The Bequest
Chapter 45—Amanda

I know they're considering six accounts for just two slots. I don't know exactly who my competition is, but I know I started out in dead last, and I know that we're all posting their content right now as we vie for the best engagement. I have come up with a decent list of seven accounts that could be my competition, and two of them are much, much, much larger than mine.

The more I read their feeds, the less I believe I even have a chance. One of them is a yoga instructor. She's always talking about crystals, and shakra, and chi, and she endorses candles and new age music, and a lot of things like yoga mats and incense. I've seen her do some big spreads for things as different as Voltaren for sore muscles, and oils that purport to fix everything. Other than a little inconsistency, her brand is good. She's a heavy lady who promotes healthy body image, so I can't even hope she fails.

Another top contender is a woman who has as many kids as Abby. She runs a personal weight loss coaching site and generally only pushes her own classes, a few protein powder and supplement items aside. I'm sure Lololime would fall all over themselves to pay her if she agreed to partner with them. What I replace the most obnoxious about her feed is how much time she spends saying that you should give yourself grace and not worry about the scale, all the while posting images of her rock-hard, six-pack abs and her flexed biceps. I mean, it's great she's telling people to chill, but when words and actions conflict, people believe actions.

I close my laptop. It's not healthy to sit around obsessing. The one great thing about having limited internet was that it made me spend less time worrying about likes and shares and follows and tags, and more time worrying about the real world. Now that the real world has caught up, I have trouble closing it down.

"Hey, Mom." Maren sits down at the table across from me, and miracle of miracles, she's already dressed and ready for the day. "I thought maybe I'd work on some of my cheers. I downloaded the videos, but I don't want to annoy anyone." "That's a great idea," I say. "You can do it in the family room or outside. I think Gabe and Emery and Whitney are outside with Izzy. There's no one you'll annoy."

"I don't really like all the animals," she says. "The chickens are kind of funny, and I don't mind the barn cats, but horses freak me out."

"That's alright."

"Is it?" She sighs. "It makes me feel a little broken, to be honest. Everyone else is out there riding, and petting, and shoveling poop, and I'm just thinking, why does everything have to be about animals here?"

I reach for her hand, but chicken out at the last minute. I slide her a plate with apple slices on it instead. "Not everyone likes the same things, and thank goodness, or the world would be a very boring place." "Ethan doesn't even want to go to college," she says. "Do you think that's dumb?"

I have to think this through carefully. "I think it's ill advised."

"What does that mean?"

I tap my lip. "If your cousin was not very bright, if he had limited options, I would encourage him to get right to work. I'd tell him to replace a career and start building it. But he's one of the smartest kids I've met, and the best time to get into a good college is right out of high school. If you wait, your options narrow."

"So he should go? Aunt Abby's right?"

"Your aunt is right an irritating amount of the time."

"Yeah."

"But there's also something to be said for people replaceing joy in the things that they actually like, and not in the things someone else wants for them."

"Like not animals, if that's not what they like."

"Exactly like that," I say. "Or in cheer, even if that's not something I really understand."

"I only like cheer because it's what the popular kids do," she says. "Sometimes I wonder if that's not a good reason."

"What's impressive is that you can identify and admit the real reason," I say. "That kind of honesty is rare." I'm delighted she's actually talking to me.

She eats a single apple slice and then she walks to the front door. She turns just before she ducks out. "Thanks, Mom."

Some days I feel like she's a complete stranger, but occasionally she'll reach out and remind me that she's still my little girl, somewhere down in there. "You're welcome. Anytime, darling. You know that." The door closes.

I'm scrolling through old photos of Maren and Emery like a crack addict who needs a fix when my phone starts buzzing to announce an incoming call. It's a Utah number. Who would have my number? The only person I can think of is Mrs. Saddler, but I saved her number in my phone. "Hello?"

"Mandy? Can I call you that?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Eddy." He sounds affronted by the fact that I didn't immediately recognize his voice. "Eddy Dutton."

"I don't know so many Eddys that I needed the last name. What's up?"

"Wanna grab lunch?"

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"It's barely ten a.m."

"When you wake up at five, it feels like lunchtime, believe me," he says. "We could call it brunch?"

"I don't know," I say. "Is that code for a cup of gas station coffee and a package of powdered sugar donuts? Or a cup of noodles, microwaved at the corner store? Because I'm trying to be positive about the town size, but-" "There's an actual restaurant I'd like to take you to," he says. "It's called the Gorge Reel and Grill, and right now, every order of tacos comes with a brownie."

"I'd be stupid to miss out on that," I say. "Should I meet you there?"

"Um, if it's a date, I think I ought to pick you up."

"Is it a date?"

"Let's review," he says. "I called you. Check."

"Okay."

"I'm picking you up."

"Check," I say.

"And I plan to wear something nicer than coveralls, even though I have some nasty stuff to do later to a pig."

I chuckle.

"I'll be paying for the meal, even if you don't get the free brownie."

"Oh, hey, then it is a date."

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"Wait," I say. "What should I wear?"

"Your finest overalls? A pair of rubber boots, in case we go wading for trout later."

"What in the world is wading-"

"Never mind," he says. "I went too far and outed myself as a real redneck. Hopefully you didn't know enough to notice."

After he hangs up, I panic a little. What do I wear? I don't own rubber boots. I certainly don't have any overalls. I'm sure he was kidding, but I don't want to look like an idiot at this restaurant. I imagine he actually eats there fairly often. I finally settle for a pair of jeans and a blousy blue top with daisies on the trim. It's about as country as I get. I throw on a pair of Lololime shoes in case there's a photo opportunity.

Almost the second I tie the laces, I hear the growl of a truck engine outside. I dash out there, stopping only long enough to tell Maren I'm running an errand in town. She frowns a bit, but waves as I get into Eddy's truck-it's actually a different car than the white SUV he drives as a vet.

I probably shouldn't have criticized Abby for not telling her kids about her date I'm actually going on a date and lying about where I'm headed.

"Oh, Amanda." He shakes his head. "I hate to tell you this, but those are not overalls, and your shoes are definitely not made of rubber." "What was the head shake for?"

"I'm having trouble deciding what to call you," he says. "Mandy felt wrong, like you were my little niece or something, but Amanda sounds too formal." "It's Mrs. Brooks to you, seeing as I'm a client. Don't you think?"

"Ouch." He winces. "You're kind of mean."

"Honest and mean aren't the same. I figured the date thing was a joke, and that you take all your valued clients out for food on Free Brownie Wednesdays."

His hand reaches over the console and wraps around mine. I hadn't realized how large it was, or quite how rough. It makes my hand look practically dainty by comparison. And something happens that has never happened to me before. The same butterfly-in-the-stomach feeling I always get when I'm watching a romantic comedy, or a really good romance-it happens.

To me.