Mom Jeans and Other Mistakes Page 3

  “Oh, and since I have you here, I wanted to ask about kindergarten for Junie.”

  “Okay.” I draw out the word for a beat. “What about it?”

  “There’s a school close by, and I’ve heard from the neighbors that it’s really good. I was thinking maybe we could enroll her there. I know we both work full-time, but Steph pretty much makes her own schedule and can watch her after school for us.”

  There’s a lot to unpack there, but a few things come to mind right away:

  1) Hell freaking no.

  2) He’s out of his goddamn mind.

  3) If only kindergarten enrollment in Los Angeles was so easy.

  “I know this is a great school district, it’s the reason I wanted to buy in this neighborhood in the first place.” Because dropping off my daughter here isn’t hard enough, let’s rub some more salt in the wound! “But no, she’s already enrolled in kindergarten.”

  He pulls his shoulders back and narrows his eyebrows. The way he does anytime someone dares to tell the great Ben Keane no.

  “No? Why not?”

  “Because that’s not how things work, Ben. I toured kindergartens and applied for a year before Adelaide got in. There were teacher recommendations, testing, and observations. It was a huge process.” It was like college, but with finger painting. The entire process was freaking absurd and I get a headache thinking about it. “And you already knew about this. Don’t you remember the papers you signed?”

  “Vaguely.” He doesn’t remember, I can tell by the way he looks down at his feet when he answers. “I guess I just assumed this is a decision we would discuss together.”

  I want to scream.

  I want to punch him in the throat and scream.

  Instead, I take a deep breath.

  “I would’ve liked that too. But if you remember, you weren’t very involved for a few years there.” I keep my voice measured and calm, even though it’s killing me slowly. “And even if you wanted to talk about things now, it’s July. Applications for schools were due in the fall and admissions were given back in March. So this conversation is moot.”

  I wanted to look at charter schools for Adelaide. The price of private school, even for elementary school, is mind-boggling. But my parents insisted on only the best for Adelaide, promising to cover the cost and letting me pay them back on a payment plan. I might’ve fought harder against it, but when Adelaide got into Remington Academy, I couldn’t say no. Not only are the academics unmatched, but their art program is truly out of this world. When Adelaide shadowed a student for a day, she talked about the art teacher for weeks. She loved it. And I couldn’t deny her a start in life where she loved school from the very beginning.

  The color in his cheeks hasn’t faded and his posture hasn’t relaxed. He looks right past me and eyes the overstuffed backpack slung over my shoulder. “Is that her stuff?”

  Point taken.

  I’d gladly never discuss this with him ever again.

  “Yeah.” I take it off and hand it over to him. It’s hard for me to believe that I used to consider him my best friend.

  He takes the bag from my hand, careful to make sure he doesn’t even so much as graze my fingertips. “Well, even if she doesn’t go to school around here.” He stumbles over his words and my guard immediately shoots up. “I was talking with Stephanie and we both think it would be a good idea if Junie starts coming over a little bit more.”

  My stomach twists into knots, and I’m afraid I might decorate those rosebushes I so lovingly planted with this morning’s pancakes.

  “Yeah, sure!” My voice is too high, my words are too forceful, but no matter how many calming techniques Jude’s friends taught me, my panic overrides it all and I forget everything. “Adelaide would love that.”

  And she would. Which is why me feeling like his words are slowly ripping me apart from the inside out makes me feel like the worst mom in the history of moms. I should be happy. Right? I want my daughter to have a relationship with her dad. I want Ben to step up and be involved in her life. I freaking prayed for it! But I don’t want to lose any of my time with her either. I want every good-night kiss, morning cuddle, every tickle session. I want the tantrums and snotty noses. Good and bad. I want every single second of it.

  And it makes me hate Ben even more.

  “Great, thanks.” He at least has the decency to look somewhat nervous. And considering the roller-coaster ride this encounter has been, it’s the least he could do. “I’ll email you, the lawyer said it’s probably best that we have everything in writing.”

  His sentence trails off at the same time the ground disappears from beneath my feet.

  “Lawyer?” The word is barely more than a whisper.

  “Oh, yeah, you know, I just wanted to make sure I go about everything the right way.” His blue eyes, the ones I loved so much, look anywhere except at me.

  “Ben.” His name is like acid coming out of my mouth. “Do I need to get a lawyer?”

  “No.” He shakes his head furiously, the wavy black hair I used to love running my fingers through flopping over across his forehead. “Really, don’t worry about it. You’ve been so great, I know we don’t need to get them involved, this is just for me so I don’t mess things up.”

  “Okay, thank you.” Relief washes over me. The last thing I need is lawyer bills with the kindergarten tuition payments I’ll soon be paying.

  When we separated, he was a doctor and I was an unemployed single mom. I told my mom a lawyer helped me get everything straightened out, but since Ben and I never got married and I wasn’t legally entitled to his money, I couldn’t afford a lawyer. And the way my pride was set up, I couldn’t admit to my mom that she was right to be worried. So instead, I pretended everything was fine to my parents and was grateful anytime he gave me money or graced Adelaide with his presence.

  “Of course. I just want to make things good between us.” He pushes his hair off his face, and then he smiles at me.

  And not just any smile. Not the one I fell in love with or the one he gave me after I said yes to marrying him. No, it’s the smile that came later. The one he gave me when I told him I was pregnant. The one he gave me when I told him it was fine he took an extra shift at the hospital. The one I took comfort in and trusted.

  The same one he used while he was cheating on me and lying straight to my face for years.

  And I know I need to get a lawyer. Which means I need to call my parents and come clean.

  Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better.

  FOUR

  • • •

  Jude

  The best part of being a social influencer is that everyone around you wants to be one too.

  I started my brand without even trying. Some random blog posted a picture from my Instagram for an article they were doing on Hollywood’s hottest daughters. It was nice that they still considered my mom part of Hollywood. It was shortly after her second season on a cult-following reality show. They posted a picture of us leaving a Pilates class, and even I have to admit that my body looked bangin’ in that picture. I was pulling my freshly highlighted hair out of a ponytail, and my smile was that of someone completely oblivious to the destruction life was about to rain down on her. My skin had the glow of a perfect sweat session. I looked amazing.

  That night the first clothing line reached out to me. The next day, an online Pilates platform and a nutritional company. And considering I was most definitely not using my theater degree, I took this opportunity for what it was and ran with it.

  That was five years ago.

  I know being an influencer looks like bullshit captions and filtered pictures. Part of it is. But it’s also a lot of work to stay relevant in a field that gets more and more saturated by the day. It’s being conscious of everything I post online. It’s seeing my life through the lens of my phone camera, projec
ting that sparkling image to my hundreds of thousands of followers, and never letting them see me falter. Even when my life is in a total tailspin. It’s constantly pitching to brands that I’m the person they should invest in. And it’s trying to expand my brand so I’m not dependent on some algorithm for my livelihood. That’s what my Pilates studio was supposed to do.

  Before Asher Thompson took my money and ran with it. Leaving me broke, with a “sister wife” and a five-year-old for roommates. But like I post on the ’gram, c’est la vie and some other inspirational shit.

  Even though faking perfection should probably make me feel guilty or like a fraud who doesn’t deserve any of the things I have, it doesn’t. It does the opposite. It just proves how fucking good I am at my job. And unlike my mom, I’m making money doing this, not sending my entire family into financial ruin to keep up with the Joneses. So tonight, when I post pictures smiling with my best friend at Hudson’s gallery opening, my followers will eat it up, just like I knew they would. Because I’m a goddamn professional.

  Well, that’s if Lauren ever gets here.

  I check my phone again.

  No missed calls. No text messages. Seven minutes. We’re supposed to leave in seven minutes and I have no idea where she is. But unless she stopped by the mall and salon on her way home from Dickhead’s house, I know she’s going to need at least thirty minutes to get ready.

  If she’s still even going to come with me.

  “Fuck it.” I open my Uber app. Lauren was going to drive and I was going to cocktail my night away. Thank goodness it’s an open bar, I can’t afford a car and bar fare.

  But just before I confirm my ride, the front door swings open.

  “Finally!” I toss my phone on the couch and run across the living room. “Really, Lauren?” I narrow my eyes on the fast-food bag in one hand, then the giant, no doubt not diet soda in the other. “I’ve been waiting for you for an hour while you were gorging on In-N-Out? That’s not even on the way home.”

  “I’m aware.” She never drops eye contact as she lifts her (plastic) straw to her mouth and takes a long sip.

  I want to lecture her about the empty calories in soda, but I notice her eyes glisten and her lips tremble around the straw. “What did that smug motherfucker do this time? I’ll kill him. I’ve been studying all those murder dramas on CBS. I’m sure I can get away with it, they’ll never prove anything.” I never liked Ben. There was just something so slimy about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. And you can’t tell your best friend to break up with her boyfriend because you hate his face. So I didn’t say anything. I waver on my regret. I wish she never had to deal with him, but Addy is literally one of my favorite humans on the planet. Clearly, Lauren’s DNA took the lead with her. “And if murder is out, just say the word. I can launch a social media smear campaign that will fucking ruin him.”

  “I think he’s going to try to get custody of Adelaide.” Her voice trails off at the end, but not enough that I can’t hear. Not enough that I don’t want to break something. Like his stupid fucking nose.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I surprise myself when my words come out as a whisper and not the bloodcurdling scream I was expecting.

  “Oh, it gets better.” She drops her stuff on the kitchen counter before crossing the room and collapsing on the couch. “He slipped about getting a lawyer. I can’t afford a lawyer right now. I mean, you know.” She gestures to the sparsely furnished room we’re standing in. And in that single movement, the haunted expression on her face, I can feel her desperation. “I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I had to get ahead of it before papers showed up on our doorstep and I was left scrambling to play catch-up. I had to do it.”

  Realization begins to dawn on me. Lauren doesn’t just look Ben frustrated. This is more. Much more. She looks ashamed and broken. There’s only one person who can make her feel like that. “No.” My eyes widen for a split second before I feel the wrinkles form in my forehead and try to school my expression. “You didn’t.”

  “What else was I going to do? This is about Adelaide. I can’t have some crap lawyer who doesn’t care about us representing me.”

  “But there had to be some other option.” I rack my brain, trying to think of any other alternative. “What about that one girl? Ashley? No, Amy! She’s a lawyer, right? Weren’t you guys sorority sisters?”

  “Ava.” Lauren shakes her head. “She hated me and gloated when I got pregnant. She’s part of the reason I quit that sorority.”

  “You quit the sorority?” I didn’t even know you could do that. “I thought they are like a gang and the only way out is death.”

  “I quit forever ago and talked to you about it before I did it.” She rolls her eyes and looks at me in a way that makes my insides wither up and die. Stupid mom glare. “Can we focus?”

  “Sorry. But Ava, she’s still a lawyer, maybe she’d help. We’re adults now.”

  “We were technically adults in college too. I don’t trust her. She didn’t like me. She loved Ben. Why would I think she’d have my and Adelaide’s best interest during a custody battle? Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s in corporate law, not family.” She folds her arms in front of her chest, looking like she’s trying to disappear into the couch cushions. “I had no other options.”

  “But your mom? She’s never going to let you live this down.” Have I mentioned how much I hate Lauren’s mom? Yes? Okay, good.

  “Maybe not, but she’s one of the best lawyers there is and has connections I need.” She starts to pick at her nails, a nervous habit I’ve tried—unsuccessfully—to kick her of for almost twenty years. “I know she doesn’t always show it, but she loves me and she really loves Adelaide. That’s all that matters right now.”

  I hate it when she’s right.

  I really hate it when she’s right about her mother.

  “All right.” I jump off the couch because this shit is depressing and not what I signed up for tonight. “It’s time to get you ready.”

  Her head snaps away from her now chipped nail polish, and she stares at me like I’ve just grown another head. “Did you hear anything I just told you? I’m not in the mood to go out tonight.”

  “Yes I heard you. And this is exactly the kind of night that you need to go out.” I grab her arm and yank her to her feet. She forgets that even though I’m small, I’m mad fucking strong. Pilates toning strength for the win. “You’re going to get dressed up, come out with me, have some free drinks, and forget about all of this for a night.”

  Dickhead just started committing to overnight visits in the last couple of months. Lauren hasn’t had a night out in years. This will be good for her.

  “I just don’t think—”

  “Nope.” I cut her off before she can get her excuse out. “You aren’t getting out of this. I already told Hudson I was bringing my superhot friend, and he’ll be pissed if I show solo. You’re coming. You have no choice.”

  “Fine, but don’t complain because I’m a buzzkill and ruin the party for everyone,” she whines, but still climbs the stairs with me to her room.

  “Not possible. You forget who I am.” I open up her closet and try to find something . . . anything . . . that doesn’t look like it was sold at Moms-R-Us. “I’m fun enough for both of us. You’re going to thank me, trust me.”

  “Infamous last words.”

  “Insta-famous last words.” I toss a wink over my shoulder. “Now go shower and wash all that sadness off of you. Tonight you’re not a mom, you’re my best friend. And we’re going all out.”

  Lauren lives a life of full responsibility and reality. She’s in charge of not only keeping another human alive, but also making sure she’s well adjusted and doesn’t turn into a serial killer. That’s a lot of pressure!

  Fortunately for her, I can change that for a night.

  It’s literally
what I do for a living. There’s not much I can do for her to make this situation better. Because, let’s be honest, it fucking blows, but I can make her forget it for a while. Fake it till you make it.

  For one night, I can make her remember what it feels like to be carefree, fun, and young. Maybe I can show her that being a mom doesn’t have to change her completely. That she’s still allowed to be something other than Addy’s mom.

  I’m a good Pilates instructor, but I’m a kick-ass friend and drinking partner. And Lauren needs me now more than ever.

  She just doesn’t know it yet.

  FIVE

  • • •

  Lauren

  From the second Jude found the one miniskirt I owned and forced it on me, I knew this was a bad idea.

  I love Jude. She loves me. I know her heart is in the right place, but this is literally my version of hell on earth.

  “So, what do you do?” Hudson, Jude’s friend who did the art for this event . . . or just hosted it because he likes art on Instagram or something, asks.

  “I work at an ob-gyn’s office.” I don’t look at him as I answer, hoping my clear lack of interest is enough to ward him off.

  Wrong.

  “So you’re a doctor? That’s hot.”

  Oh my god.

  Please go away!

  “No, not a doctor. I just work there.” I take a sip of the red wine I’ve been nursing for the last hour. “I’m an administrator.”

  This is one of the topics that I hate the most.

  I wanted to be a doctor. I had it planned from the time Jessica H.’s mom came to our school for career day and showed us all the pictures of the babies she delivered. I got straight A’s and joined student council and played varsity soccer all four years of high school. I aced my ACTs and SATs. I could’ve gone to any school I wanted. But of course, I had to go to my mom and dad’s alma mater. They were so proud. Their only child, doing exactly what she was supposed to do.