Mom Jeans and Other Mistakes Read online

  Everything was going to plan.

  Until Ben.

  And look at me now.

  Another disappointment. My mom’s words from earlier, and really my entire life, bounce around in my head. Always disappointing someone, always proving my mom right.

  “Oh, that’s cool though.” He glances over his shoulder and I think I might finally get some people reprieve. “So do you do Pilates too? Or what’s your Instagram brand?”

  Who in the world asks that?

  I love Jude.

  But I think I hate her friends. What’s my brand? Right now, my brand is hating everyone almost as much as I hate myself.

  “I don’t have an Instagram account.” At my words, Hudson’s entire face falls and it looks like someone just kicked his puppy or, worse, unfollowed him.

  “Twitter?”

  “No Twitter, I don’t do social media.” I already judge my life too harshly without comparing it to the seemingly perfect lives of millions of strangers online. Social media is a surefire way for me to fall in a shame spiral.

  Hudson’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to comprehend someone who doesn’t have an online presence. “Oh, so what about Facebook?”

  Oookay.

  “I don’t have social media.” I repeat my earlier words . . . just slower.

  “But, like . . .” He runs his hands through his scruffy blond hair and pulls on the ends. “How do you keep up with your friends?”

  Friends? As in more than one?

  “Well, I live with Jude, so we keep up pretty easily. Everyone else?” He doesn’t need all the details of my lonely life. “I call them? We text. In a pinch, I can email.” Holy shit. This is why people crap on millennials all the time. “We actually talk instead of me just clicking on a heart by their pictures.”

  “Wow.” He shrugs his shoulders, and suddenly the look of confusion has cleared from his face and the interest is back. “That’s really cool of you.”

  I scrunch my eyebrows and purse my lips. Not even Adelaide thinks I’m cool, and she’s five with pretty low standards. “Is it? Is it really?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze drops down my body before leisurely making its way back to my face. “I love that you dedicate your focus and attention to the people you’re with.”

  All right.

  Enough of this.

  “Yeah, my daughter is pretty demanding.” I pull out the one thing I know is guaranteed to scare a self-obsessed twentysomething away. Kids. “She wouldn’t deal well with me not giving her one hundred percent of my attention.”

  “Oh! A daughter! Wow, that’s really . . . wow! Reproduction is dope.” His eyes widen to almost cartoon size as he takes a giant step back, giving me the space I’ve been craving since he first walked over. “Well, you have fun tonight. I hope you enjoy the art.”

  He’s gone before I can even say goodbye. But, if nothing else, I can have the phrase reproduction is dope made into wall art from Etsy, so I guess the night isn’t a total wash.

  “Idiot.”

  “Who’s an idiot?” Jude wraps her arms around my waist and lays a wet kiss on my cheek.

  “You better not’ve left lipstick on my face.” After the amount of time it took her to perfect the contour on my face, it better last for the rest of the month.

  “Who wears lipstick that smudges anymore?” She leans in and I get a nice, strong whiff of vodka.

  Whoever said vodka has no scent clearly just drank too much of it.

  “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

  “Not enough.” She takes my hand and guides me to a corner of the gallery filled with sculptures made from recycled materials like straws and water bottles. It’s actually pretty cool, but mainly just reminds me to order a collapsible metal straw for my purse and new Tupperware for Adelaide’s lunch box. Hopefully she won’t throw this set away. “Now, no deflecting. Who’s an idiot, and what guy are you bringing home tonight?”

  “Hudson is an idiot, and you must have been drinking even more than I thought if you think I’m bringing some random dude home.”

  “Why not?” Her bottom lip sticks out almost comically. Even when I don’t have Adelaide with me, I still deal with a pouty toddler. “I know we agreed on no hookups coming home when Addy’s there, but news flash, Mom! She’s not home! And anyway, when’s the last time you got some?”

  Well, crap.

  And I thought the doctor talk was my least favorite topic.

  I try to pull out of her freakishly strong grip, but it only makes her squeeze me harder. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to sleep with some rando.”

  “Who said anything about sleeping?” She makes her eyebrows dance in the way that never fails to make me laugh. Honestly, I’m surprised they can still do it with the amount of coloring and shaping she does to them.

  “You’re gross.” I shake my head, knowing the only way to get her off me is to flip it back on her. “But you can bring someone home. Who are you looking at?”

  “I know when you’re deflecting. And you are so deflecting. How long has it been?”

  Crap. This is why it’s not a good idea to be friends with someone for so long that they know all your defense mechanisms.

  “It’s been a little while. Okay?”

  She hugs me tighter and my lungs start to struggle to get oxygen. “How long is a little while?”

  I guess alcohol makes her an expert interrogator. Something I will have to remember when Adelaide is a sneaky teen.

  “Geez. Fine!” I whisper-shout, looking around to make sure nobody is streaming our conversation across the internet. “Since Ben.”

  “BEN!” she shouts, and if there weren’t eyes on us before, they’re all on us now. “That’s, like, two years!”

  “Closer to three,” I mumble beneath my breath. But by the way her eyebrows fade into her hairline and her eyes try to pop their way into my wineglass, she heard me.

  “Three years! You haven’t had sex in three years?” Now she’s straight-up screaming and I’m positive that everyone within a five-block radius knows the details of my sex life . . . if you can call it that.

  “Jude!” I cover her mouth with my hand and then look to all the rude gawkers who can’t even pretend to not be interested. “Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to stare? Look at the art. Shoo!”

  What can I say? Once a mom, always a mom.

  Jude peels my fingers from her mouth, and even though I’m mortified, I can’t help but notice she was right. Her lipstick hasn’t smudged in the slightest.

  “Did you just tell people to shoo?” Her eyes are glassed over in drunk amusement.

  “Did you just scream to the world about my dry spell?” I counter.

  “Touché.” She shrugs but doesn’t apologize. Something I will one hundred percent bring up in the morning. “But three years? How? Yeah, you’re a mom, but you’re still hot.”

  “I’m not sure that’s actually a compliment.”

  Jude has always had a way with words. Whereas I measure everything that comes out of my mouth and think of the consequences of my every action (minus getting pregnant out of wedlock and dropping out of medical school), she’s fast and loose with everything—words and booze. She lives by the mantra “Act now, apologize later.” Which is probably why she’s so much better at saying sorry than I am.

  She brushes off my comment. “Did giving birth break your vagina or something? I read some women have torn to their anus! If that happened, I’ll understand. If my vag ripped to my ass, I’d never have sex again.”

  See! No filter!

  “Seriously, Jude?” I feel the heat creep up my cheeks as I hear a few snickers from around us. I’m not sure if I’m more embarrassed or angry. “Can you please drop it?”

  “Hudson!” she shouts across the room, waving her arms to summon the m
an I just got rid of. “Come here!”

  Damn it. She’s not going to stop. She knows how much I hate this kind of thing, but when Jude wants something, nothing can stand in her way. Not even me.

  “Hey, Jude,” Hudson sings to the Beatles tune. It’s so unoriginal and predictable that I have to fight to not roll my eyes.

  “Don’t you think Lauren is hot?” She points at me and they both stare at me like I’m one of the pieces of art on display tonight. But not one that is outwardly pretty, one that confuses the masses and draws out everyone’s uninformed opinions.

  “She’s stunning.” His tone is serious, not mocking. And I don’t know how to feel about it.

  I shift beneath his gaze, hating the warmth that’s rising inside of me.

  I’m raising a beautiful little girl. One who I tell every day that she is smart and powerful and magical. I don’t want her to focus on her outer when her inner is what will change the world.

  But how can I teach her that? Authentically preach that her power comes from within, when I am practically basking in the praise that this man—one I literally just called an idiot—is showing me?

  I feel the tears start to pull at the backs of my eyes, and the mortification that has been slowly rising over the course of the night skyrockets. And so does my temper.

  “I think I was right, I shouldn’t have come tonight.” I look at Jude, who is blissfully unaware of just how uncomfortable she’s made me. I put my still-not-empty wineglass on the nearest table and adjust my purse, trying to gain some semblance of self-respect when all I want to do is run out the nearest door.

  “Seriously? We were just giving you a compliment!” She’s still amused by all of this, and the fact that she can’t even seem to acknowledge how she’s made me feel, knowing what kind of day I had, is more than infuriating. It’s hurtful.

  I had Adelaide young, but before that, I was so focused on school I skipped the entire partying scene. Of course Jude and I have gone out for drinks here and there, but I haven’t been around her drunk since freshman year of college. And I was drunk with her, so maybe I forgot this kind of behavior.

  However, one thing is very clear: I’m not a fan of drunk Jude.

  “I know. I’m supposed to be flattered, but I asked you to stop, and you kept going.” I maintain strict eye contact, just like I do when I am disciplining Adelaide. I guess parenting books come in handy with boozy friends too. “I’m not having fun, so now I’m leaving. I know you were counting on me to drive, so when you want to leave, text me and I’ll order you an Uber.”

  Not that forty dollars on an Uber is something I’m thrilled about shelling out. But if that’s the cost of getting out of here, I’ll gladly pay it.

  “Lauren,” she starts, but—surprisingly—Hudson cuts her off this time.

  “I’ll drive her home. You don’t need to worry.”

  I look him over. His tone is steady—no slurring, his eyes are open and alert, and he’s holding a bottle of water and not a mixed drink like almost everyone else. Which means he made that dope comment sober. Not sure if that makes it better or worse . . .

  “If you have so much as one drink, I want her in an Uber.” I narrow my eyes and point a very unmanicured nail at him.

  I mean, I might not be thrilled with Jude, but she’s still my best friend. I will hunt this guy down if she comes home with so much as a scratch.

  He salutes me. “Aye, aye, captain.”

  Thankfully, motherhood is basically disciplining your child while trying not to laugh because you are actually extremely amused at whatever their latest antics are, so I’m able to keep a straight face through this. In fact, I manage to narrow my eyes more.

  “Good. My mom is one of the top attorneys in the state of California, maybe the country. If anything happens to her, I will not hesitate to come for you.”

  “Her mom wouldn’t throw water on me if I were on fire, you’ll be fine.” Jude undermines my entire threat.

  “Really? Do you want to die?” And considering I want to strangle her at the moment, I don’t know who I need to protect her from.

  “Hudson’s, like, the best dude ever.” She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of the drink she does not need. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You better be,” I say to her, but look to Hudson, who is staring right back at me with a small smirk on his face. And this time I don’t actually want to smack it off him. For the first time, he’s not looking at me like he’s preparing to go live on whatever platform he’s posting on or trying to convince me he is the person he’s showing the world. And I think that maybe if he came up to me like this, my night would have been slightly more enjoyable.

  Strong maybe.

  Oh well. It doesn’t matter. I’ve sworn off anything and everyone in my life that does not benefit Adelaide. So even if Jude and Hudson managed to slip past my first line of defense, my dry spell will not be ending anytime soon. Maybe not until Adelaide is grown and out of the house.

  What’s thirteen more years anyway?

  SIX

  • • •

  Jude

  You turn twenty-one, and then you die.

  I’m not being dramatic. Really, I’m not. But when I drank in high school, I could get pass-out drunk and wake up the next morning ready to run a marathon. Not that I would actually ever run a marathon. Who wants to run twenty-six miles? I don’t even want to drive that far. I did run a half once, but that’s as far as I’ll go. That’s beside the point. The point is that drinking without having a hangover was my superpower.

  I just didn’t realize that power was also called youth. Something that seems to be slowly dwindling away these days. Because now when I drink, I wake up in the morning with a headache that feels like the San Andreas Fault, a mouth drier than the Sahara, and my stomach like that one time my dad took us to Spain and I had bad paella.

  Good thing last night was a fucking blast.

  Sacrifices and all that shit.

  Too bad Lauren flounced. Now that vodka doesn’t have its grip on me, I can maybe see why. But we were having fun and Hudson was totally into her, he told me so as soon as we walked in! I know she’s a mom, but Addy wasn’t even home and she needs to get some. I mean, three years? Three! That’s like thirty-six months and . . . fuck . . . a lot of days. Plus, I’ve never hooked up with Hudson, but the streets talk, and the streets say he knows how to lay it down. It would’ve been a good sexual wake-up to get her back in the swing of things.

  There’s a light knock on my door and an even quieter “Jude?”

  I’m not sure if Lauren’s afraid to wake me up or if she just doesn’t really want to talk, but I answer anyway . . . or at least I try to.

  “Yeah,” I croak out, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

  “Oh, you’re awake.” She opens the door without waiting for an invitation, not that she’s ever needed one. Sunshine floods my room and I instinctively yank the covers over my head.

  Fuck hangovers, man.

  “Awake-ish,” I amend. Damn it. I’m not sure what hates me the most, my abused liver or my throbbing brain.

  “Here.” She yanks my sunshine shield, aka my duvet, off my head and shoves a bottle of water in one hand and four Advils in the other.

  That’s my fucking girl. Prescription strength only, bitches.

  “You’re the fucking best,” I mutter before tossing all four pills in my mouth and washing them down with a single gulp of water. Let’s just say this isn’t my first time at the rodeo.

  “Listen.” She sits on the edge of my bed and stares at the pile of boxes lining my wall. I really need to finish unpacking, but I don’t have the motivation. Lauren, on the other hand, has all of her stuff unpacked, pictures hanging on our walls, and has turned Addy’s room into something off a Pinterest board. “Thank you for inviting me out last night. I know I don’t get out often, and
I really do appreciate you trying to get me out of the house. I . . . I just don’t think that’s my scene.”

  Clearly.

  Even I was able to piece that together.

  “I figured that out around the time you asked the bartender why they filled your wineglass up so high.”

  “Yeah, I guess you can’t take the mom out of me.” There’s no humor in her voice, and I add my heart to the long list of organs in pain.

  “Don’t do that. I shouldn’t have made a scene, and I really shouldn’t have called Hudson back over. It’s just, he was so into you and he’s an actual, real, decent dude. There aren’t many of those out there.” They’re basically as rare as unicorns. But since Lauren procreated with and almost married Ben, I feel like she already knows this, and I keep that skeptical thought to myself. “And you, more than anyone, deserve a night of someone pleasing you.”

  “Oh my god.” She buries her face in her hands, but I already know her mocha-colored skin is turning pink. “Can we please not talk about sex anymore?”

  “Three years!” I remind her of a fact she’s well aware of. “Please tell me you at least have a sex toy in your room somewhere.”

  “You know how nosy Adelaide is.” She shrugs her shoulders, and even though it’s just us having this conversation, she still looks like she wants to die. “If I had one, she’d find it. Plus, she still sneaks into my room and sleeps with me most nights. I wouldn’t even have the time or privacy to do it.”

  My jaw falls to the floor and I just stare at her, blinking rapidly for I don’t even know how long.

  “You mean to tell me you haven’t had an orgasm, self or man-made, in three years?”

  “I mean, I’ve had a few. But I had a cheating fiancé and then I was single, scorned, and had a toddler. What do you expect?”

  Oh dear lord almighty. No wonder my poor friend is so uptight.

  “You poor, poor woman.” I climb out of my covers and crawl across my bed to hug her. “I mean, we’re basically already sister wives.”

  Her eyes go wide and she starts to pull away.