Chapter 14
JULIE’S CAT—WHO I HAVE now named Mr. Chunks—and I have built the kind of bond that most people can’t understand. We keep each other company without disturbing either one’s peace. We both understand the desire for as little human connection as possible, and that’s why he is my new favorite family member—sorry, Julie. You’ve been booted out.
I sit on the couch with my laptop while he sleeps beneath the couch, his soft snores filling the late-night silence. Mr. Chunks still hasn’t braved the unknown and traveled out from his hideaway. He remains nestled against the wall the entire day, coming out to eat only at night when everyone is asleep. How do we know this? Well, Julie claims that his food bowl is empty in the morning. So he must be sneaking out to eat when no one is around. Maybe he’s self-conscious, poor guy.
After spending the day with Wilson—what the hell kind of sentence was that?—I felt the need to distract myself with as many forms of technology as humanly possible in order to stop replaying our conversation over and over in my head.
Or I stop thinking about the look in his eyes when he talks about Kenzie.
Or that he knows she gets her nails done every three weeks and doesn’t drink caffeine.
A world where Wilson Monroe is a good boyfriend is not a world I can happily inhabit. And somehow, here I am, alive on this planet and working with this person I thought I had entirely figured out. Just when I’m getting smug, he comes in with an entirely new personality that catches me off guard. Up until this point I assumed that Wilson’s chest was filled with rocks, ribs, and maybe, like, a very large piece of coal. Turns out he in fact has a heart. It may be about five sizes too small, but it still beats faintly inside of him. And when it does, it clearly beats for Kenzie.
Yeah, I need to adjust the volume on my music. I shove my headphones deeper into my ears and crank it up. The TV is on too, even though I can’t hear it. I need the visual distraction though, just in case I begin veering off course.
Another thing: How do we have the same order? Down to the extra crispy fries? The same restaurant? Why do so many of my favorites intertwine with his when he is my least favorite thing?
I fan myself with my hand, beginning to feel warm. Did Julie shut the air-conditioning off again?
Okay, focus. iDiary . Gosh, I wish someone had warned me that having two jobs and running a somewhat popular blog would be difficult. I open the app and am once again bombarded with an insane amount of notifications. My follower count has now grown to nineteen thousand, and my inbox is so full it’s a flood risk.
I’m still hyperaware that my advice could hurt someone, but it feels almost more cruel to leave all these people stranded without answers. I at least owe it to them to provide the service they signed up for. Maybe I simply need to go about it more cautiously now.
I click on the first unread message from @sarah.shining. They wrote:
Lately it’s been feeling like my partner is drifting away from me. They’re dodging my calls and are never free to hang out. I can’t tell if she’s hiding something from me or is on the verge of breaking up with me, which is the last thing I want. How do you confront someone who is avoiding you?
For the first time, I try to analyze this message from the perspective of the partner. If they are pulling back from the relationship, there might be a good reason. Maybe they are going through a big life change, something too scary to talk about. Or maybe this is a moment that can be used to bring them back together, not pull them apart.
Normally, I’d write up some sassy response advising @sarah.shining to dump their partner for their dodgy behavior. Now I think I’m going to say the opposite.
I write back:
It’s always scary when you feel your partner pulling away from you. When your first instinct is to assume something is wrong in the relationship, try to remember that maybe it’s not about you. Maybe they’re struggling and need to feel their partner reaching out. Perhaps this is a moment where you need to step up—let them know you’re there to talk, to confide in. Use this as an opportunity to bring you closer together. At least that way, you did all you could to help them.
After I post the response, the doorbell rings. It’s past eleven p.m., which means it can only be one person. The door swings and open, and yup, it’s Suzy. She has a scowl on her face, camera slung around her neck, and a pint of ice cream in one hand.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my best friend, Jackie Myers,” she says, holding the ice cream hostage against her chest.
I try to recall if I’ve done something lately to upset her, and I can’t remember. With a sinking feeling, I worry that this might be the problem in itself.
“Hello,” I say slowly, hesitantly. “Did you want to come in?”
“No. I’m standing here with my camera and a container of ice cream because I want to sit on your driveway.”
I open the door all the way. “Come in, meanie.”
It isn’t until we are on the couch, spoons in hand, digging into the ice cream when Suzy finally eases up on the hostility. “You never called me back last week,” she says, digging a piece of cookie dough out of the carton—which is, quite honestly, her most toxic trait. She never leaves any for the rest of us.
And then it dawns on me—Suzy texting me before work, asking me to call her urgently, and me forgetting to do all of that.
I sigh. “I’m the worst friend ever. I’m sorry.”
“Not the worst friend ever . But you have been a bit distant lately. What’s going on?”
“I’ve been so busy, Suz. With working two jobs, helping Wilson win back Kenzie, and running this blog. It’s like I barely have—”
“I’m sorry. You’re helping Wilson with what ?”
I wince, totally realizing I forgot to fill her in. By the time I do, we have finished the entire ice-cream carton, and Suzy sighs, understanding just how hectic my life has become.
“I get it,” she says, “and I think helping Wilson is the right thing to do. But this is also our last summer together, Jackie. Can we not spend it totally apart?”
I nod, agreeing. “Yes, definitely. You’re right. I’ll free up some time for us to hang out.”
She smiles. “Now get off your laptop before internet fame changes you,” she teases.
“Pretty sure I’m still a loser, but now I’m a loser who’s about to break twenty k followers,” I inform her.
At that, her eyes grow wide. “No kidding.”
I hand her my laptop and she scrolls through the account, the word wow momentarily taking over her vocabulary.
She hands it back to me. “You know, I was doing some research, which is actually what I wanted to tell you about last week when you never called.” She pauses dramatically to pin me with a laser-shooting glare. “Basically, when you hit twenty thousand followers, you can monetize your account.”
I blink. “What?”
“Yeah,” she continues casually. “It’s some program you sign up for, and they add a shit-ton of ads to your page. The larger the number of people who view them, the more money you earn. I don’t think it’s anything crazy—maybe like a hundred bucks or so a month. But still, it’s something.”
I immediately begin researching this and find an article under the iDiary Help section. It’s titled “Join Our Creators Program!” and it says that you can earn around two to five dollars for every thousand account views.
I do some quick mental math, remember that I can barely count, and pull up the calculator app. “One hundred thirteen,” I say. “That’s how many more followers I need to join the program.”
Suzy scoots closer to me on the couch, peering at the laptop screen. “How long is that going to take?”
I refresh the page. “Now I need eighty-six.”
“Oh, damn. So not long at all.”
By the time we finish the pint and I get brain freeze twice, I refresh the screen and see those glorious four zeros. “Twenty k!” Suzy whisper yells. A banner instantly pops up on the top of the page, prompting me to join the creators program.
“Wait,” Suzy says as I’m about to click the button. “It’s going to make your account really ugly. Like, there will be ads everywhere , Jackie. Might that deter some people from looking at your page?”
“Maybe,” I say, “but once I save enough money to afford my car, I’ll leave the program and disable the ads. Easy-peasy.”
“You’re sure?” Suzy asks, discarding the empty ice-cream container on the coffee table.
“I’m certain.” I click the button and enter my contact information and mailing address. It explains that revenue will be mailed out in monthly checks, as long as the amount is over ten dollars. After signing up, ads can take up to forty-eight hours to appear. I skim through the rest of the terms and conditions, then hit Submit. When I look up, I’m grinning. Suzy has her camera out, recording me.
I can see myself watching her documentary months from now. Maybe at that point I’ll be watching it from California, or when I’m a writer at The Rundown , or when I’ve been repromoted to waitress at Monte’s. Maybe then I’ll have a hundred thousand followers and I’ll have been interviewed for one of those morning talk shows. Maybe I’ll know exactly what I want. Exactly who I am.
For maybe the first time ever, looking ahead doesn’t feel so dull. Or scary. Or limiting. Now, looking ahead feels exciting. It feels like new paths have been rolled out before me, like I can go this way or that if I please.
“I can see it, Jacks,” Suzy says, spinning the camera around so we’re both in the shot. “In a month from now, we’re going to be cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway.”
When I close my eyes, I can see it, too.