Chapter 6 – Rhiannon
Two weeks later…
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I don’t know how it happened but somehow, I’ve become an influencer.
Okay, so I didn’t find instant fame. But in the two weeks since I hit submit on my first-ever video, something incredible has happened—I’ve gained ten thousand followers.
Ten thousand people are tuning in each week to hear me talk about how it’s okay if your life looks a little more grey than black and white.
I’ve posted ten videos so far, my voice taking center stage while my face stays carefully hidden behind the camera. Each clip is a mix of images that I’ve pieced together, never directly calling out that other brands posts, but offering alternatives that are much more affordable or completely free.
And as an “elder millennial” diving into the Gen Z playground of apps, I’m pretty damn proud of what I’ve accomplished.
I tab over to the family thrift store website and hit upload on the new photos Eden texted me last night.
It’s shots of the dresser and end table she and Gabriel restored last week, and they look phenomenal.
A beautiful, ocean color blue paint for the end table and the original wood but a darker varnish on the dresser.
They won’t cover our latest electric bill, if they sell at all, but at least it’s something.
Besides, I know how much those two love the quiet hours they spend together outside—Gabriel passing down the tricks our dad taught him about furniture building and restoration, and Eden soaking up the time with her big brother.
I set the prices and scroll through the rest of the listings that are aging.
Inventory hasn’t been moving the way it used to.
Maybe it’s the economic downturn, or maybe it’s just the reality of our business being in a small-town.
Brookhaven is a blue-collar hub where people don’t have as much to spare these days, especially not on refinished furniture.
Whatever the reason, fewer folks are buying, and it shows in the stack of pieces still sitting in the shop.
I fire off a quick text to my cousin Natasha, who works part-time as our operations manager at the shop, letting her know I’ll stop by soon to help rotate the floor inventory. Then I close the tab and click back over to my new social media page.
Madison and Matt aren’t necessarily wrong in their passion for educating people about the harmful chemicals and ingredients around us.
It’s possible that the dyes and additives in our food are making us sicker than previous generations.
But it’s their way of communicating that message that pushed me to offer a counter perspective.
The constant wave of fear-based messaging and the all-or-nothing tone around ‘purity’—it’s fostering something worrying: a rise in orthorexia, where people become obsessed with perfection in what they eat and how they live. It’s not realistic, and in my opinion, it isn’t mentally healthy either.
There’s a better way to educate people, one that doesn’t shame them into believing every choice has to be perfectly ‘clean,’ or that they need to spend a fortune just to live the ‘right’ way.
The world is messy right now. We’re still recovering from a pandemic, the economy’s struggling, people are working multiple jobs just to stay afloat, and most can’t afford fifty-dollar bottles of so-called ‘miracle’ spring water flown in from the middle of nowhere.
And the rest of the social media world must agree with me because my page has blown up so much that I’ve even been approached by a few brands for endorsements and partnerships.
The extra revenue would be helpful to my family, sure, but I wasn’t prepared for this new attention.
Plus, the last thing I need is a fifth job, even if this page is starting to feel that way.
I laugh, remembering that ridiculous fortune on the cereal box. When I finally close out of my laptop, change my clothes and head downstairs, I feel ready to tackle the day.
Gabriel’s just lacing up his work boots, preparing to head into the city for his job as a construction project manager.
“Good morning,” he greets with a nod and a smile. But I don’t miss the way it hardly touches his hazel eyes. He didn’t get home until close to midnight last night and he looks exhausted this morning. “Coffee’s on the warmer.”
“Thank you!” I chirp, trying to be positive. He knows I’m tired and frustrated too, but there’s no point in dragging him down anymore with my mood.
Gabriel’s been working in new construction for New York City for years now. And though the pay is okay and there’ve been some great learning opportunities and projects he’s been assigned to, his real passion has always been carpentry and restoration of old buildings.
It’s in our blood, passed down through generations. Family lore has it that we got our last name from the first ever carpenters who settled in Brookhaven. I like to think that’s why all three of us Carpenter kids are so creative and enjoy working with our hands.
It’s also the reason our family has been able to keep the thrift store on Oak Street thriving for decades, though it’s struggling now. Every piece that he and Eden restore to sell there carries a bit of our family history, and that’s something none of us take for granted.
“Eden already left for school. She wouldn’t eat breakfast again,” he informs me as if there’s something else that I can be doing to force our youngest sister to eat the groceries that we buy.
I’ve tried everything just short of buying the expensive kind of cereal that our tight, family budget cannot afford and I’m close to caving.
I nod and sigh before grabbing my thermos and filling it to the brim.
“Should I start slipping protein powder in her coffee?” I joke.
He smiles. “I’m not opposed to it, but she is an adult now, so I think we need to let her just do her thing and learn the hard way.”
“Difficult to believe she’s old enough to make decisions on her own.”
He chuckles. “It is, but she’s doing a good job.”
His eyes take on a faraway look, and I wonder if he’s thinking about those early days the way that I am now—when our parents first died and we both stumbled into guardianship of our ten-year-old sister, having no idea what we were doing.
Gabriel had been recently married then, but that ended fast once his wife realized she didn’t want to be a pseudo-mother to Eden or live with her new husband’s two sisters while they grieved.
My life was also changed when we took over her parenting, but I still think he had it worse.
It’s something we’ve never really talked about.
He just stepped in and stepped up. Took over like it was his duty without complaining.
He’s always been the epitome of a selfless older brother, and I hope that one day he’ll get to choose himself first.
“Do you have a shoot today?” he asks, looking at the blow out that I’ve given my long, dark brown hair this morning and the makeup I usually never wear that’s covering my face.
“What gave it away?” I joke.
He smiles.
“Yeah. It’s for some up and coming country music artist.”
“Not that one that’s been all over the news for cheating on his wife, right?” his brows furrow as his usually calm and happy disposition unfurls into the more protective version of himself that he’s adopted ever since our parents passed away.
Most days, it feels like Gabriel, and I are Eden’s parents. But every now and then, Gabriel leans into his I’m-a-whole-year-older-than-you-so-listen-to-your-big-brother shtick, acting more like a father than our actual dad ever did.
I know he’s just trying to protect me, but I wish he’d realize I don’t need it.
“Not him. And don’t worry, today’s costume is just a pair of daisy dukes and a cut-off tee,” I joke with a grin as I give him a quick hug goodbye before heading out.
It’s Thursday, which means no cleaning for me and time to head to my third gig: occasional modeling and acting.
These jobs fell into my lap completely by accident about six years ago while I was still in school and trying to navigate adult bills and responsibilities.
Leo, my childhood best friend, had fallen in love with the son of a music video director in what he describes as ‘the most chaotic and regrettable relationship of his life.’
One minute, the three of us were joking about how broke I was, and two weeks later, I was standing on a music video set wearing nothing but pink, cheeky panties and a matching bra, getting doused with water while dancing in the rain to a rap song I’d never even heard before.
I didn’t find out who the rapper was until the video hit MTV’s Top Twenty Countdown, and my phone started blowing up with friends telling me they’d just seen me shaking my ass while fake dollar bills rained down from above.
I’d laughed it off, a story to tell my kids someday, but Gabriel hadn’t found it nearly as amusing.
That gig paid me a thousand dollars. Sure, it wasn’t a life-changing amount of money, but it was enough to buy groceries, fill our cars with gasoline, cover Eden’s middle school field trip, and even put a tiny dent in the mortgage payment that was due that month.
And more importantly, it put me on the map for additional modeling and acting gigs in the community and I’ve been booking those since for side cash.
Gabriel and I have made it our mission to pay off our parents’ house within the next ten years.
And it’s not that his job in construction and my private, therapy practice don’t pay well, but what we hadn’t known until after our parents passed was just how much debt they’d hidden from us tied back to the family thrift store.
When that mountain of liability landed squarely in our laps, it became clear we’d be hustling for years to dig out from under it while trying to stay afloat and keep the store in business.
I grab my keys and head to my car, making the short drive into Hartford Connecticut to the address that Leo had texted me earlier when he instructed me to let loose a little and try to have some fun on set.