The Bequest
Chapter 61—Amanda

Having lived in New York City for most of my adult life, I never thought much about time zones. I mean, sure, I knew that the West coast was a few hours behind, but it never impacted my day-to-day life. But waking up at 6:00 in the morning so I can get ready for a 9 a.m. conference call is brutal.

Of course, Abigail and her angel children are already awake, excepting Gabe.

"I'm going to be on an important call," I warn them.

"I'll stick around and make sure Gabe stays quiet," Whitney offers with a smile. I'm not even surprised that she volunteers. It's just what her kids do.

It's not that I've never heard them bicker. They fight and squabble and snap like everyone else. But as soon as their mother notices and quirks her eyebrow, or if they've gotten really out of hand, whips her head around, they start apologizing and backing off. The best thing about coming here, other than the help it provided in landing the Lololime contract, was the time Maren has spent watching siblings who are kind to each other. Emery has always wanted that kind of friendship with her and never had it. I've seen a little bit rub off, but we have a long way to go yet.

"Thanks," I say. "I'll let you know when I'm off."

"Great," Whitney says. "Then I'll head out and help feed the animals."

Of course she will. Her kids don't even drag their feet to avoid doing work. Well, maybe Gabe does. He is only a seven-year-old, but he basically does nothing other than play games, follow the bigger kids around, and whine. I'm sure mine were that bad at seven, but I've forgotten or blocked it. I sit down, the printed list in front of me, my laptop open. Roscoe circles me once and then curls up in a ball near my feet.

I keep expecting him to follow everyone else out the door-chase animals, race around like a dog should, but he only does that when I go outside. If I'm inside, so is he.

My phone rings. "Hello?"

"Amanda?"

"This is Amanda," I say.

"It's Victoria Davis, the Vice President in charge of Social Media with Lololime." As if I didn't already know she was calling today.

"I'm happy to hear from you and excited to be a part of the team."

"Thanks for executing the agreement. From here on out, you can expect my office to schedule a monthly meeting for about an hour at the beginning of each month to discuss our goals and your plans for achieving them." "Great. I look forward to it."

"I think Heather sent you the list of goals we put together for your account for July."

"She did," I say. "Although, I wanted to sort of clarify expectations." My heart picks up speed.

"I wholeheartedly agree. The best thing we can do on these calls is have you share your ideas for how to specifically boost the products we've assigned, and also how to improve your own brand and following, and then we can provide input on whether our visions align and tweak where necessary."

"Okay." Why does it feel like all the tweaking will be on my part? I suppose they are the ones paying me, so that's likely quite common.

"Heather tells me you plan to stay on the family ranch through the end of July. About four more weeks?"

"That's right. My daughter has a cheerleading camp at the beginning of August that lasts two weeks."

"The reason we sent you a list of products to focus on that include equal parts male and female items is that "

"Exactly what I wanted to address."

"We think it would be great if you shared images of your mysterious cowboy with a handful of Lolo pieces, worked in organically, of course. I think to keep the followers invested, you can promise that you'll reveal who he is and how you met at the end of the month. Then we can push all of the products in sequence-which will dovetail perfectly with the August release of our Fall lines."

"Here's the thing." I sigh.

"You're not really dating him."

What? Well. "Kind of."

She sighs. "Heather said she pressured you to replace a hot cowboy, and we were worried he might not really be suitable hence the sideways angles. Is he married?" "No." I splutter. "He"

"He's too young?"

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I think about Kevin and how I considered him. "No, he's about my age. But the thing-"

"Please tell me he's not related to you."

"He's not related to me," I say. "But he has a past that we would not want revealed on social media. It wouldn't reflect well on us or on the brand."

For once, she's deadly quiet. "As long as he's not a murderer," she says, "we can likely play off any flaws that were far in the past."

Not a murderer. It doesn't seem like a high bar, but...apparently for me it is. "So the thing is, he he hit someone with his car while he was high."

The groan she makes into the phone is not good.

"He was kind of a public figure, and the person he hit was a really bad person, a serial killer in fact, so his manager was able to make it all go away. But there's a decent chance of the media replaceing or remembering the history if he was revealed..."

"The media would not let it pass a second time."

"Doubtful."

Her sigh is forceful. "Alright, so much for that plan." She's tapping on something. "I assume you just found out?"

"Absolutely, less than two days ago."

"Because if you'd known when you signed the contract, that would be grounds for termination."

My heart gallops away.

"As it is, this is just the nature of being an influencer. You'll need to cut off contact with him immediately." She covers the phone, based on the muffle of sounds, and asks someone else a few questions. I wish I knew who it was, and whether it was related to me.

"Alright, we have a plan." She's back. "You'll immediately terminate contact with him, and you'll return to New York right away as well. That will help stave off any future speculation. From now on, you'll refer to him as your 'cowboy fling' or your 'mysterious cowboy.""

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Can she really dictate my life like this? I need to talk to Abby. "What products will I-"

"We have to reconfigure your July goals based on this new information." The line's muffled again, briefly. "Is there any chance you could start dating someone in New York? Quickly?" "I mean, I "

"It's okay. We'll get back to you." She hangs up.

"You look terribly upset," Abigail says. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine." Do not cry, Amanda. Do not cry! Of course, my eyeballs don't listen. Tears well up and then run down my face. Is there a more embarrassing way for your body to betray you? I think not.

"I've been 'fine' a lot lately." Abigail sits on a chair in the kitchen. "While you were on your call, Gabe and Whitney followed Emery and Maren outside. Apparently one of the cats just had kittens. They don't seem to be big on spaying and neutering around here." She leans her arms on the tabletop and says, "If you feel like telling me what's totally fine in your life right now, I'd be happy to listen. I'll even promise not to give a single speck of advice." She pretends to zip her lips. Instead of going away, my tears redouble, and on top of that, I start to hiccup. "This is so embarrassing."

"Something's only embarrassing if you care what people think." Abby smiles. "I'm taking your embarrassment as a compliment. But I should also explain that I've had more than my share of breakdowns in the past year. If something can make that type of thing more likely, it's high stakes situations and changes to your routine. Between your Lolo contract and the move to a cattle ranch, I'd say you've had plenty of both lately."

"Says the woman who lost her husband more recently and is working a maximum hours job with more kids than me."

Abigail kicks a chair, sliding it almost a foot toward me. Her kind and sweet and light tone is gone. "Sit down."

I obey without thinking.

"Now listen to me." Her entire expression has changed. "I've certainly listened to you enough in the past few weeks to know that you're an excellent mother, that you work hard at your job, and that you are under a great deal of stress. You're a bright woman, but you worry too much about things looking perfect. You need to worry more about the real state of things. And you need to stop, and I mean immediately stop comparing everything in your life to the lives of people around you. I think that's a hazard of social media in general, but when it's your job, I imagine the comparisons take on lives of their own. All that looking around and judging isn't helping you." She holds up her hand, with two fingers held up. "Two kids can be just as hard or harder than three depending on the time in their life and yours, the personalities involved, and the type of parent you are. As single moms, there is no value in criticizing one another, and there's no point in trying to figure out who has life harder."

I open my mouth, but she forges ahead.

"Never feel you don't have a right to complain or to struggle because someone else may have dealt with 'more.""

Her entire rant is perfect, and it only makes me sob harder.