Page 1 of Real Forever
1
Madison
Madison sighedand picked at a small, dried splatter of pancake batter on the otherwise pristine white and gray marbled quartz countertop.
“Lauren, will you please tell me what the hell is going on? It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning and you’re already a sobbing mess. You’ve been like this for weeks now and I’m done pretending everything is fine with you. Seriously, what is wrong?”
Lauren stood at the kitchen sink with her back to Madison, staring out the window. The morning light shone orange and yellow through the wicker blinds and the scent of fresh coffee and warm cinnamon buns wafted through the air. Madison couldn’t see her face, but she could hear the sniffles and see the jostling rise and fall of her sister’s shoulders from her perch on her stool at the large kitchen island.
Lauren turned to face Madison, her eyes on the plush Moroccan-style area rug at her feet. “I’m in trouble, Mads,” she whispered. “A lot of trouble. And I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get myself out of it. I’m humiliated, and scared, and I feel like a complete failure.”
Madison tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “Jesus, Lauren. It can’t be that bad. What kind of trouble?”
“My leggings aren’t selling anymore, Mads. For the last five or six months, the shipments I’ve been getting have been shit. The patterns are trash and the quality is horrible. Everyone is complaining and head office won’t let me return any of them. I’ve tried going through the refund request process like seven times now and they’ve denied me every time.”
Lauren had been a superstar seller of NorAsana leggings for close to two years. She was one of the first women to join the popular brand in their small town in the middle of the Canadian prairies, and the local moms crowned Lauren Facebook famous for her legendary weekly Facebook Live events. Every Thursday night, Lauren would go live on Facebook with a glass of sangria and a new shipment of NorAsana. She’d chat with her customers and sell the entire shipment of leggings one pair at a time to the first person to comment “#MINE.” Six months ago, she had been making up to five thousand dollars in sales in a single two-hour live Facebook session.
But the real money was coming in from her team. Over the two years Lauren had been a #NorAsanaBabe, she had recruited thirty women to her team. Those women had signed up a further hundred and twenty under them. Lauren got a sign-up bonus and commissions from each of these women and the one time Madison had snuck a peek at her sister’s monthly check it was over twenty-three thousand dollars.
Seriously. From fucking leggings.
“Well, I don’t get why it’s such a big deal? They’ll sell eventually, right? And I thought you were making most of your money from the girls under you, anyway?”
Lauren let out a pained scoff, something halfway between a sob and a chuckle.
“Everyone has been leaving, Mads. Nobody can sell anything anymore and they’re all pissed off at NorAsana and pissed off at me. Like, there’s nothing I can do to help—I’m in the same boat. But they don’t care. Which,” Lauren paused for a moment, choosing her words, “which I get. Why should they care? I’m the one who signed them up for this shit show, so maybe I deserve the blame.” She winced and hugged her arms across her body.
Madison had heard the frustrated comments her sister would sometimes let slip and sensed the tension when new shipments of product arrived. But she had no idea how bad it was.
“Okay, okay. I get it. It’s bad. So, let’s make a plan.” Madison clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we throw a big party at the house like we used to when you were starting up? Like a fun wine and cheese thing? Invite everyone over and get whatever you’ve got left sold?” She was sure the idea would cheer Lauren up—she loved hostessing.
Lauren gave her sister a half smile. “Mads, I know you’re trying to help, but I’m way past the point of digging my way out of this with a wine and cheese night. Between the boxes of leggings sitting in the garage, the cost of all the Facebook ads, and the fees for the last conference cruise in February… I don’t know how I can ever dig out of this.”
“Well, how much are we talking, Lauren?”
Lauren didn’t answer. Instead, she lowered her head and teared up again.
“Lauren, how much do you owe?”
“Sixty-eight thousand dollars,” came Lauren’s whispered admission.
Madison’s mouth fell open, and she stared at Lauren. “Sixty-eight thousand? What the fuck, Lauren? How the hell did this happen? Does Dave know?”
Lauren’s eyes shot back to Madison in a flash. “No. He doesn’t, and he’d lose his mind if he ever found out. I cannot let him find out, Madison. Promise me you will keep this a secret. No one can find out about this. Seriously, Mads. Please, promise me.”
“I promise. Of course, I promise, Laur. No matter what, I have your back.”
Madison stood up and walked around the island to her sister. She rubbed Lauren’s back with big, slow circles. “Hey, listen. We’re going to figure this out. It’s going to be okay. I promise, it’s going to be okay. Remember what Dad always said?”
“It’s better than a kick in the ass with a frozen moccasin?”
The sisters grinned at each other.
“Exactly.” Madison pulled Lauren into a hug. She held her while her sister cried for a few more minutes before taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Lauren dipped her head over onto Madison’s shoulder. “I’ve got an appointment with this debt guy in Silver Creek tomorrow afternoon. Will you come with me? Please? I’m so goddamn nervous and stressed and I’ll probably go in there and start crying and make an idiot of myself. I need you for moral support.”
“Of course,” Madison said. “No problem. I’ll talk to Agatha later and see if someone can cover for me.”
