Page 56 of You Will Never Be Me

I widen my eyes. “Gosh, no! To be honest with you, I wasn’t even aware that she’d gotten these deals. I told you before, I have so much on my plate. And even after we fell out, I always hoped she’d do well. I loved her. She was the one who taught me how to succeed as an influencer. I only ever wished the best for her.” Thething with the best lies is, they all have a kernel of truth in them. And this one is no exception. No one can deny the sincerity in my voice because yes, I did want what was best for Mer.

Detective Garza leans back, still studying me. I’ve thrown her off-balance for a bit, I can tell. But she’s not convinced. She thinks there’s something fishy here, and she’s right. What are the chances that Meredith would happen to be at the places where I was supposed to meet with sponsors, over and over again? Zero, that’s what. Then she takes out her phone, scrolls for a bit, and plays me a video.

A crushing grip catches hold of my midsection. Because it’s a video of me at the pediatrician’s office, from that time I missed Sabine’s vaccine appointment. I watch, wide-eyed, as I stride over to the camera and hiss at the woman recording me.

“You seemed pretty upset here,” Detective Garza says when the video ends.

I shake my head, trying to clear it, trying to come up with a good explanation. “I—well, yeah. That was me missing my baby’s vaccine appointment. Of course I was upset. That’s different from missing a meeting with a sponsor.”

“Is it?” Detective Garza exchanges a glance with Detective Clarke. “I wouldn’t know; I’m not a mom. But seems to me they would both be very frustrating.”

“I’m a mom, first and foremost,” I say, and it’s a wonder how I manage to make my voice come out even. “My priority is taking care of my girls.” There is nothing more I want than to look away, but somehow I keep my eyes trained on Detective Garza.

Her mouth opens, like she’s about to say something, but the front door opens and there’s the sound of running feet.

“Mommy? Mommy!” The next moment, Elea and Noemieappear in the living room, both of them crying. Ben follows behind them, looking haggard, an empty shell of a man. When he sees the detectives, he stops short, his mouth parting.

I stand, thanking my lucky stars. With the twins home, there is no way that this cursed interview can go on. And next time, I’ll be much better prepared. I’ll be lawyered up by then, for one thing. “These are Detectives Garza and Clarke,” I say to Ben, right before wrapping the twins in a hug. “Oh, babies. It’ll be okay.”

“It won’t be!” Elea cries. “Aunt Mer is dead! Everyone’s talking about it at school!”

The two detectives stand there, looking uncomfortable. Noemie—shy, sweet Noemie—is the one who looks up at them and says, “Are you going to catch the bad guy who did it?”

Detective Clarke nods, his face softening. “We will.”

Ben still hasn’t said a word. He’s just staring at them like a stupefied little kid.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Detective Clarke says, nodding at me. “We’ll let you know if we have any follow-up questions. And don’t hesitate to call us if you think of anything.”

I nod, and we all stand there, clutching at one another, as the detectives leave the house.

27

Everything has shifted. In thespace of a single day, I go from Meredith’s champion to her villain. More people are coming out and corroborating Tanya’s claims that Meredith and I were fighting. Worse than fighting, actually. “Sworn enemies,” one of them called us. “Jealous bully,” another called me. “Meredith’s nemesis,” said another. And on and on.

I lose followers and gain others, but I know that the new ones I’ve gained aren’t my supporters; most of them are here to enjoy the carnage. The trolls start up again, and all my posts are inundated with rape and death threats. I report them to TikTok and Instagram, but there are so many of them that I’m soon overwhelmed. I try calling Liv to ask her to delete them for me, but she doesn’t pick up the phone. How’s that for irony? Mere days ago, she’d been begging me to do cross-promo content with her, and now she’s ghosting me.

I spend the rest of the day trying to ignore the incessant clamoring online and outside my house. And at the back of my mind, there’s still the question of who the hell had messaged Damien to cancel our meeting. I know it feels frivolous to be worrying about that now, but I can’t stop picking at it, like a wound that’s refusing to heal. Someone did this, and that someone is still around. A loose thread, hanging there for anyone to pull. And if someone did pull at this thread, what is going to be unraveled?

We close all of the blinds in the house, shrouding it completely, and whenever I peek through the slits in the blinds, the knot of reporters remains, like a tumor that refuses to be excised. Ben calls an old college friend of his who is a lawyer, and he promises to come up with a referral for me. I swing back and forth between wanting to post a response and wanting to lie low. What the hell should I do? I need crisis control. For the first time in my career, I wish I’d signed with a talent manager. Many influencers do, but so many agencies have predatory contract clauses that I’ve shied away from signing with one. Boy, do I regret that decision now.

I’m about to put down the phone when it rings. I snap it back up and hit Answer before belatedly realizing that the name on the screen is Clara. Oh shit. This is the one call I do not want to take.

“Aspen?” Clara’s voice calls out.

Argh. I raise the phone to my ear. “Hey, Clara.”

“Where have you been?” she demands. “I’ve been calling and calling.”

“I’m sorry, it’s been kind of crazy around here. The cops came by—”

“Yeah, they came here too.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say.

“Aspen—” Clara sniffles. Her voice shakes. “The things I’m hearing…they’re not true, are they? I mean, I know you and Mer weren’t exactly close the last few months, but you didn’t—you need to tell me the truth: Do you know anything?”

“How can you ask me that?” The hurt in my voice isn’t made-up. I am truly offended. Does she understand just how much I’ve done for them? That GoFundMe page is going to set her up for the rest of her miserable life. “You know how much I loved her.”

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