The Bequest

I can barely make sense of what she's saying. Since Paul died, I've done everything I can to make money for our family. I couldn't even contemplate going back home to live, so I spent hours on ideas, and even longer preparing cute photos and scouring the internet for things to post that would build my particular brand. I pored over contracts that made no sense, and I connected with other people who did the same thing as me. But in all that time, I can't even think of an instance when I belittled or hurt another human being, especially not on purpose.

Normally we'd take the subway, but I'm too tired to deal with it and I hail a cab. Emery curls against my side on the trip home, and Maren presses her nose to the glass. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with two such opposite daughters. Other times, I wonder whether it's my fault. After all, Paul was nothing like me.

He crushed people in the business world on the regular, and he enjoyed doing it.

I actually really admired that about him. He went out into the world and he slayed whatever dragons, financial or otherwise, threatened us. It was one of the only things I still liked about him after the first year or so we were married. I suppose Maren's actions could be likened to Paul's. Am I holding her to a double standard because she's a girl?

It's times like these that I desperately miss having someone else pulling on my team. Paul didn't listen very well or very consistently, but when I cornered him he gave me opinions. It was something. I'm tired of being utterly alone.

But is my only alternative really someone like sleazy, passive-aggressive Roger? Blech.

When we get home, I expect that the girls will quietly do their homework and get ready for bed. After all, they must surely be as drained as I am. I'm digging through poor Emery's social media, discovering it might even be worse than I thought, when Maren taps on the door to my bedroom.

"Yeah?"

"Can I have my phone back yet? I'm really sorry I was so mean. I clearly got carried away. From now on, I promise that I'll be more careful about what I say."

It feels like she found some kind of template for an apology online and is regurgitating the words back to me. "No." I set Emery's phone down and lean back in my bed, reclining against the ten carefully arranged throw pillows. "I told you. I'm not sure I'll be returning it."

"You've got to be kidding me right now." The simultaneous eye roll and dramatic sigh is actually fairly impressive. If there was an award for successfully expressing utter disgust, she'd be waving it in my face right now.

"I'm not making a joke." I sit up straight, having had a stroke of inspiration. "In fact, I should warn you. I found out today that your father's uncle, Jedediah, who lived in the literal middle of nowhere, died not long ago."

She blinks. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Her attitude is appalling-someone died. Granted, he's not someone she knows, but how can she be so rude about someone's death? And possibly more concerning, how did I not notice she was this awful before now? "If you could be polite for long enough, I'd explain." I wait.

Her shoulders finally droop.

It's not much, but I'll take it. "A lawyer called to let us know that your great uncle left his cattle ranch to the two of you in his will."

Her eyes widen. "Is something like that worth a lot of money?"

I can't fault her for wondering I had the same question. "I'm not sure, but probably."

"That's amazing! Why didn't you tell us that before?"

"Tell us what?" Emery's standing in the doorway, her hand wrapped around a toothbrush, toothpaste dripping down her chin.

"Dad's uncle left us his cattle ranch on the Utah-Wyoming border...but we can't just sell it. We only get the ranch if we move there and work it for a full year."

"That's so cool!" Emery says.

"Oh my G-"

"Don't say that," I snap. "Obviously I told him that we won't be moving there."

Emery's face falls, her toothbrush sliding out of her mouth, a shoestring of white slobber following it.

"Don't give me a heart attack like that again," Maren says. "Geez, Mom."

"I might go there if you can't fix your attitude. Maybe a year of forced isolation and manual labor is exactly what you need." I arch one eyebrow in a way I hope is imperious.

Maren looks like a runway model trying to calculate the tip on a check, so I'm guessing I succeeded.

"I probably don't get a vote," Emery says softly, "but if I did, I'd say yes."

My heart contracts a bit. Of course she would. If you were being attacked by wolves, you'd run literally anywhere to get away, even the badlands. "Darling, we'll fix this. I promise."

She jams her toothbrush back into her mouth, wipes her slobbery hand on her Hello Kitty pajama pants, and shuffles back down the hall.

I really hope I didn't just lie to her. It's awfully hard to 'fix' people being mean to someone. Their habits and their opinions don't change overnight. I remind myself that she's got adorable and expensive clothing, a brilliant mind, and a stunningly beautiful face, even during what is typically an awkward phase in adolescence. I'm sure everything will be fine.

Or I really, really hope it will, anyway.

The next week feels like a mad dash, between researching methods to stop cyber-bullying, defending Maren's phone from Maren's very demanding self, and thinking up clever and hopefully multi-dimensional posts each day for my insta account.

I'm surprised when I get a text from Abigail.

-DID YOU HEAR FROM THE LAWYER?

It's ironic that she's texting, since the paperwork from Mr. Swift is right in front of me. I even signed it already. It'll go out with tomorrow's mail. -I DID.

-ARE YOU PASSING?

-OF COURSE, I text back. LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE? DEFINITELY NOT.

She responds with five laughing emojis. I always forget how many emojis she uses. She's not a laid back person, but she texts like a teenage girl.

Of course she doesn't ask how the girls are doing, so I don't volunteer. I'm contemplating whether I ought to tell her that Maren's doing cheer and Emery made team for gymnastics when my phone rings. I nearly drop it.

It's Heather, from Lololime. I swipe immediately and then wonder whether I ought to have let it ring once or twice. Does answering this fast seem desperate? "Hello?"

"Amanda?"

"Yes, it's me."

"I'm glad I caught you. We had a management team meeting today, and I had some notes I wanted to share." My stomach clenches hard.

Of course, Emery and Maren choose this moment to burst into my room. I throw my hand up in the air with my fingers splayed. I mouth the word, "Lololime!" Maren freezes and beams, throwing me thumbs ups. She does not, however, leave the room. Neither does Emery.

I try to ignore them so I can focus.

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"Okay."

"The burgers were cute too, and a little closer to what I was trying to say, but it still felt like. . .I don't know. Almost like, if Kim Kardashian was trying to slum." What does that even mean?

"Your image is so perfect, so untouchable, that while a lot of people like to watch your feed, I think it's hurting your interaction and engagement."

She means my sales. "But people have been buying "

"Yes, I'm sure sales on hair extensions and face cream have been stellar, but our product is different."

It feels like the world's caving in around me. Hair extensions and face cream and boutique dresses and sandals do earn consistent money, but it's so exhausting always trying to coordinate everything without feeling like I'm doing infomercials. I was really looking forward to-no, if I'm being honest, I was desperate for a real job. A company I'd be a spokesperson for. It feels like she's calling to let me down easy.

The security I've longed for is slipping through my fingers, like it always does. Like when Paul died, and I found out our money was just-poof-gone.

"Did you tell her about the ranch yet?" Emery shouts. She's holding the paperwork and waving it at me like a red flag in front of a bull. "About how we'll be leaving New York and going to live on a cattle ranch?”

What in the world is she saying?

"What's that?" Heather asks. "Who was just talking?"

"Sorry, that's my twelve-year-old daughter. I'm sure you've seen her on my feed."

"Emery, right?" she asks.

"Right. Don't mind her kids. They're always yelling."

"Did she say you're moving to a cattle ranch?”

Why would she say that? She knows we aren't going. "Well, she did, but only because-"

"Are you serious? That sounds amazing! We have an entire Western wear inspired line we're planning on testing in the Midwest in the spring. I can't wait to show it to you. In fact, I think adding you to the product test might be an excellent way to see whether you'd be a good addition to our permanent team."

I can barely breathe. "You think what?"

"Oh, Amanda, you have no idea how exciting this is! I wish you'd mentioned it earlier. Were you worried I might think it's off brand for you?" Heather makes a hmm sound. "I mean, it is a pretty big departure from your typical posts, but it's a huge branch off for us, too, and I think it might be exactly what we both need." She makes a clicking sound with something-maybe a pen. "Let me talk to my boss. How soon will you be going to this ranch?"

"Um-" My voice cracks. Honest to goodness, I sound like a teenage boy. I clear my throat. "How soon did you need us there? My girls won't be done with school for a week and a half."

"If you flew out right after that, you could be doing themed posts in the next two weeks." She mutters into the phone. "We could delay the decision, especially if we could divert funds from the Howdy line." She pauses. "Yes, that would work great. Could you be there by the first week of June?"

I mean. Could I?

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Emery's bobbing her head. How much of my conversation can she hear? I need to turn my speaker volume down, clearly. "I think I could, sure."

"I still can't believe how well this worked out," Heather says. "I love your feed, but I was actually supposed to call you and tell you we had decided to go another direction. But now..."

My hands are shaking, I'm so agitated. She said they wouldn't decide for a month. Were my new posts that bad?

"This is an opposite world for you, and I think your followers are going to love it." She squeals. "Heck, I'm going to love it. Think how amazing you'd look in a cowboy hat. Or do they call them cowgirl hats? You should reach out and find some other vendors to make some money while you're testing for us. I mean, this could be really big."

I'm jotting down notes on the side of a to-go bag from the nearby deli. Cowboy hats. Western wear. Howdy line. Start new themes June 1.

"You could post about the scenery and the people, and think of all the activities you could do! You'll be experiencing something so different from your normal routine, and we'll all be invited to tag along without the hassle or the stress. Followers in big cities will be curious, and small town people will probably love seeing how you can brighten up the things they're surrounded by in their mundane, everyday lives."

I keep waiting for her to say she's kidding, that this is all a joke.

But she just keeps talking about ideas and themes and the audience it would attract.

When she finally hangs up, and the axe that was dangling over my head has been delayed, Emery says, "You're welcome."

I'm tired and overwhelmed and the gears in my brain are spinning a hundred miles an hour, but I'm truly grateful. "Thank you, Em. I have no idea how you knew she'd go for that, but...just, thank you." Maren holds out her hand. "How about you thank me by returning my phone, since now I'm stuck going to the sticks?"

It's been a week-that's probably long enough. I hand it over. After all, I have a lot of things to plan. I can't get all of it done with her nagging me incessantly. "But be nice. Have I been clear on that?" "Crystal," she says.

The second Maren leaves, Emery swoops in. "Did I hear that right? Are we actually moving?"

"Just a quick vacation for a week or so, darling. Don't stress."

The enormous smile that spreads across her face is the first genuine smile I've seen from her in weeks. "I can't believe it."

"Remember how happy you are right now when we're hot and surrounded by cow poop." I frown.

"It won't be that bad," Emery says. "Plus, I looked it up online. It's supposed to be really beautiful up there."

"We aren't going for the beauty," I say, "or for the animals or the clean air."

Emery tilts her head. "We aren't?"

This is probably a good learning opportunity. I imagine that if, on the off-chance he made it to heaven, Paul's up there right now listening to us, he'll be delighted that I'm sharing this principle with his child. "Your dad talked about a lot of things I didn't understand, but one thing I do remember him saying is that he always hedged his bets. That's how people with his job got the name 'hedge fund manager.' He would try and secure one investment, but set up another in case the first one failed." Emery's mouth is dangling open.

"That's what I'm doing right now-whatever I have to do to keep Lololime happy. And on the off chance that my plan falls apart, we'll be learning a little about another opportunity." Not that I really have any intention of running a ranch, but maybe we could sort of manage it a bit and let someone else do the work. "If I snag the Lololime account quickly while we're out there in bumpkin-ville, then we can all come home right away."

"So there's no chance that we'll work the ranch for a whole year? And stay?"

I imagine myself petting a cow on the head, and try to think of anything else I might need to do. Carry hay to them? Feed the babies out of bottles? I can't imagine very many people are less equipped to run a cattle ranch than I am. I shake my head. "It's very, very doubtful we will be there more than a week or two, but it can't hurt to learn more about the option."