The setback, p.24
The Setback, page 24
It did get me new followers. I was right about that.
The article they published actually said a lot of things about me and my Instagram account, and lots of people looked me up as a result. The problem is that the reporter also said quite a few critical things. Unfortunately, they happened to be mostly true. Although some people defended me and attacked him, what he said still hurt.
Even now, I can still recite several of the lines by heart.
“If you’re the type of person who values form over substance, if you like to lick the frosting off the cake and throw the only part with any nutritional value in the trash, you might love Amanda Brooks’ Instagram account, Champagne for Less.”
He used my account to highlight everything frivolous and absurd about social media, using discount shoppers who nevertheless want designer goods as his most striking example.
“In a society where we mistakenly value wealth and extravagance, some people make a living showing wannabes how to achieve their shallow dreams without entirely breaking their rapidly diminishing bank accounts.”
Sure, some of the things he said were inspired by my silliness or excess, but mostly it was a setup from the start. After that, I learned pretty quickly to develop a thick skin. Several thousand new fans followed my page after the release of his article, which was a net gain, but the cost was extra haters. It’s like anything on social media, or really anything to do with notoriety. It always cuts both ways. As you gain recognition and as your fan base grows, so too do your detractors.
One of the best things about my new job working with Mandy is that, unless I decide I want to take on a project, I’m free to do as little or as much with my Instagram account as I choose these days. I no longer rely on it to feed my girls or to buy extravagant things, like clothing and shoes, that I don’t need.
Ultimately, Eddy and I decided not to announce that we weren’t getting married. We figured that we could announce it on the day of our wedding and still share photos of my dear friend’s wedding instead. That way, the people who provided us wedding items would receive the maximum amount of buzz about the stuff they provided and hopefully not be upset.
Eddy was remarkably unfazed when I told him about the wedding. “I thought you might do something like that.” He shrugged. “You looked more and more stressed and less and less excited. The last thing I wanted was for any of this to make you miserable.”
We both spent about thirty minutes copying and pasting text messages to our family and friends who lived out of town, and it was all over pretty painlessly. Even the girls were unsurprised.
“About time,” Maren said. “All the details were getting, like, super annoying.”
“But you’re still getting married, right?” Emery asked.
“Probably in the next month or so,” I said.
“We just didn’t realize that we wanted a very small, very quiet wedding until we got down the path.” Eddy shrugged. “It was starting to ruin the whole thing, with all the details and people and opinions.”
“And the puppies,” Emery said.
The puppies have actually been my salvation. They look a little bit like sea turtles when they use their floppy legs to schlep their way toward their mom when they’re hungry or cold. Nine little puppies, all but two of which look almost just like Roscoe. Those border collie genes are strong.
Eddy has handled the hard part, sleeping next to the whelping box and listening so that when one can’t find a place to eat, he can help it latch.
The most surprising part to me is how involved Roscoe has been. I didn’t think he’d be allowed to stick around, but he stays in the room with the puppies night and day, leaving only to go to the bathroom. He hasn’t done a lot with them, but he watches over them and he keeps bringing food to Snuggles, as if she can’t just hop out and eat from her normal dog food bowl.
The first day, he brought a bird—how he killed it, I don’t know. He’s never done it before. I didn’t even notice he was holding it in his mouth when he came in. Eddy couldn’t stop laughing because Snuggles ate it, making a tremendous mess in the corner of his bedroom.
Thankfully, Snuggles has been fine with me, the girls, and Eddy doing most anything around her and with the puppies. Emery has practically set up camp in here.
It’s helped my empathetic little one to play with them. She was the only one who was really devastated about my mom leaving. Poor, sweet Emery didn’t even see my mom’s abandonment as a possibility. She’s so young that she’d barely spent an hour with Mom before this trip, and she didn’t really understand the history of abandonment Mom has.
I’m actually holding a sleeping puppy when Mandy bursts through the door.
“Shh.” I lift my hands to show her why I’m shushing her.
“Cute,” she says. “But maybe pass that one off to Mom and follow me outside.”
That’s strange. Usually Mandy, who likes the puppies but misses having us at her place, would grab a puppy too and plop down next to me. Something must be wrong.
Is it Abby?
I left my phone in the kitchen, so I wouldn’t have heard any calls. The puppy wakes up when I set her inside the whelping box, but Snuggles is on the job immediately, licking her and guiding her to a snack so she can go back to sleep.
I practically sprint out of the room. “What’s wrong?”
Mandy cringes a little.
“Is Abby alright?”
“Amanda Brooks, you have grown up.”
“Excuse me?” I look around the kitchen, but no one else is here. “Are you talking to me or about me?”
Mandy cackles. “When you got here, your first question in this circumstance wouldn’t have been about Abby.”
“I wouldn’t have been sitting in Eddy’s room holding a puppy, either,” I say. “But if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I might still explode.”
She inhales slowly and then sits down.
That’s not good.
“The girls are fine?”
Mandy shrugs. “Sure, but you should do a google search on yourself.”
That doesn’t sound good. I whip out my phone and type in my own name, my hands trembling as I do. A dozen stories pop up, as well as one video. I force myself to click on the video.
It’s an interview.
With my mom.
“So you’re the mother of Amanda Brooks,” the talk show host is asking. “The mastermind behind Champagne for Less, and the fiancée of Eddy Dutton, a rock singer who’s just experienced a huge revival.”
My mom beams. “Yep, that’s my little girl.”
Oh, no. This is not good at all.
I pause it. “Can you just tell me what she says?” If I watch it, I’ll never be able to forget any of it.
Mandy’s eyes are sad. “She basically says that you and Eddy have called off the wedding, and then she gives. . .reasons.”
I close my eyes and try to stay calm. “Why would she do that?”
But as I ask the question, I realize she must have been paid to do it. That must be why they came in the first place, so they could sell the inside scoop on the wedding. I flip open a new tab, and sure enough, the articles have loads of photos. Several of them even have video clips of me shouting, presumably at Eddy. The stories she gave them do not paint an attractive picture of me.
They also supposedly act as evidence that Eddy’s an abusive alcoholic.
I mean, he is an addict, but he’s also been sober for a long time. The yelling from that one video of him came from the vet visit he took my dad along on. He was yelling at a cow that kept stepping on his foot. He was pretty sure it was intentional.
It must have required some really clever editing to get it into the shape it’s now in. I wonder who Mom paid to do that.
“She really tricked me this time,” I say. “When she refused the money I offered.” I whistle. “I’m so stupid.” I let her live with me, and I let her and Dad and my brothers come over and work around the yard, while all of them were snapping photos and making up stories.
“You don’t look very surprised,” Mandy says.
“I’ve been a little light on details about my past,” I say. “Let’s just say that this isn’t very surprising. Actually, the biggest shock is that she was creative enough to think of this.”
“She did mention that she watched your engagement on YouTube,” Mandy says. “Maybe that gave her the idea.”
“Or someone could have reached out to her, I suppose.” That’s probably more likely. Mom wasn’t ever much of a self-starter. She wouldn’t have the first idea of who to call, and she wouldn’t have been likely to know what people might pay, either.
I hope she got a lot. She’ll need those thirty pieces of silver the next time she has an issue, because she’s never getting another red cent from me.
“I’m assuming Eddy doesn’t know?” I ask.
Mandy shrugs. “Haven’t seen him, but I saw this as soon as I opened my laptop this morning.”
Of course she did.
“He’ll hear about it soon. I imagine his manager’s not going to be pleased.” I stand up, cross the room to the mirror in the hall, and then I smooth my hair down with my hands. It’s very obvious that I’ve been spending too much time with puppies and not enough time outside of Eddy’s house.
“You look fine.” Mandy stands too. “You should go find that boy.”
I hug her. “Thank you.”
“You’d have seen it soon enough yourself.”
“Thanks for coming to me when you saw,” I say. “And for helping me find a job that doesn’t rely on the popularity of my social media accounts.” My heart swells. “This isn’t a nice surprise, but it would have wrecked me a year ago. Now, I have the luxury of trying not to care.”
Mandy nods. “Not only that. I’m proud of you, girl.”
“Proud?” I frown. “Because none of what she said is true?”
She shakes her head. “That’s a given. I’m proud of you because you let her in enough to hurt you like that.”
That makes me bawl. “I was an idiot. I should’ve known.”
She pulls me tighter against her. “No, you were brave. You’ve been hurt before, many times, and instead of shutting her out, you’re healthy enough to invite her in. Her nastiness isn’t your fault. It’s not on you. You’re strong now, and you know your worth.”
I realize that what she’s saying is true, but it’s because of her, of Abby, and because of Eddy. “I have people who love me. That’s why I could let her come stay. That’s why I’m fine.”
Mandy smiles. “You do have people who love you, and you know none of the stuff she said matters.” She taps my phone. “So don’t let it wreck your day. You hear me?”
I wipe at the tears on my cheeks, and I point at the door. “I’m gonna go find Eddy.”
She swats my backside as I leave. She’s a very strange old lady.
Eddy’s bent over a horse’s hoof when I finally find him. His sister was spot on, as usual. My irritation that he was almost forty miles away is more than offset by the fact that he doesn’t look upset, which means he doesn’t know yet. At least I’ll be here to hug him if he’s hurt by it.
I mean, he for sure will be, right?
Just another bad thing in our lives that’s my fault.
“Sore hoof?”
Eddy drops the Clydesdale’s hoof. “White line, sadly.”
“That’s bad?”
He nods. “But we have some great treatments.” I wait while he explains the options to the draft horse’s owner, a nice lady named Linda. None of the options sound very good to me, but thankfully, I’m not a draft horse with a sore hoof.
I zip up my coat, and while I wait, I can’t help scanning a few more articles on my phone. Mom and Dad sure were busy. I wonder how much money they made. Will they try to contact me? Or will they realize that bridge is now entirely and completely burned?
“You alright?” Eddy’s eyes are full of concern when he finally walks toward me.
I shrug. “I’m sure you haven’t heard yet, but my parents—”
“You saw?” His lips purse. “Sorry about that. I thought with the puppies, you might not be checking.”
My jaw drops.
“I knew I ought to tell you, but you looked too peaceful and happy this morning.”
“Eddy, did you read what they said about you? It’s absolutely horrible.” For the first time, I think to check his social.
I absolutely adore Amanda Brooks, who will soon become Amanda Dutton. We’ve postponed our wedding for a short time due to both family emergency and holiday stress, but very soon we’ll share photos. Anything else you hear or read is a tall tale.
A tall tale. It’s so very Eddy.
He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You told me we should get rid of them. I encouraged you to let them stay. I’m so sorry.”
“Is your manager furious?”
Eddy shakes his head. “All press is good press, remember? They’ve just released a statement saying that your mother and you aren’t close and that while she took some photos and videos, they were taken out of context and don’t reflect our reality.”
I open my mouth, and then I close it again.
“Are you upset? I should have told you about it earlier, and then we could have had a call with them together.”
I shake my head. “No, you did great. I’m actually surprised you’re not angrier.”
“Oh, if your mom was still here. . .” He chuckles. “I’m just not ticked at you.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
“I have a suggestion.”
“Okay.” I straighten so I can see his face. “You sound worried about it.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I know you still make money from the Insta posts and your blog, but. . .”
“But what?”
“I know you spent years building all of that, and I’m not saying it’s not impressive. I know it is, but it doesn’t seem to bring you joy lately.”
I can’t argue with him about that. It used to be fun. Then after that, it was my whole world. I relied on it. I obsessed over it. It was security and terror and inadequacy, all in the same place.
“But you have another job, and my vet practice is doing fine, and I’ve been making money off my music, too.”
“Okay.”
“We’re about to get married. I’d be happy to sign a prenup saying all my money is your money if that makes you feel better.” He grins. “But I think that maybe we should delete our social media accounts.”
“Have you run that idea past your manager?” I frown. “I doubt he’d sign off.”
“He was the first person I asked,” Eddy says. “When he was coming up with his statement, I realized he’s pretty good at that stuff. I asked if I could just hand my account off to him with a notice that it’s now run by my label.”
“Do you trust them to run it?”
He shrugs. “I don’t really care what they say. I mean, they can post videos on there that I send them from time to time. That’s the only thing I use it for. But then you and I could go off grid.”
“Off grid?” I lift my eyebrows. “Do I look like the kind of girl who lives without manicures and facials, much less electricity and running water?”
“I meant figuratively, obviously.” He ducks and kisses my nose. “You look like the kind of girl who can think things over and let me know.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. This has been a long time in coming. I’ve had countless heart-to-hearts with sponsors, telling them what they can and can’t dictate. I’ve had horrible ups and downs for years, and the media’s always pushing for information I don’t want to share. I hate it. You’re right.”
That night, after Eddy’s done working for the day, and after I’ve had the time to notify a few of my influencer friends, I gather my kids and Mandy and Eddy, and we all watch as I delete my Instagram account.
It’s terrifying, and it’s exhilarating.
Until I met Eddy and Abigail and Amanda Saddler, I’d never have felt safe enough to do something like this. But now that I have. . .
For the first time in years, I feel utterly free.
22
Helen
Christmas wasn’t very magical when I was a kid. Mom and Dad are academics, and as such, they had to explain that they didn’t believe in creation myths, or celebrating the birthday of a deity they didn’t believe in, but that culturally Christmas was significant, so when we were older, they let us get a tree, and they also bought us each a few presents.
If they mostly gave us things like sets of encyclopedias, protractors, and scientific calculators, well, they are who they are.
Every year, when people start putting up tinsel and trees and decorating with twinkle lights, I still hear Mom’s voice in my head mocking it. I hear Dad talking about how ridiculous it is that we celebrate an event that very likely didn’t even happen by buying things people neither want nor need.
“Even if there was a baby that was a god who was born, would he want us to be giving each other presents?” That’s what he’d say. Every year. As if we hadn’t heard it dozens of times.
The idea of celebrating Christmas always made me feel like. . .I don’t know. As if the act of celebrating it was evidence that I was a halfwit, a dupe, and a superstitious idiot. So when my friends had parties, I’d go and hear myself repeating the same things Dad and Mom had said to me. I didn’t really want them to be true, but no one ever could refute them, and I was more afraid of being a dupe than of being a scrooge.
Abigail being stuck in the hospital has given neither of us anything to do, and we’ve spent a lot of time talking about things. I still can’t believe she walked away from Mom and Dad and immediately started going to church.
“Without them sitting next to me, dissecting everything, church made me really happy,” she says. “You should try it sometime. You might find that it’s not as ridiculous as Mom and Dad said it was, if you give it a chance.”
