The Universe Provides

Mary Marshall thought I was just another follower, like the rest of the blurry blonde icons down the left hand side of the screen. Influencers live and die by their follower counts, but all of us who hang on every word of their stories and reels are just a number to them, another tick on the ledger counting up to the next milestone and a better pay rate. You and I are disposable to them. It is time they realized that they and their influence are disposable too. It is the only way to stop the havoc they wreck on people’s lives. To have justice for the pain that has been caused.

Think of it as a healthy boundary.

Mary’s agent was supposed to call by eight o’clock. Today is the big appearance on one of the late night shows that has managed to survive for Mary’s first book, Your Own Best Mother: Reparenting Yourself to Parent Your Child and they need to go over all of the details. It is a virtual appearance, and Mary was disappointed she was not going to be in New York but she liked the control it gave her. This was the first time she had taken her brand to such a large scale outside of socials. Mary knows it is going to be huge, a springboard for becoming a true powerhouse, boss bitch femininomenon.

Wait, did Chappell Roan follow her?? She should check, that would be insane if she would collaborate on some promotional work. She’d have to talk to Kendall about that when she called.

Of course Mary would think that Chappell Roan followed her. But the most annoying thing is she probably does.

I just checked. She does.

Fuck.

Well, like I said, it is time for Mary to realize she’s not the goddess she thinks she is. It is this kind of narcissistic shit that justifies what’s coming.

Mary went viral, like so many influencers, during the pandemic. I think in a hundred years historians are going to write books on how the social media insanity of lockdown was just as damaging as the actual disease of covid. Because of people like Mary.

Anyway, when Mary went viral her daughter was nine, that weird pre-tween time where you are getting ready to get ready for life and everything feels so far away and so immediate all at the same time. A confusing phase made even more confusing by an unprecedented epidemic of illness and isolation. Mary did what any sane mother would do - went on social media and made what her kid was going through about herself. Naturally.

At first it was just trying to make sure her thousand plus so called friends knew that she was a better mom than they were, a huge pandemic pastime. Parenting has always been a competitive sport for WASPY country club types, and since none of them had jobs or better things to do before lockdown, you think it would have just been business as usual but on FaceTime. But social media inflates the ego under the most innocuous of circumstances, and there was nothing innocuous about the performance of suburban TikTok moms during the spring of 2020.

But if you are pretty enough and time your dance moves to your text overlays well enough, people will think you are an expert on just about anything. Soon people actually began to buy what Mary was selling.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she jumped expectantly, ready to start strategizing with Kendall. But it was a calendar reminder: “Emma’s Conference”, and had been marked URGENT by the school counselor who had sent it. It started at 1:45, and she’d have to make it across town. They had told her it had to be in person.

She cursed slightly under her breath, but Mary is not one to ever be flustered. No, no. That’s for unhealed people, people who haven’t put in the work. Mary has her tools. Mary is well regulated. Mary has healthy enough boundaries with the expectations of others to let something like this get to her. She will take her call with Kendall in the car, it will be fine. She might be a little bit late, but that isn’t the end of the world. Emma knows that her mother’s work is vitally important to them both. She will understand. She always does.

It is Mary who does not understand. But don’t worry. By the end of the day she will.

It wasn’t very good for the image of a mom with a healthy mothering platform to be called into the school counselor’s office for the third time this month. Mary knew that emotional dysregulation was normal at this age and part of healthy development, but the timing was pretty fucked. And it wasn’t like Emma was in crisis. It was nonsense drama, something about a crush on some boy, some silly rumors going around, it was all normal. And honestly, letting Emma figure out that she is strong enough to stand in her own power without her mother being overbearing was a damned gift. Other daughters should be so lucky, the world would be a better place, and that’s why Mary needed to focus on the book. So that every child could be as lucky as her own. Of course that outweighs being late to a meeting.

By the time she reaches the school, it is 3:05. There was an accident on the 101, and at one point her conversation with Kendall had been so involved she simply had to pull over to focus. It was the safe thing to do, and it had only been like half an hour. But of course now it is close to dismissal, and parking is a nightmare. The office lady did not have to act so put out when Mary walked in. She had done the best she could under the circumstances.

When the counselor finally came out, she looked taken aback. “Mrs. Marshall, you came. How lovely. But of course, after the allotted time we had, the rest of the team had other matters to attend to, and they are indisposed now. We will have to reschedule for another time.”

Mary is gobsmacked, but she makes sure to smile and breathe. “Not everything that weighs you down is meant for you to carry,” she says to herself like she reminds her followers to do. “When you stand in your own worth, respect follows.” Out loud, she says through a smile, “Surely that will not be necessary. You did mark it urgent, you’re here, I am here. Two is a meeting, after all.” The counselor’s name is Miss O’Neill but Mary is oblivious to that, even as she walks towards Miss O’Neill’s office as if it were her own.

But Miss O’Neill is one of the good ones. She sees right through Mary, and steps in front of her to block her way. “With all due respect, Mrs. Marshall, this was a coordinated meeting about a serious matter, not a quick chat. Qualified, capable, busy professionals took time out of their day to first prepare for and then be fully available to meet with you. You did not give that consideration, and now they have returned to their many other responsibilities, and your daughter is most likely halfway home now. So if you will excuse me, you have the email for our office coordinator. She will be happy to help you figure out a time for another meeting, and I have somewhere I need to be.” She secures her door behind her, and begins to walk away. But then she hesitates, and turns.

“It isn’t my place to say anything outside of a formal context, Mrs. Marshall but Emma is a good kid who is going through something awful. If you gave her even half the attention you gave your Instagram profile, perhaps none of this would be happening.” Miss O’Neill left without giving Mary a chance to respond, probably afraid of what would happen if she did.

Of course people noticed the rage on Mary’s face as she stormed out of the school. But she did not notice them noticing. It’s funny how that happens with people who crave attention - when it doesn’t fit the narrative or image they have in mind, it’s as if it’s not even happening. Willful ignorance is a powerful thing.

There are so many reasons that Mary is annoyed. Her totem of success is her close relationship with her daughter who is well adjusted, happy and conventionally successful. Formal meetings with multiple educational psychological professionals was not the vibe. And the timing!! But Mary’s contribution to Emma’s well being was and always had been centered on tending to her own well being in some sort of fucked up offspring trickle down theory. And right now, Mary’s so-called well being is zeroed in on vodka tonics, getting ploughed by Scott and selling a million books.

Oh and who is Scott? Not her husband, no. Not even her tennis coach or the pool boy. Scott is the 20 year old son of her star client and best friend.

I told you she had it coming.

So as she is leaving the school, she is upset and frustrated and worried. But not about Emma. Not even what the people at the school thought of her as a mother. Nope, just - drink, dude and dollars.

But first, a car selfie and a caption about manifesting our dreams. We got this, mamas. The universe provides.

Mary pulls out of the school parking lot, not to head home to check on Emma. Emma will be well if Mary is well, remember. Have you noticed this whole time Mary has not given a single thought to WHY she was called into her daughter’s school? Miss O’Neill called it a serious matter, something awful. Does Mary even know what is happening to Emma? There is no indication that she does. So, no, Mary Marshall is not going to check on her daughter.

She has texted Scott and gotten no reply. He has been a bit flaky lately, but guys his age are like that. Some physical stress relief would have been nice, but Mary will get over it. It is probably for the best anyway. She needs to be refreshed for the camera, and not rushed. Speaking of, she did need to call Emma. Oh no, not to check in on her. There has not been a sudden character change, don’t worry. Mary is hopeless at technology, so Emma was in charge of putting together the promotional content video for the book. Mary needs to get it from her so she can get it to the producer. They needed it two hours beforehand. And of course, Mary was going to send it to them herself so that it appeared she had created it. Of course.

“Hi honey, I am so sorry I missed the meeting at your school, traffic was insane and I just could not get Kendall off the phone, it is such a busy day. Did you have a good day? Ohhh, that bad huh? I am so sorry, but you know what I say - no one can ever make you feel inferior without your permission. Right? Remember whose daughter you are. Listen sweetie, can I get that final version of the promo video? We are already cutting it way too tight, and I appreciate how perfect you wanted to make it but we have to make sure we are respectful of everyone’s time, right? Oh thanks sweetie! What would I do without you? Really, what would we do without each other, isn’t that right? Listen, I need to run. You won’t be home when we are filming for the appearance will you? I just think it will be easier if there is less chaos underfoot, you understand. All right, love you, kisses.”

I could tell you Emma’s side of the conversation but really, does it matter? I think you get the picture.

So there Mary is in the formal living room of the house that she, Emma and Emma’s father share - six bedrooms and seven and a half bathrooms for three people and two cats. She has had full glam done, and her favorite interior designer has made sure the background is set with exactly the right aesthetic for the vibe Mary is trying to give off. Her lighting is impeccable. Kendall arrived as glam was leaving to be on hand for any emergencies. It is odd, getting ready to go live nationwide but really being alone in a room. There’s a metaphor there about the loneliness of popularity, not that Mary has ever been that perceptive or insightful.

It was twenty minutes until show time. Mary logs into the virtual green room. A producer is there and checks all her specs and tech. They chit chat for a minute, the producer confirms with Kendall that they got the promo video. “We have not had a chance to watch it, but it uploaded just fine into our system.”

“There’s no need to watch it,” Mary waves, “I checked it myself to make sure everything was timed right. We are good to go.”

“Great to hear,” the producer smiles, “we love a seasoned professional. So I’ll come back to signal for you at five minutes out, one minute out and then to count you in. Make sure you look directly at the camera, not at your screen. Good luck!”

The interview goes off without a hitch. Finally, the host wound it up with, “And to give you a better sense of all that you will find in Your Own Best Mother, here is a video put together by the author herself.”

Mary’s feed of the host cuts to a black screen. Then the video starts. It is just Emma in her room. Mary’s heart sinks. This was not remotely what they discussed! But she is unsure who is still watching her video, so she tries to keep smiling, her eyes darting to Kendall who just shrugs in response.

“Hello,” her daughter begins on the video, “many of you probably already know who I am, but just in case, I am Emma, Mary Marshall’s daughter. Earlier today, my mom was supposed to be at my school for an emergency meeting.” Emma’s face turns red on the video, visibly upset and nervous, but all Mary notices is the pounding of her own heart.

“You see, everyone at school has been sending around a video - an…” Emma falls over the word, “adult, really inappropriate video that I am sure you can all fill in the blanks on. A video that they all say is of me.”

Mary is going to throw up. She knows what is coming now. She does not know how it got here. But she recognizes the train right before it hits her.

“But you see, it is not me. They think it is because it is my house. And because I know the guy in it. But it is not. It is my mom. My mom and Scott Pataki, her best friend’s son. Who is, like, young enough to be my brother.”

Kendall is now standing, her face white, gesturing at Mary. But Mary is frozen.

“Anyway, I was not going to expose my mom. But today, there was a chance for her to show up for me, to help me figure out another way and she didn’t. She was not there to help me. She is never there to help me. She does not even know what is going on. Because everything she has ever told any of you is a lie. She is not anyone’s best mother, and definitely not mine. If she doesn’t have my back, why should I have hers? So here you all go, the video that has ruined my life. Now it can ruin yours, Mom.”

So like I said, Mary Marshall thought I was just another follower. Well, never just ANOTHER follower. Her original follower. Because what more of a devoted follower can a mother have than her own daughter? She thought she was as untouchable as the virgin mother she shared her name with, because she had a clean Instagram aesthetic and a catchy brand that other brainwashed moms bought into. But she never counted on me, her dear sweet Emma, falling out of line.

I don’t know exactly what happened next, but I know enough. I know that just enough of the sex scene made it to air for me to be satisfied. Also, plenty of my classmates have taken the interview and my speech and then spliced it together with the video they got of who they thought was me because of course they did. And the internet is forever.

My mom didn’t have anything to say on camera. I don’t know if her or Kendall cut the link, or if a smart producer decided to just blame technical difficulties, but all that was left of that appearance was a black screen and a cut to commercial. The rest of her appearances ahead of the book’s release were canceled due to “personal reasons”. Kendall stuck with her for a month, and then dropped her as a client. Her publisher had been in talks for a second book, one that she and I would have “co-authored”, but that was obviously immediately off the table.

Dad sold the house, and paid my mom off just enough to make her go away. Last I heard, she had moved to Las Vegas and was trying to make it as a realtor. She goes by her maiden name, to try and trick internet searches to not come up with the “daughter scorned betrayal” video. It is a losing battle for her.

The universe provides.