I’ve got zero followers and just one post, but somehow, taking that simple action makes me feel lighter. Like I’ve just set something good into motion.
I never imagined that single post would cause so much chaos and bring my one-night-stand from seven months ago back into my life.
Chapter 6 – Rhiannon
Two weeks later…
???
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 submiton my first-ever video, something incredible has happened—I’ve gained ten thousand followers.
Ten thousand people are tuning in each week to hear metalk about how it’s okay if your life looks a little more greythan 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 hituploadon 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 ingredientsaround 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 homeuntil 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.”
