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“Yeah,” I mutter. “I don’t know. But hopefully the donations from the GoFundMe will help them get through this.”
“Oh my god, yeah, the GoFundMe. I checked it just now and…” Ben shakes his head. “It’s at over a million dollars.”
“What?” I’m shocked speechless. There are no words. Only yesterday it had been at under $100,000.
“Yeah. When news about Meredith being dead broke, people just started donating like crazy,” Ben says. “You should be proud of yourself, Aspen. You did this. You made sure to take care of them. Mer would be smiling down at you right now.”
A shrill, choked laugh burbles out of me, and I bite my tongue to stop myself. Mer would definitely not be smiling down at me right now.
The front door opens then, and Liv rushes in with Rain in her arms.
“Oh my god, Aspen!” she screams. “Aspen, are you okay?”
“Uh, can you keep it down?” Ben says. “Sab’s napping.”
“Oh. Yes, sorry.”
Despite everything, I catch the way they look at each other—guilt and shame and attraction entangled in their gazes—and my insides boil once again. I had forgotten, in the whirlwind of everything, that Ben and Liv had a thing as well. I’m not sure how farthey went; I only saw them kissing at the open house. Have they gone all the way? After how attentive Ben has been the past week or so, I wanted to believe that our marriage was healing. But now, here is a reminder that, underneath it all, there are still festering sores, open and suppurating.
“Are you okay?” Liv says, sitting down next to me. Rain paws at my mug, and I pull it out of reach just in time.
“I—no. I mean, how can I be okay right now?” I say, and I hate how accusatory I sound. I can’t afford to lash out at anyone right now.
“Oh god, of course. I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess, too, oh my god. I’ve been crying the whole day.” Liv is frantic, her face tearstained. Why does she care so much? She barely even knew Meredith. But this is LA, isn’t it? The land of over-the-top emotions. When it comes to emoting here, you’ve got to go big and fake, or go home. I want to scream at her to shut up, but then I realize: This is it. This is exactly what I need. Liv is showing me the blueprint of how Meredith’s friends would be reacting. All I need to do is mirror Liv and dial it up a few notches, and I’m golden.
“Let’s do a video,” I say.
“What?” Ben says, and when I turn to look at him, his face is twisted into shocked revulsion.
“I need to release a video,” I say, as calmly as I can. “I can’t just stay silent, Ben. She was my best friend.”
“She was your best friend,” Ben hisses, “which is why you shouldn’t be using this to get views.”
“I’m not doing this to get views!” I cry. “How can you even think that?”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Because—” I gesture wildly. “She was my best friend.” We’re going round in circles, and I know it. But how can he not understand why I need to post a video about this? Shouldn’t it be obvious?
“Forget it,” Ben mutters. His upper lip curls into a sneer. “I thought maybe this time you’d put something else first. Your family, your friendship, or, hell, your mental health, even. But of course, nothing can come before our lord and savior, TikTok.” With that, he marches out of the living room, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence that’s only broken up by Rain’s little coos and gurgles.
Liv clears her throat. “Um. I’m just going to put Rain down in the playpen.” She rushes off, and I try my best to calm myself down.
Fucking Ben. He’s been so nice the past few days that I forgot how vile he could be. How contemptuous and belittling. When Liv comes back, I look at her with desperation. “He’s not—he doesn’t—he’s wrong. Right? I need to post a reaction video.”
Liv nods, frowning at me with sympathy. “Yeah, I don’t think Ben gets it. I mean, how weird would it look if you just all of a sudden went silent? You can’t not post about this.”
“Exactly!” I cry. I take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Yeah? Okay.”
Before Liv, I would’ve written down a whole speech and rehearsed it several times before I even started recording. And I would’ve recorded multiple takes, until my voice was hoarse—until I got everything down perfectly, down to every little detail. Thanks to Liv, I’ve since learned that, sometimes, it’s best to shoot in the moment, when the emotions are raw and the words come as a surprise, even to my own ears.
Liv holds up her phone and adjusts the angle so we both look even skinnier, then she hits Record.
“Hey, everyone,” she says quietly. “You’ve all heard the news. Meredith is dead.”
I utter a choked sob, and Liv points the screen toward me. “Sorry,” I moan, and I take the memory of all that pain and anger I have, most of it aimed at Ben, and I let myself break on camera. “I can’t believe it. My best friend—my soulmate—she’s gone. Some sick asshole killed her, and I—I can’t. I can’t, I’m sorry.” I bury my face in my hands and let the bone-shaking sobs wrench through my whole body.