh, you know, I can’t complain!” Bitch, I’m not complaining, I’m just comparing notes. But I know she feels sorry for me, which makes me even angrier.It used to be the other way around, I want to rail at the universe. How did things get so backassward?

I give up trying to nap. No, I need to see Aspen again. I need to—I don’t know. I need my best friend. Or at least, I need to know what my best friend’s up to.

Less than fifteen minutes later, I’m at my sister’s door. She doesn’t smile when she opens it. “Hi, Auntie Clara!” I say in a baby voice, lifting Luca’s carrier close to her face.

Clara sighs. “Seriously? Again?”

“I’ve got a really important meeting to get to. A potential sponsor.”

“Okay, but isn’t your ‘brand’ Single Mom Does It All?” Clara says, putting rabbit ears around the word “brand” and spitting it like it’s a cockroach crawling out of her mouth. “So shouldn’t Luca come with you to the meeting?”

She has a point, but I recover quickly. “Oh, this one’s more Single Mom Looking Fabulous and Having a Healthy Life Outside of Being a Mom.”

Clara doesn’t look impressed. “I’ve got a really full day.”

“Really? It’s not wedding season.” Clara’s a wedding photographer, and she’s usually busiest in the summer; although, LA being LA, weddings do tend to happen all year round.

“Yeah, but I started doing family portraits, too, remember? So I’ve got pictures to edit, and—”

“Oh yeah, that’s right! Hey, that’s perfect, you can practice with Luca. Isn’t he the most photogenic baby you’ve ever seen? Come on, you can’t say no to that face.” I push the carrier even closer to her.

Clara sighs again, but the corners of her mouth are lifting ever so slightly, and I know I’ve won this battle. “He is pretty damn cute,” she says as she takes the carrier from me. “But I swear, Mer, next time, I’m saying no.”

“Love you, sis!” I kiss her on the cheek and hand her the diaper bag before jogging down her driveway back to her car.

“And I want my car back by tonight,” she calls out. “I don’t like the way yours smells.”

“Got it, sis!” I almost speed out of there in my eagerness, but since I’m in Clara’s car, I take care to drive out carefully, waving at them and throwing kisses as I go.

The drive to Aspen’s house takes twenty minutes, since there’s very little traffic at this time of day. I park a block away from her house and for a few moments sit in Clara’s car, drumming my fingers on the wheel. What am I doing? I check my Apple Watch. It’s ten minutes to two. The twins’ school lets out at two twenty. So Aspen will leave the house anytime now.

I get out of the car and stroll down the next street over to Aspen’s, my thoughts repeatedly goingWhat am I doing?over and over like a heartbeat, faster and faster as I near her house. I’m two houses away when I hear the clang of her garage door opening, and I slip behind a tree. Her Land Rover backs out of the garage and drives off. The garage door is only halfway closed. I quickly run over—what am I doing what am I doing—and beforeit shuts, I kick out and put my foot under it. For a moment, I think my foot is going to be squashed. But then the safety sensors kick in, and the door stops rumbling down and starts to open again.Phew.

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