Chapter 36 #2
“I’m not asking for anything crazy! Just, hell, I don’t know …
” He trailed off theatrically, as if he was really trying to think of examples off the top of his head.
As if he wasn’t looking at a list written by an intern at that very moment.
“Maybe you repost a video of me from that Senate Judiciary hearing. Or—how about this, your latest grocery bill. Read through it, line by line. And you can’t believe how expensive things are getting, and you’re worried about your kids staying afloat twenty years from now—”
Doug was desperate to reach the youth.
“I’ve told you what I’m comfortable with,” I said firmly. “And that is showing up at your campaign stops, sharing photos of myself and the kids at your rallies. Making it a family affair. That’s where it starts, and that’s where it ends.”
Doug laughed tightly. “You know we’re rapidly approaching a crossroads in this country, Natalie. The next election is going to be big.”
“Why? Because it’s going to be yours?”
Doug laughed. This is what my social media account had provided me: I could challenge Doug now, and when I did so, he had to laugh.
“I’m just reminding you how important all of this is.
It’s not just, or rather it’s not only …
” He trailed off here, so suddenly frustrated by my refusal to play ball that he seemed perplexed.
“Listen. We’re making this complicated. I’m just asking you to write a simple little post saying that I’m a great leader.
That’s it. This isn’t complicated, Natalie. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“I didn’t say it was complicated,” I said, my tone still lemon-bright. “I said I wasn’t doing it.”
“You know, Natalie: I don’t like to talk about money.”
Bullshit. Doug loved to talk about money.
“We gave you a lot of money. We helped you build that ranch.”
“I’m aware. I’m very grateful for your support of me, and your son, and your grandkids.”
“Well, what if the world found out just how much money I gave you?”
I paused. Doug had never tried this tack before. “Are you threatening me, Doug?”
“Of course I’m not! I’m just—” He exhaled slowly and loudly into the phone. “Listen. A war is coming, Natalie. A major war. And it won’t be me who has to live through the consequences of it.”
“So I’ve been told.” Civil war was all the rage in the forums, these days.
Caleb had talked about it nonstop for a while, waxing on each evening about the inevitability of a national schism, the imminent need for local militias and homemade weapons, until finally I turned to him and said, “Well, at least now you’ll get to be a soldier and a blacksmith, just like you always wanted! ” That shut him up quick.
“Listen, Doug,” I said. “I’m pulling into the Whole Foods parking lot. Let’s discuss this later.”
He went on, speaking more quickly now, like a game show candidate chasing the clock.
“Civil war, Natalie, do you hear me? Whether you acknowledge it or not, it’s coming.
Lines will be drawn. It will not be pretty.
We have to get our act together as a nation, and quickly, unless you want a, a, a civil war for your children, and your children’s children—”
“Mhmm, I know. Civil war. Very scary. Listen, I’m at the grocery store. Can we pick this up at another time?” I hung up before he could respond, then checked my notifications quickly.
My brain is breaking like how does she do all of this
Hey everyone, local farmer here, just want to say their farming practices are totally unethical
dude mark my words this woman is miserable
The first week after I went viral, comments like these had destabilized me to the point that I could barely walk in a straight line. Now I could practically write them myself.
And then I scrolled past a name I recognized. I paused, then clicked on the message request.
Hey Natalie! It’s Reena Magliotti from college. Random, but I’m an intern at America News now and I didn’t know if you would ever do a Q&A with me? I know you haven’t done any interviews yet, but it could be a fun reunion! LMK.
I let out a little huff of amusement. Poor thing. She must have really swallowed her pride to write that message. And to be an intern at twenty-seven—yikes!
Inside the grocery store, I moved quickly, grabbing two balls of twine and then adding a few more necessities to the cart. Brussels sprouts, green juice, active yeast. As I was checking out, the woman behind me tapped my shoulder. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry, but: Are you Natalie Heller Mills?”
I paused.
I hadn’t thought it would happen today. Which was silly. It could happen any time I left the ranch, but still—
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to three.
This, right here, is the strangest part about becoming famous online: you can have millions of followers and still not have a single in-person interaction with a fan for months.
“Hi!” I said. “Yes, I am. Do we know each other?”
This is the response I had decided to have. Friendly, yet relatable. Stars: they’re just like us!
“Oh my gosh, I am a huge fan of your account!” She seemed delighted at how on-brand the ingredients in my cart were. So organic. Such vibes. Go ahead and take a picture, I nearly said. “I’m sorry,” she said, and laughed. “I can’t believe how pretty you are in real life.”
“You’re so pretty too!” I said immediately. This was going well, actually. What had I been so afraid of? This was fun!
“No, no, no.” She was blushing now. “I just ran out the door this morning to get some eggs. I’m sure my hair is whackadoo.”
“Well,” I said lovingly, “I’m sure you’ll do it better next time.”
The woman frowned. Bad, Natalie. Awkward. I swallowed a sudden rush of fury at myself, a fury which only doubled in power when the woman glanced back at me, her expression now colored with uncertainty.
“So you—you live in the area?”
“Not really. I mean, technically yes, but not in town or anything.”
There was a stirring in the air between us.
My response had been all wrong, not just in content but in the style of my delivery: heavy when it should have been light, condescending when it should have been grateful.
Had I mistakenly implied that living in town was low-status?
I couldn’t tell. Now a familiar discomfort filled my chest, a bodily awareness of the uncanny horror filling this woman’s mind: I was not the same Natalie she loved so much.
At best, I was close. Nearly there. A clone, or a robot.
The twin sister no one knew about. Natalie-adjacent.
Sharper in tone. Not as tall as she’d imagined.
In short: I was still me. Which meant I was nothing like her: the Natalie who lived online.
This was, truthfully, why I hadn’t accepted a single interview request yet, even though I’d received dozens: I simply wasn’t ready.
“Well,” the woman said. “It was so nice meeting you.”
“You too,” I said, a bit too warmly, as I handed the cashier my card. “Thank you so much for following.”
I walked quickly across the parking lot, my grocery cart rattle-clacking loudly over the pavement, my gaze trained firmly on the brake lights of my own car. I was putting the grocery bag into my trunk when I heard that woman again. “Hey! Natalie! Just a sec.”
A tremor ran through me. I considered pretending not to hear her, then decided against it. By the time I turned around, the woman was standing there, smiling expectantly.
“I just realized I never thanked you.” She gave a nervous laugh. “That was why I wanted to talk to you: to thank you. I gave birth recently, and it was—” She paused, glanced up quickly at the sky, blinking rapidly. Oh, God: she was trying not to cry. “It was really hard.”
I wondered what my expression looked like right now. If I was conveying the correct measure of understanding and concern.
“It’s been a really long few months,” she went on. “Just—really dark. I haven’t been myself. But when I came across your account, I just—I was so inspired. You seem like an amazing mother.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s—that’s so kind of you to say.” At that moment, a squeal came from the back seat, and the woman nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oh,” I said, “don’t worry! That’s just my little girl, Jessa.”
She looked at the car, then at me. “Did you leave your baby in the car while you were shopping?”
Oh.
Oh no.
No no no no no no no no no no no—
My body flooded with cortisol. My vision blurred.
I could barely hear what I said next. Something about being a very quick shopper (wrong answer).
Something about raising our kids like they did in the olden days (worse answer).
Through the fog of my panic, I could just see the shape of this woman’s expression.
Disturbed. She looked disturbed.
Somehow the conversation ended. Somehow I was driving home. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I could feel them, but I wasn’t crying. I was smiling. Wasn’t I? Smiling?
What I wished I had said to that woman: I was disturbed, too.
In fact disturbing was the only word to describe the vast chasm of space between who I needed to be and who I currently was.
I’m working on it, I wanted to say. I am working day and night on this issue.
Customer service is aware of the reported blackout.
We are working to get service back online and running shortly!