Mom Jeans and Other Mistakes Read online

  I don’t know how it happened, but somehow, Wednesdays have turned into my favorite day of the week. I get off work early, do a Target run to grab Adelaide a snack before I pick her up from day care, and then we head to her favorite activity.

  “No, Auntie Jude!” Adelaide’s giggles fill the living room so much that even though I still need to hang up about a dozen more pictures on our “gallery wall,” it feels like the homiest room in the entire world. “That’s not how you do a cartwheel. Watch me.”

  We got home from gymnastics practice an hour ago, but Adelaide’s still prancing around in the rainbow-covered leotard I got her for Christmas. My parents, who never so much as let me jump in our house growing up, gave Adelaide a gymnastic mat she insisted on being the focal point in the living room. It’s her most prized possession and she somersaults and cartwheels on that thing all day long.

  Jude seems to like it too.

  “See? See how I kept my legs straight like this?” Adelaide lifts her arms over her head in example, just as her gymnastics instructor does. “You had noodle legs like this.” She flops her arms around in an almost insulting manner. Jude’s form wasn’t that bad.

  “Oh, I see.” Jude nods as she watches Adelaide intently, like she’s really focused on perfecting her cartwheel form. “So like this?”

  She walks to the mat, strikes a pose with her arms raised in the air, and takes a deep breath before executing a perfect cartwheel.

  “You did it! You did it!” Adelaide jumps across the mat and leaps onto Jude, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

  This time, Jude’s laughter echoes alongside Adelaide’s throughout the small space. And relief washes over me.

  I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but something is off with her. I know Saturday night was weird, but we talked about it and she seemed fine. Then she came home from brunch with her mom, and not only was she tipsy . . . again, but she had this dead expression behind her eyes and a hollowness to her laugh.

  But what can I say? Dead eyes isn’t exactly solid proof . . . not to mention, a little rude.

  At least now her laughter is full and real. Adelaide can do that though. I know I’m her mom and maybe a little biased, but she is pure magic. You can’t be around her and not love every single piece of her. She even softened my mom. And if that’s not magic, then I don’t know what is.

  “All right, Olympians, dinner’s ready.” I carry the cauliflower-crust pizza with marinara sauce I’ve blended zucchini and spinach into to the table before putting giant slices on each of our plates. Plates that have unicorns on them. Needless to say, Adelaide set the table tonight.

  “Addy isn’t an Olympian,” Jude corrects me as she pulls out her chair. “She’s the president, remember?”

  “I can be an Olympian too. I’m good at a lot of things.” Adelaide climbs into her chair, ticking off her fingers one by one as she lists all the things she’s amazing at. “Gymnastics, drawing, riding my bike, telling stories, leadership . . . stuff like that.” She shrugs before picking up her pizza and taking a monster bite.

  At least I know confidence isn’t something she struggles with.

  “Leadership?” Jude’s eyes crinkle at the sides before she digs into her pizza. “Tell me about your leadership skills.”

  “You know,” Adelaide starts, but I cut her off.

  “No talking with food in your mouth.”

  I used to hate eating dinner with my family. They were so strict about absolutely everything. From the way we would cut our food to the subjects we could talk about. And I don’t want that for Adelaide. I love that we laugh at the table and talk about whatever comes to mind. But I still have to enforce basic table manners. Mom life and all that stuff.

  As soon as Adelaide swallows her food, she turns to me and opens her mouth wide as proof before launching back into her conversation.

  “Mom says I have good leadership skills. ’Cause, like, when we go to the park, I find new friends and then find a game that we can all play together. Or at school, when Josie was getting pushed by Nolan, I told him to stop, and when he didn’t, I told the teacher. And when the teacher told me that Nolan probably just liked Josie, I told her she was wrong. And that being mean to someone isn’t how you show a friend you like them.”

  I had to email the teacher after that second incident.

  I also took Adelaide for ice cream.

  I feel like I’m failing at this parenting thing about ninety-nine percent of the time, but in moments like that, I know I’m doing something right.

  “Damn, girl. You’re right, you do have mad leadership skills.”

  “Ooooh!” Adelaide turns wide brown eyes to me. “Auntie Jude said damn!”

  Jude throws a hand over her mouth as pink tinges her cheeks. “Sorry!”

  “Mommy, what does damn mean?” Adelaide looks innocent, but I already know her game.

  “Stop trying to figure out ways to keep saying the word. It’s a grown-up word, that’s all you need to know.”

  Also, I’m not sure I know what the actual definition of damn is. So I couldn’t answer her question anyway.

  “Fine.” She pouts before taking another bite of pizza.

  The rest of dinner flies by in a flurry of hand gestures and giggles. Eventually, I stop asking Adelaide to chew with her mouth closed and just let myself live in the moment, listening to my girl as she fills us in on all the latest tales from day care. Jude tells us about the photo shoot she had today and how the photographer was a woman who, like Adelaide, had phenomenal leadership skills. Then I tell them about the patient whose water broke all over the waiting room as I was checking her in. Adelaide finds it hysterical . . . Jude goes green at the word fluids.

  Jude stands up and reaches for the plates when the entire cauliflower-crust pizza has disappeared. “I got the dishes.”

  I was a stay-at-home mom when I lived with Ben, and all of the household duties fell on me. I mean, I guess it was technically my job. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget how tired I was after Adelaide was born. It was a down-to-the-bone, crying-literal-tears tired. If he had taken even just one thing off my plate, it would’ve made a huge difference.

  Which is why I don’t take having Jude around for granted. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, you did the cooking.” She waves me off, not understanding what a big deal this is for me. “I hate cooking. Which, and don’t shut this down immediately—”

  “Well, when you start it like that.” I roll my eyes. Subtlety has never been Jude’s strong point.

  “I think you should start a mom blog.” I open my mouth to say no, but she talks over me. “Oh! No! You should do a podcast! Just think about it! You’d be great at it and you have such a unique perspective. Plus, I know people who can help you out. It might be a fun way to get some extra income.”

  If a status update is too much for me, in what universe would I want to blog? And podcasting? Give me a break. Nobody wants to listen to me talk.

  On the other hand . . . the extra income would be amazing, and she’s made quite a name in the influencer world. So maybe? “I’ll think about it.”

  “I know you are humoring me right now, but I’m serious. Just don’t shut the idea all the way down yet.”

  “Fine,” I grumble. I can’t say no to Jude. Also, she’s a nagger and I can’t listen to her whine about this all night long. But, and I will never say this out loud, it is nice to finally live with someone who actually believes in me.

  Growing up, I always felt like my mom was waiting for me to fail . . . which, even though she loves Adelaide, she never misses an opportunity to talk about the student loans they paid for no reason. And Ben . . . well, I don’t think Ben expected anything out of me.

  I have a more balanced home life with a roommate than I did with the man I was going to marry. I never had a partnership with Ben. Not ever.
It was Ben’s world, and he thought I was just lucky to be along for the ride. He didn’t owe me anything and I owed him everything.

  Never. Again.

  “Sister girl.” I interrupt Adelaide’s latest floor routine before all of her tumbling results in the reappearance of her dinner all over the floor. “Ready for a bath?”

  She spins around and plants her hands on her little hips. “Do we have bubbles?”

  “Even better.” We ran out of bubbles right after we moved in, and you would’ve thought I was trying to bathe her in a vat of acid. But I grabbed something extra for her today. “Bath bombs.”

  “Yay!” She takes off in a sprint up the stairs, peeling off her leotard as she goes.

  “Go potty and I’ll be up to start the bath in a second,” I shout after her. I haven’t really had a chance to be alone with Jude. She’s here when I’m at work, we eat dinner together, but then she’s usually gone by the time I get Adelaide to bed, doing some kind of influencer event.

  “Okay, but hurry.” Her little voice bounces off the walls, and not for the first time, I marvel at how fast she’s growing.

  “Being a mom is a trip. You just casually tell her to go potty and she listens. I can’t imagine having to remind another human to use the bathroom.” Jude’s arms are covered in bubbles as she rinses off the plates before loading the dishwasher. “Also, I wish I got as excited for anything as she does for bath bombs.”

  “Tell me about it. But if I don’t remind her to go before she gets in, she’ll have to go in the middle of the bath, and then I have to clean the water from all over the bathroom . . . it’s a thing.” I realize I’m rambling about the bathroom . . . which could also be the name of the podcast Jude wants me to start. I take a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to broach this subject. Jude is fun and laughs, but it’s hard for her to get serious sometimes. Just another way we balance each other out. “I just wanted to check in with you.”

  Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Check in with what? Am I in trouble? Did Addy tell you that I let her sneak pretzels in her room the other day?”

  “Well, no, she didn’t. But now that you did, you’re in charge when the rodents break in, looking for all her bedroom crumbs.” I mean, if Jude knows I’m concerned, she’s the master of playing it cool. But she’s not getting me off the subject that easy. “I’ve just been a little worried about you. You’ve just seemed . . . I don’t know? Off or something. If you need to talk, I hope you know I’m here. I feel like I’m always unloading my drama on you, but I want you to know you can still confide in me too. And also, I know living with us is a huge change from what you’re used to. If you need space or anything . . . from me or Adelaide, I wouldn’t be offended. I know we can be a lot.”

  Crap.

  I’m rambling again. I always ramble.

  “No.” She turns off the water and dries her hands with the little dishtowels Adelaide made me at her school for Mother’s Day last year. “It’s not you at all. You know how I went to brunch with my mom?”

  I nod my head but stay silent. I have a feeling she needs to get this out without me interrupting.

  “Well, it’s just—” she starts, but the doorbell ringing cuts her off. We both look at the door, then back to each other. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  I almost laugh at that. “You know you’re literally my only friend. Are you?”

  “Nope . . .” She pauses and grabs her phone, probably seeing if anyone texted or called her. “At least not that I remember.”

  “I’ll get it. If it’s one of your friends, do you want me to tell them you’re not here?” Considering Jude is in her pajamas and has pizza sauce smeared across her cheek, I’m assuming she won’t want company right now.

  “Please!” she whisper-shouts before hiding in the kitchen.

  I bite back my smile as I pull open the door, fully expecting to see one of her annoyingly attractive friends.

  Instead it’s a man who is attractive, but if he’s one of Jude’s friends, I’ve never met him before.

  “Lauren Turner?” the man asks.

  “Yes?” My spine stiffens even as my stomach drops.

  He nods once before reaching a hand behind his back, and all sorts of terrible, worst-case scenarios run through my mind. If I survive this, I’ll start saving for a camera doorbell immediately.

  To my relief, when his hand is back in sight, he’s only holding an envelope, not a deadly weapon.

  “Lauren Turner.” He hands me the envelope. “You’ve been served.”

  Though in reality the envelope is probably only a few ounces, it feels as though he just placed the weight of the world in my palm. I don’t have to look at the papers to know who they’re from. I don’t have to read them to know they will unequivocally turn my life upside down.

  When I played soccer, there was this one time I wasn’t paying attention at all. One of my teammates kicked a ball as hard as she could, and because I was inspecting grass, I didn’t see it before it hit me. I swear, the soccer ball nailed me directly in the lungs and they were collapsing inside of me. I was dying, I was sure of it. I fell to the ground, trying to inhale as the panic started to outweigh the physical pain. The burning in my eyes matched that of the lava flowing down my throat as I gasped for air that just would not come.

  And it’s happening again.

  Except this time, nobody touched me.

  But the world is crushing me.

  I’m suffocating.

  Dying.

  “Lauren!” Jude runs to me, my panic mirrored in her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Her eyes roam my body, no doubt looking for blood.

  But I still can’t speak. The razor blades in my throat are preventing the words from coming.

  So instead, I hold the envelope up for her to see for herself. She snatches it out of my hand without hesitation and tears it open. She scans the letter for a split second before her face turns bright red and all traces of worry disappear, and all that’s left is the pure fury I’m too scared to feel.

  “Custody papers!” she shouts, and confirms what I already knew. “Just say the word. Just fucking say it, Lauren, and I swear to god I’ll kill the motherfucker myself.”

  I want to reassure her that I’ll be fine, but for the first time in my entire life, I’m not sure I will be. Rage and fear like I’ve never felt before roar between my ears. Even though Jude is standing beside me, her voice sounds miles away.

  I turn to face her, my eyes suddenly feeling too large for my face. The pressure building in my head grows with every failed inhale.

  “I . . . I . . .” I try to force the words out, but I can’t.

  Unable to blink, I see the moment the anger flees and concern replaces it. She closes the door and links her fingers with mine, pulling me gently across the room and depositing me on the couch. I don’t know how long she’s gone before she’s back by my side, pressing a glass of water against my lips.

  “Take a sip,” she says in a hushed tone I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from her. “We’re going to come up with a plan. This feels like a blow and you have every right to feel everything that you are feeling. But I promise you, when this is over, Ben is going to regret it. These papers are irrelevant. You are the strongest, smartest, kindest person I know. This is going to backfire on him, Lauren.”

  I take the glass from her with trembling hands. Letting her words penetrate the panic clouding my mind, I cautiously allow hope back in. “Do you really think so?”

  Jude jokes a lot. She is goofy and silly and almost always hides her emotions behind sarcasm and jokes.

  This is not one of those times.

  “I fucking know so.”

  For some reason, the sincerity behind those words coming from the one person in this world I’ve always been able to count on allows my lungs to fully expand for the first time sinc
e that envelope was placed in my palm.

  “Mommy!” Adelaide’s impatient shout from the top of the stairs filters into the living room. “What’s taking so long? I’m ready for my bath bomb!”

  I lean back against the couch with my hands on the top of my head, the way my coach instructed me to all those years ago. I focus on the brass light fixture hanging from the dated ceilings and take deep, measured breaths, letting Jude’s words play on a loop in my head. I try to anchor myself to what matters most right here and now: Adelaide is with me. I’m her mom. Ben can’t change that.

  Jude’s right. These papers don’t matter.

  All that matters is Adelaide . . . and her bath bomb.

  “Let me do it.” Jude pushes off the couch. “I’ll give Addy her bath and you just chill down here with a glass of wine.”

  “I love you so much for offering, but I need to do this.” I stand and pull her into a quick hug. “Thank you for talking me down, but if anything is going to keep my head together, it’s Adelaide.”

  “All right, well, I’m down here if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” I squeeze her hand in mine. “And we’ll finish our conversation from earlier when Adelaide goes to sleep, okay?”

  Jude waves a dismissive hand in front of her face. “No, it’s not a big deal at all. Don’t worry about me. Right now, we’re going to figure out a way to bring Ben down to his pathetic fucking knees. The fucking scumbag. I didn’t think I could hate him any more than I already did, but he showed me.”

  “You’re the best.” I seriously love her so much. I hate that this happened, but I’m so grateful she was the person with me when it did. “And you’re right, Ben just woke up the sleeping giant, and he’s going to regret it.”

  “Yes!” Jude gives me a high five. “I fucking love feisty Lauren!”

  I love feisty Lauren too. And it’s been too long since I’ve seen her.

  As I make my way across the small living room and up the stairs to my perfect little girl, who I took care of and loved while Ben was off doing whatever the fuck Ben wanted to do, I remind myself that this isn’t a surprise. I knew this was coming and I know Ben.