Page 19 of Unfiltered
She sat in the garage, remembering how she’d felt about the twelve hundred-square-foot home. It was her beautiful mansion—everything she’d always wanted, including a half-acre lot. She’d searched for every piece of furniture, art, and decorations, refusing to settle. It had taken her three years to finish, but each piece was perfect.
Every room had a theme. Others might deem the eclectic mixture chaotic, but not her. An astute observer would recognize the literary influences, but in her life, Madeline was the only one who got it. Her parents called it herhot-messhouse. She didn’tbother to correct them, letting them believe she’d just slammed it together. It was easier than seeing the blank looks on their faces while they couldn’t change the subject fast enough.
Abby finally pushed open her car door. She couldn’t remain outside all night. When she entered the kitchen, the familiar glass jars filled with herbs and dried flowers greeted her. Every time she stepped into her kitchen, it brought her joy, but the joy had dwindled. Not even the marble mortar and pestle it’d taken her a year to find could lift her spirits.
She plopped her bag onto the well-worn wooden table, which was the centerpiece of the kitchen. Since it wasn’t a large room, she’d had the island removed, just for this table, which explained why it was so well-worn. It served multiple purposes: a food prep area, a place to dine, and a gathering spot for friends.
She didn’t bother turning on any lights as she trudged to the guest bedroom that doubled as her office. The cozy room, which usually felt like a hug, seemed ridiculous tonight.
Why did she think she could manufacture an interesting life by creating pretentious rooms? It was what someone without an imagination did. She lived vicariously through others. She feared standing out, but here was her opportunity for something different.
For the past two days, Madeline had pushed her to throw caution to the wind, but she’d wanted to talk to Winnie first. Winnie’s Gen X, tell-it-like-it-is personality brought Abby comfort. Plus, she’d experienced what it was like to get more attention than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Wasn’t going viral supposed to make her feel bigger, more important? So why did it leave her feeling small and irrelevant? Probably, since it was a façade—a house of cards—that would crash down soon.
Reluctantly, she’d followed Madeline’s advice and made more videos. Some were popular like herSolitaryvideo, but others bombed.
Abby snorted.Yep, she’d become one of those people.Now her definition of bombed was if her video didn’t get twenty-five thousand likes. How outlandish since all her offerings beforeSolitary,three years worth,combined hadn’t garnered twenty-five thousand views, let alone likes.
But Blythe was right. When she was consistent putting out content, her followers grew, but it was so difficult to create something fresh and original.
She dropped into her desk chair and flipped open her laptop. She said a silent prayer, hoping to catch Winnie online.
Abby sent a message:Hi, Winnie. Do you have time to talk?
Sitting back in her chair, she stared at the screen, doing nothing but waiting for a response.
Three familiar dots danced on her screen, and her insides settled.
Winnie:Sure, kiddo. What’s up?
Abby:I need your advice.
Winnie:About?
Abby:Blythe.
Winnie:Oh. Your little charmer. But, damn, she is cute.
She couldn’t argue with that. The more she got to know Blythe, the cuter she became. Abby’s face heated, thinking of how many pictures of Blythe she had saved on her phone.
Abby:She’s adorable.
Winnie:So what advice do you need?
Abby:She invited me to Berwyn for the weekend. That’s where she lives.
Winnie:Remind me again how long you two have been talking.
Abby:A little over a month.
Winnie:Okay.
Abby waited for more, but the dots kept appearing and disappearing. She considered asking Winnie if something had happened, but she didn’t want to appear impatient, even if she was.
Winnie:Have you discussed the purpose of the visit?
Abby smiled, knowing that short sentence hadn’t taken Winnie this long to write. She suspected there was a lot of typing, deleting, and typing some more.
