Mom Jeans and Other Mistakes Read online

  And on that note . . .

  “You have fun with that!” I run to the stairs, not missing Lauren flipping me off before I go.

  I might be living with a small child, but at least I’m not responsible for keeping her alive. Because for real? I’m not doing the best job of it for myself.

  But at least I look fucking fantastic doing it.

  TWO

  • • •

  Lauren

  I know syrup is practically a staple of breakfast food for children all across America. But after spending twenty solid minutes and two rolls of paper towel cleaning up what had to be the entire bottle of fifteen-dollar organic syrup off the floor, I’m pretty sure it will now be forever banned from my house.

  Well, technically not my house.

  Our house, Jude’s and mine.

  When we were in high school, we always said we’d live together when we were adults. I just didn’t think we’d be doing it because we were both in terrible places in our lives.

  “Adelaide, please, please, please just put on your shoes. Your dad is expecting you, and I do not want to be late.”

  “But I don’t know where they are.” Adelaide pokes her bottom lip out and works her hardest to squeeze out a tear that never comes before plopping on the ground.

  And most definitely not looking for her shoes.

  I close my eyes and do the deep-breathing technique one of Jude’s yoga friends taught me to calm down. She is five and I’m the adult. I need to take charge of this situation.

  One, two, three, four, five.

  “Adelaide June Keane, get that butt off my floor right now and go find your shoes. Remember when I bought them? You promised to keep them in your closet. If you kept that promise, we wouldn’t be having this problem. I don’t make rules to be mean, I make them to avoid situations like this.”

  My voice starts to rise at the end of my rant, but how many times do we have to have the shoe conversation before she just listens? I mean, make it easier on yourself, kid!

  She swipes a stray curl that escaped from her headband out of her face, and my heart melts a little bit looking at her. She is the perfect mix of me and her dad, inheriting the best both of us had to offer. Her big brown eyes sparkle against her golden skin, and her pink lips with a deep cupid’s bow form the perfect pout. Remembering how many times we were late to preschool for this exact reason is the only thing preventing me from kissing that look off her face.

  “I did put them away, Mommy.” She lies straight to my face. “I think Sparkle Glitter must have moved them.”

  Oh dear lord.

  “Sparkle Glitter did not move your shoes. She’s in the North Pole with Santa, she’s an elf, not a leprechaun.”

  Sparkle Glitter is our Elf on the Shelf. Adelaide gets a kick out of her, but I think it also scares her a little bit. Which? Fair. It’s the creepiest concept, and I might hate whoever came up with it. As if the holidays aren’t taxing enough, now we have to add moving an elf around every night to the list? My mom always asking why I’m not teaching her about “Jesus on the cross” instead doesn’t help either.

  I hope I never become that woman.

  “What’s a leprechaun?” Adelaide asks. Now she’s just being deliberately obtuse.

  “Oh for the love!” I throw my hands up in the air and spin on my heel to find her shoes. “I’ll do it. I do everything,” I mumble under my breath as I resist stomping up the stairs.

  Be the adult. You’re in charge. Be the example she needs.

  It takes me two minutes to find the freaking shoe.

  “I thought you said you looked in your closet.” I dangle the rhinestone-encrusted tennis shoes in front of me.

  “I did!” Adelaide jumps up, her pouty face and crocodile tears a distant memory. “Sparkle Glitter must have brought them back!” She snatches them out of my hand, but before I can lecture her about manners, the sound of Velcro fills the small foyer and the front door swings open, almost knocking Adelaide over.

  “Auntie Jude!” Adelaide jumps up, one shoe on, one completely forgotten.

  “Addy girl!” Jude drops into a deep squat and swoops my girl into her arms, peppering her face with kisses.

  And it’s almost too much. The free, joyous, and contagious love that they have for each other.

  It’s what I’ve always dreamt of for my daughter but was never able to give her.

  To be fair, though, it’s kind of hard to create a loving, stable home when your fiancé is sleeping with another woman . . . or, as it turned out, multiple other women.

  Jude might be a disaster, but honestly, so am I. And Jude loves Adelaide like she loves life. Fully and unapologetically. Which is something else I needed to show my daughter. After we left my ex’s house, we landed with my parents. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for them. I know many women in my situation do not have the support of family to lean on. But my mom—as well-meaning as she is—is quite possibly one of the coldest people on the entire planet. Living with her when I was already depressed took me to a low I didn’t know was possible. When Jude brought up the idea of living together, I latched on to it like the lifeline it was.

  And now? We’ve created our own family.

  How millennial is that?

  “How was your meeting?” Addy asks when Jude finally sets her back down, sounding more twenty-five than five.

  “You know.” Jude sits on the ground next to her, looking her straight in the eye. I love how she treats Adelaide as an equal. She respects her opinions and never trivializes her feelings, something my mom still doesn’t do for me . . . and I’m a freaking adult. “I think it actually went really well. The guy was a typical man and mansplained a lot to me, but overall, I think they liked me.”

  “Ugh.” Adelaide rolls her eyes. “The patriarchy.”

  I choke back my laughter. Maybe I should tone down my feminist rants a tiny bit.

  “Tell me about it.” Jude keeps a straight face as she leans in and drops her voice to a whisper. “When you get home, we’ll discuss it further over juice boxes and fruit snacks.”

  “You got a deal.” Adelaide stretches her little hand in front of her to shake with Jude. “We can talk about Ruth Better Ginser. I’ll bring the Goldfish.”

  “Ruth Bader Ginsburg, baby,” I correct her, deciding at that moment that, no, the feminist rants are exactly where they need to be.

  She tilts her chin and looks up at me through the thick lashes she did not inherit from me. “That’s what I said.” Skepticism is thick in her sweet voice as she stares at me like I have no idea what I’m talking about. Which is also fair.

  “I must have misheard then,” I say before clapping my hands together. “All right, now let’s get that other shoe on. Daddy’s probably staring out of his window looking for you. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  I don’t like to lie to her, but I also don’t want her to ever question being loved. It’s just that right now, I’m not sure Ben is capable of loving anybody other than himself. But at least he’s finally stepped up and is having her spend the night with him when he has a break in his schedule. It’s a start and I guess that means something.

  “You’re right. Daddy needs Addy time too.” She crab walks across the linoleum to her other shoe and straps it on. “Oh no!” she shouts, jumping up from the floor like a shot. How children just casually do the workouts I go out of my way to avoid never ceases to blow my mind. “I almost forgot the pictures I made him and the bracelet I made for Stephanie!”

  “Okay, hustle and go get them, I’m sure they will love them.” I plaster a smile on my face, hoping to disguise the flinch I always have when Stephanie is mentioned.

  I see Jude open her mouth, and I already know whatever is going to come out of it is not going to be kind. I snap my fingers at her and level her with a glare.

  “Right.
” She deflates. “Not in front of Addy, blah blah blah,” she mumbles, sounding almost identical to my five-year-old.

  Adelaide runs back down the stairs, her almost pitch-black curls bouncing behind her and her purple tutu floating upward, revealing the total glory of the cat tights she picked out this morning. “Okay.” Above her head she holds up the masterpieces she created, pride and confidence radiating from her tiny body. “I’m ready to go.”

  “Yaassss, queen!” Jude snaps her fingers, and Adelaide’s cheeks, which are suddenly losing all of their chub and starting to resemble those of a little girl and not my baby, turn pink.

  “Auntie Jude, I’m not a queen,” she corrects. “I’m a president. You just get to be queen, but you have to work to be president, right, Mom?”

  “You’re so right, sister girl.” My stomach tightens and my throat constricts, the love and pride I have for this girl nearly choking me. When I was pregnant, everyone told me it was a love like I never knew. So I had an idea of what having a kid would be like, but I didn’t know love could be this big. Every day I think I love her more than is ever possible, but every day, it still manages to grow.

  “Well, excuse me.” Jude unfolds her perfectly lean body from the ground in a way only a fitness influencer like her can do. “You’re still the fanciest president I’ve ever seen. I thought you needed a pantsuit for that job.”

  Adelaide shakes her head, stuffing her pictures and the bracelet in her sequined unicorn backpack before sliding her arms through the straps. “What a person wears doesn’t matter, silly. It’s the inside stuff that’s important.” And with that mic drop, she pulls open the front door and summons me, her constituent, out of the door. “Come on, Mommy. I thought you didn’t want to be late.”

  I follow her to the car without a saying a word. It’s not like I was standing with my keys in my hand for the last thirty minutes or anything.

  And now I get to see Ben.

  Yay.

  THREE

  • • •

  Lauren

  Adelaide’s wiggling body and my shaking hands make what’s usually second nature a total and utter disaster.

  “Adelaide!” My clumsy fingers miss the clasp of her car seat again. “Please, please stop moving.”

  “I can’t, Mommy, my body is just too excited!” Adelaide’s eyes are focused out of the window, looking at the brick exterior of the home where we once all lived.

  The home where Ben lives with Stephanie. And it’s like I can feel their gazes burning a hole through my back.

  “Got it!” I shout in triumph . . . and then cower apologetically when I turn and meet Mrs. Miller’s familiar glare as she walks her—maybe evil—poodle past us.

  “Moooom.” Adelaide’s grating whine snaps me back to the present. “I can’t find my shoe.”

  Oh, for the freaking love!

  “Why in the world did you take them off?” I swear I never knew that shoes would be my downfall in life. The parenting books told me everything I needed to know about pregnancy and birth and colic, but not one of them prepared me for five-year-olds and their ability to lose shoes. Even while strapped down in a car.

  “My feet were sweaty.” She pokes out the bottom lip I’ve long become immune to. “We’re so far from Daddy and the car ride was so long.”

  Now that? That I have not become immune to. The guilt. Holy shit. The guilt I feel, knowing she’s lived in three places in two years and that most of her contact with her dad before these last few months was over the phone, eats away at me at every second of every day.

  “I know, baby.” The frustration over shoes is completely forgotten. “How about—”

  “Junie!” A peppy voice cuts me off before I can finish, and I cringe a little hearing both the voice and the nickname. For some reason, Ben has always called her Junie instead of Adelaide. I used to think it was cute, but now it’s like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Stephanie!” Adelaide shoves past me and jumps into Ben’s new girlfriend’s arms . . . one shoe and all.

  I like Stephanie.

  Hand to God, I do. Before she came into the picture, I was lucky if I could get Ben to commit to seeing Adelaide more than once a month. Child support was sporadic at best. I spent my nights praying he would see the error of his ways and make a change before it was too late. And that prayer was answered in Stephanie.

  I guess I should be more specific when chatting with the big man.

  Because even though I like her and I know I can thank her exclusively for Ben’s sudden reappearance in Adelaide’s life and finally catching up on his child support payments, there’s still a sick twist of my stomach every time I hear Adelaide tell me how great she is. And moments like these, when I get shoved to the side and forgotten so she can go to her other family, feel like a rusty knife stabbing me through the heart over and over again.

  But my feelings don’t count now, and I do what I’ve always done. I shove everything I’m feeling so far down that I can almost forget about it and plaster a smile I don’t mean on my face.

  I turn on a well-worn heel—buying new shoes for anyone except my daughter has not been on the docket these past couple of years—and greet the woman who is worming her way into my daughter’s heart. “Stephanie! How are you?”

  Even in workout clothes, she still manages to look like she walked right out of a Victoria’s Secret photo shoot. Her blond hair doesn’t have a strand out of place, and there isn’t even an ounce of fat between the waistband of her spandex leggings and her sports bra. Something I haven’t been able to pull off since getting pregnant.

  “I’m great.” Her voice is soft and melodic, and I already know from Adelaide that she tells the best bedtime stories. “Just excited to spend some time with this girl tonight.” She tickles Adelaide’s side, and Adelaide throws her head back and giggles uncontrollably.

  Stephanie focuses her eyes on my daughter, and her bright smile grows so big that she nearly blinds me with her perfect teeth. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Everything about her is perfect. She’s everything I’ll never be and she’s freaking perfect. It’s no wonder she’s living the life I wanted so badly to create.

  It’s such a weird feeling, being so thankful you could cry and so freaking jealous that it turns the world green and makes you sick to the stomach at the very same time.

  The tears that always fall after I drop Adelaide off start to build about five minutes too early, and I can feel the facade I work so hard to keep up around them start to crumble. “Why don’t you take her inside while I grab the rest of her stuff.” I wave them away, climbing over Adelaide’s car seat to look for her sparkly shoe, which should not be this difficult to find.

  “Sounds good,” Stephanie calls before I hear her talk to Adelaide again. “I can’t wait to show you the stuff I got you! We’re gonna have a girls’ weekend. I hope you like nail polish and popcorn.”

  “I love nail polish and popcorn!” Adelaide’s voice has risen about ten decibels, and even without looking, I know her brown eyes are sparkling and those sweet little creases she gets on the top of her nose when she smiles with her entire face are there.

  You’re still her mom. Being a constant in her life is what she will always remember.

  Being a millennial might not be great for most things. You know, like home ownership and student loan debt. But if there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s technology and prioritizing mental health, and thanks to some genius in Silicon Valley, teletherapy is totally a thing.

  Also, mom podcasts and blogs. I’m not sure I would’ve survived these last couple of years without mom influencers. Thank the heavens for Nicola Roberts, my best mom friend . . . who has no idea I even exist.

  It takes me a surprisingly long time to find her shoe, which is stuck between the passenger seat and the front door. I shove it in her backpack, which is stuffed with more than she needs, but still
less than she wanted, and try to prepare myself for my least favorite part of all of this. And considering I really dislike all of it, that’s saying a lot.

  Each step up the pathway is a punch to the gut. I loved this tiny bungalow. We moved in at the beginning of my second trimester, not long before my pregnancy went to hell. I spent an entire weekend planting the rosebushes that are now mocking me as I walk between them—a cruel reminder that all the love I put into them will keep blossoming even if I never step foot here again. This was where, when we brought Adelaide home, Jude had decorated the entire yard with pink balloons and streamers. I thought it was where I’d watch Adelaide grow up, not where I’d watch her walk away.

  Before I can even make it to the porch, which is still decorated with the flowerpots Adelaide and I painted when she was two, the front door opens and Ben steps out.

  Ben Keane. The love of my life who gave me the entire world and then pulled it away just as fast.

  “Hey.” I hope my face looks normal. I never know what I look like when I see him. Whether my hate or love for him is showing this time. I’m sure one day it won’t be a struggle to see him, but today is not that day.

  “Hey.” His bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners as Adelaide’s smile appears on his infuriatingly handsome face. “Thanks for driving her over, I could’ve picked her up.”

  “It’s not a problem.” I wave him off, not wanting to admit how much I enjoy the traffic if it means getting more time with my girl. “I had some errands to run anyway.”

  “Good, cool . . . thanks. We’re excited to have her.”

  “Like I said, not a problem.” I’ve come to find this is the hardest part of Ben coming back into our lives. Every time he thanks me for something that should’ve been happening for Adelaide’s entire life, I practically have to chomp off my tongue in order not to say the snotty remark bubbling at the back of my throat.