Page 64 of You Will Never Be Me

“Well…” He drinks the rest of the beer and sets the empty bottle next to the chopping board. “Sabine woke up at aroundfour, maybe five in the morning. Her diaper was full. I had to go in and change it. And you weren’t there.”

Chop, chop, chop. As long as I keep chopping, everything will be okay.

“I thought about confronting you. I assumed you were sleeping with some other guy. Might as well; it’s not like we ever do anything in bed with each other.” He takes out another beer. “But now I’m starting to wonder. Maybe it wasn’t another guy. Because the timing with Meredith’s death…it’s all a bit too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

I straighten up and face him, fixing him with a cutting glare. “If you’re accusing me of murder, Ben, I think our marriage is well and truly done.”

He wavers a little, but stands his ground. “So where were you that night?”

It’s time for my trump card. “How come you never told me that you saw Meredith at your open house?”

His mouth drops open, and I wonder at how utterly stupid he looks right now. How ugly and stupid and hateful. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Maybe you were the last one who saw Meredith alive.”

Ben takes a step back as though I’ve just hit him. “Do not go down this path, Aspen. I’m not fucking around.”

I stare at him just a moment longer before turning back to the cutting board. For a few excruciating moments, neither of us speaks. Then I say, neutrally, “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour.”

Ben turns and strides out of the kitchen without another word.

I’m scared that dinner will be a silent, awkward affair, the tension between me and Ben painfully visible. Elea and Noemie are old enough now to sense when we’re fighting, and the last thing the girls need is an unstable home. But then I hear the front door open and close, and a minute later, Ben’s car starts up and drives away, and I breathe a sigh of relief even as anger stirs in my chest. He’s just left without even telling me. But then again, good riddance. I find myself half hoping that he’ll get into a car crash. Then, of course, I feel awful for even thinking that. What kind of monster wishes for her husband to die? The kind that is being cornered by said husband.

I push the hideous thoughts away. After putting the squash and bell peppers in the oven, I finally pick up my phone and open TikTok. The video I posted less than an hour ago already has nine hundred thousand views and two hundred thousand Likes. With no small amount of trepidation, I tap on the comments.

LightYurr: This is the realest thing I’ve seen today. Love U, Aspen!!!

Elleies: GUYS IM CRYING THIS GOT ME IN THE FEELS

Seeweed10: Srsly it’s impossible to keep up with all these momfluencers, I wish more ppl would be this real

Tears sting my eyes. Oh my god. Could Helena be right? That this was all I had to do to get people on my side? That in the end, what might save me is showing them the real me? I check Instagram, and the responses are just as good as the ones on TikTok. There are a few haters here and there, but they are drowned by allof the heartfelt comments from moms gushing about how I’m keeping it real.

While waiting for the vegetables to roast, I scroll through my old videos, trying to find one that’s authentic without being too damning. I reject many of them before finally finding one. It’s of me cleaning the house. If someone had said to me ten years ago that videos of people cleaning their own houses would be a huge thing, I wouldn’t have believed them. But they are, and so here I am, recording myself cleaning up. But the thing is, while I do it, I’m also bitching about how much mess there is in the house. How nobody ever helps me tidy up. The twins are forever leaving their toys everywhere, and Ben’s shit is all over every available surface. Multiple times throughout the real video, I slump in a chair, exhausted, and bury my face in my hands.

In the edited video, I fast-forwarded the original footage by a multiple of eight, cut out all the depressing parts, and replaced the audio with relaxing classical music. The result is a one-minute-long video that is both therapeutic and satisfying to watch. The house starts out untidy, the house ends up beautifully clean, and the viewer doesn’t even have to lift a finger.

I stitch the edited video with the original video and add a voice-over of me narrating. “Here is a video I posted a while ago of me cleaning my house. It looks quick and fun and relaxing. Here is the real footage of me cleaning my house. It wasn’t quick, or fun, and it definitely wasn’t relaxing. As you can see, I lost hope various times. I sat down and thought about giving up. I cursed a lot. I cried. I resented my family for not helping me. And you might be wondering why they don’t help me. The answer is: they think it’s my job. Because my career is a lifestyle brand, and so they think keeping a beautiful home is part of my career. I don’tknow, I mean, obviously that’s bullshit, and I could probably force them into helping me if I really wanted to, but I just wanted the house to be clean, you know? So yeah. And, to be honest with y’all, I thought that this way I would be able to clean the way I want to clean. And get a video out of it. But it’s so tiring to keep this up for social media. I want you all to know that your houses don’t have to be pristine. Mine is rarely pristine. This is the real me. Later, you guys.”

I send the video to Helena, and as I’m taking the vegetables out of the oven, she replies: “Genius!” Smiling, I post the video, then blend the vegetables up into a creamy soup.

Dinner without Ben is actually a relief. Elea and Noemie are beautifully behaved, and Sabine loves dipping her ciabatta into the soup and smearing it all over her face. My phone is facedown as per our no-gadgets-at-the-table rule, but my watch is silently buzzing nonstop as Likes and positive comments pour in. I take a peek at my watch once in a while, and my god, how adoring the comments are. The watch only shows snippets of them, but they are glowing.

My husband never helps me with…

No but why is this so relatable…

Ok this one got me crying, you…

After we finish eating, I give Sabine a bath. The twins shower, and I help dry them and get them changed into their pajamas. Sabine gets a warm bottle and falls asleep before I even put her in her crib. Then I go into Elea and Noemie’s room to tell them abedtime story. I snuggle into Elea’s bed, and Noemie joins us, one twin on each side of me.

“My favorite sandwich,” I say.

“Oh, Mommy.” Elea rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and I never want this moment to end.

“Is Daddy going to be okay?” Noemie says. “He seems so…mean all the time.”

That makes me want to cry. And hit Ben and scream at him. “He’ll be fine. It’s just been a tough time for everyone.”

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