The Bequest

When I was growing up, my parents always gave us cash on our birthdays. The best part of the birthday experience was the luxury of a shopping trip to anywhere we chose. When I turned five, I spent $50 at the dollar store. My room was so full of trash, I could barely find my bed.

When I turned six, I spent $50 at the grocery store, buying enough candy to rot the teeth of the entire neighborhood.

On my seventh birthday, I spent $50 on stuffed animals. I hadn't yet discovered that they don't really love you back.

For my eighth birthday, however, my parents only had $13 to spare. My dad had just lost his job, and things were tight. I asked to go garage sale shopping that year, in the hopes of finding something worth far more than $13. We spent hours searching through old records and VHS tapes, mismatched and scuffed sneakers, and slightly abused toys. I didn't find anything truly valuable, even though we visited more than a dozen garage sales. But the anticipation when we walked into that thirteenth garage was still stupidly high.

After searching all day, my parents finally became exasperated and told me I just had to pick something. I ended up buying a pair of slightly-too-large ski boots that I never even wore. I'm not even sure why I bought them-I'd never been skiing and we had no plans to try it.

Hoping to find treasure among someone else's cast-offs was super dumb.

Online dating above 40 feels an awful lot like a never-ending sequence of garage sales. Except, unlike that thirteenth garage, my expectations are no longer very high. My naively optimistic hope is gone.

Which is why, even though Krystal swore this new dating app was better, even though she promised me that it was curated to ensure a professional man, I'm not even surprised when my date is essentially the male equivalent of those sad ski boots.

"Amanda." He holds out his hand enthusiastically. "So good to see you."

Roger recognizes me, you see, because my profile photo, unlike his, resembles my actual face. I force a smile. "Yes, I am Amanda."

"I was so happy when you swiped left!" Sweat has beaded across his forehead, and he swipes it away. Or, he tries to swipe it away. He manages to shove it to the side of his face, where it runs down his temple and pools near his double-chin, glistening.

"It's right," I say. "You swipe right if you're interested."

"And you did." He grins a little too broadly, making his jowls jiggle.

"Should we eat?" At least we're at one of my favorite restaurants, J.G. Melon. I always suggest it for a first date, because I love a good burger, and I usually can't justify eating one. But on a first date with a total stranger, I feel entitled to splurge on extra calories and saturated fat. Also, their cottage fries are absolutely to die for-they're the most delicious tiny little circles on planet Earth. They make most anything bearable.

Roger points to a booth in the corner. It's likely the only place in the entire restaurant where we can sit and talk as long as we want without being bothered. Darn him for noticing it. "I was surprised that you suggested this place." "Why?" I ask. "You don't like burgers?"

"Well last time, you said "

I'm not eating or drinking currently, and that's the only reason I don't choke, but I sure do splutter. "Did you just say the last time, implying that we've been on a date before this?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Have you taken me out before today, Roger?"

He frowns, and if possible, he looks even dopier.

That's when I remember. He had more hair, and he had a smaller mid-section, but it's definitely the same guy from two years ago. He asked me to watch a ballgame with him, and I learned never to commit an entire sporting event to an unknown.

"I'm so sorry I didn't remember." But mostly I feel sorry for myself.

"You never called me back, so I guess I should've known it was a mistake."

Heat rises in my cheeks. "If I'm being honest, I don't even select my own dates anymore. I don't have time. My assistant screens the guys and lines everything up for me." I call her my assistant, but it's actually my fifteen-year-old daughter who helps with work things and started setting me up for more dates. I'm going to have to strangle her later.

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience-all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! "Right, you're an influencer now," he says. "Champagne for cheap, right?"

I cringe. There's no way I'd ever use the word 'cheap' on my account. "Champagne for Less," I say. "Yep, that's me."

"Last time we went out, you weren't sure what you were going to do, I think."

"My account was doing fine already." But I had no idea whether I'd make rent in any given month. I still have rough spells now and then, but not nearly as often.

"Well, now that I know our date was a mistake, I'll give you this one chance to bow out."

I can't decide whether Roger's a decent guy, or whether he just has an unexpected amount of pride. "It's fine," I say. "I'm still happy to grab a burger." Not really, but what else can I say?

"It's not like I'll be wasting very much money, at least." His laugh is a little too loud, and a little too unbridled for a public restaurant, and his eyes roam far too much. It's definitely the pride thing.

My phone rings and when I check the caller ID, it's Lololime. I've been waiting for them to call me for two days, ever since their rep informed that I was being considered for a permanent sponsorship spot. "I'm so sorry, Roger. I have to take this."

He waves. "Go ahead. I'll just get mine to go."

I ought to soothe his hurt feelings and reassure him that I'm not making excuses, but I don't have the time or the energy. "Hello?" I walk out the door and onto the somewhat busy street, but at least I'm clear of Roger and his passive aggressive moping.

"Mrs. Brooks?"

"Yes," I say. "But please call me Amanda."

"My name is Heather Hames, and I'm the director of social media marketing with Lololime. We've had our eye on you for a while, and I wanted to reach out and have a quick chat. Is this a bad time?"

I think about Roger, probably still moping. Eh, he can drown his sorrows with a plate of cottage fries. "Not at all. In fact, you just saved me from a second first date with a very boring guy." "Wait, what?"

By the time I explain what happened, Heather's laughing. "But you missed out on the burger. I work out of our Seattle office, but to hear you describe it, that's a true travesty."

"Don't worry," I say. "If this call takes a little longer, he'll duck out and I can grab my burger anyway."

"That's one of the things we like best about you," Heather says. "Your feed is always fresh, witty, and engaging. I'm sure that's why your stats are as good as they are. It's hard not to feel an instant connection with the little tidbits of real you toss among the glitter and confetti of a normal glamorous living page."

"Thank you," I say. "I do try."

"As you probably already know, before we select a brand ambassador, we assemble a short list of contenders, and then we choose from among them. You're my pick, so I'd love to make it more likely you're chosen." More likely? What does that mean? "Okay."

"I wanted to mention the one area where we worry your page might need a little...bolstering, and please keep in mind that this doesn't mean we don't already love what you're doing." Sure it doesn't.