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Dale nods, and I feel buoyed again. I will make this work; I will get Lilly back.
“C’mon, Ol. I will take you home. You are in no state to drive.”
As I get into the passenger seat of Dale’s car, I pull out my phone and see the latest photo posted on the Love, Lilly Instagram page. Lilly in that dress—it almost hurts to look at her.
“Perfect dress on the perfect girl,” I comment before I can stop myself. Because she is the perfect girl for me, and as I continue to look at her, I declare to myself that sooner or later, she will be mine.
CHAPTER 35
Lilly
The next day, much to my dismay, I have to drag myself to work, having used all my allocated sick leave the day before. I know I must look dreadful, as my work colleagues appear to be giving me a wide berth while asking if I am still contagious, and I set my mind to the mindless tasks in front of me. The monotonous routine of the day, in addition to all the work I have to catch up on from yesterday, means that the day passes by quickly. During my breaks, I work on my Instagram account, posting some sponsored ads and playing with the filters for some of my upcoming pictures. My pop-up café is opening in three weeks, and I know I need to focus on getting ready for that, but my heart is just not in it. And to add insult to injury, this weekend is my twenty-fourth birthday. Another year older, and not even a little bit wiser.
After I return home following a day of endless paperwork, I call Amy to see if she can shed any light on my current dire love life situation. Amy, true to form, is still encouraging me to hear Oliver out, believing that maybe I was too hasty in sending him away. Oliver has been silent. Apart from that comment on Instagram, I haven’t heard from him at all. In typical Oliver fashion, he is honouring my request for space. And in my own typical fashion, I am annoyed that I had been so hasty in sending him away and am hoping he will ignore my wishes and turn back up on my doorstep, ready to explain what happened. Maybe this time, I will be in the right head space to actually listen.
At home and feeling restless, I begin making myself dinner, comfort mac ’n’ cheese tonight, when my phone rings. My heart in my throat, thinking maybe it is Oliver, I grab it up from the bench. In place of where Oliver’s face should be are my parents’, attempting to FaceTime me upside down.
“Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad. You have to turn the phone the other way around,” I say to them as I answer. I hear grumbling and see them finally turn themselves the right way up.
“Hi, Lilly. Honey, how are you?” my mum asks, looking concerned.
“I’m OK, Mum. Just had a long day at work and am now making myself some dinner.”
“Are you sure you’re OK?” my dad chimes in from where his head is pressed close to Mum’s on the screen.
“Ummm, yes?” I say, feeling confused by their concern.
“We watched your video last night. On the Instagram,” my mum informs me, sounding very much like someone who doesn’t know how to use “the” Instagram. “You looked so sad, and you were making breakup brownies.”
“You watched my video?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Of course. We have subscribed to your page and get a little notification when you are starting a live video,” my dad informs me. “We loved the one where you made mini chocolate mint ice cream sandwiches. Your mother tried to make them for me. However, they did not work out well.”
As they laugh together, my mum tells me, “I don’t have your skills in the kitchen, Lilly,” shocking me further. “But I love the way you explain the baking process, so I have been saving each video post and am trying to improve each time I make something you suggest.”
I stare at my parents while they continue to talk about which recipe they want to try next and cannot process what I am hearing.
“Are you telling me you have been following me on Instagram?” I ask, trying to get some clarity.
“Yes, Lilly. After you told us your plans to work on Instagram”—I roll my eyes at their description of being an influencer as someone who “works on Instagram,” like it is in an office somewhere— “we did some research and found that it is a legitimate way to make an income if done correctly. So we started following you. Haven’t you noticed our comments?”
“No,” I tell them. “You’ve been commenting on my posts?”
“Every one of them,” my dad says. “We have the username @Mum_and_Dad. Lilly, after we saw how much you seemed to be enjoying your work, we have been following along closely. And we just love what you are doing.”
I feel bewildered as I take in what they are saying to me. “You are proud of what I am doing?”
“Yes, of course we are,” my mum says. “Your page is delightful. Filled with lovely recipes and fun photos. And all your witty commentary in your live videos, well, we find it hilarious. And as we said, our research showed us that you can make a lot of money on Instagram, and while it is not a long-term prospect, you can make the sort of money that will set you up for your café business.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been doing research into Instagram earning potential,” I say, unable to comprehend what they are telling me.
“Not just Instagram, but the TikTok as well,” my dad chimes in, rendering me mute with shock. “Not everyone can be successful in this space. In fact, our research says that most aren’t, but, Lilly, your accounts have hundreds of thousands of followers. It is very impressive.”
Huh. Is this what it feels like to have my parents be proud of me? So unfamiliar to me.
“I didn’t think you would be interested in any of this. In fact, I thought you would talk me out of it. The last time we spoke, you were encouraging me to look into internships at a finance institute,” I reminded them.
My parents have the grace to look embarrassed by this.
