by Alexa Martin
I don’t even attempt to make my smile look real. “You know what would be better? If you—”
“Okay!” my mom interrupts. “Can you please just sign it, Jude? You know how much I need this. I don’t understand why you insist on making things so difficult. Jonathon had the lawyers look over it. I’m your mother! Do you really think I’d lead you into a deal where you’re not protected?”
Considering she hasn’t acted like my mother in years . . .
“Of course not.” I pick up the pen on the table and scribble my signature across the line. I hate that I keep putting myself in these situations. But there’s no backing out now unless I want my mom to break into hysterics and ice me out of her life until the next time she needs money. It’s not the icing that bothers me. It’s the limbo of not knowing when she’s going to barge back into my life and how much trouble she’ll be in when she makes her grand reappearance. “There. Happy?”
“Very. I have the best daughter in the world.” She walks around the table and wraps her bone-thin arms around me. “Isn’t she the best daughter, Jonathon?”
“She’s a gem.” Jonathon’s tone could not be drier, but at least now I know I’m not the only one in the room at Juliette Andrews’s mercy.
“Oh! And one more teeny-tiny thing,” she says, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because I know, without a doubt, that this isn’t going to be a teeny-tiny thing. “We worked out a deal with StarGazer magazine. It’s not a big deal, they’ll just assign a couple of people to us. All we have to do is make sure they’re the only ones we call before we have big events.”
She knows how much I hate paparazzi. I’m not famous. This isn’t even something I should be dealing with! Not only does it make me look like a desperate hack to call the paps, it’s worse to have them assigned to me. It’s fucking creepy to have strangers knowing where you live and taking pictures of you.
And now it’s not even just me.
Fuck.
Welcome to Juliette Andrews ruining the only good thing I have going in my life, episode 758.
I close my eyes and try to gather all my strength to do the one thing I never do.
“No.”
Her arms go stiff around me before she drops them and uncurls her spine. “What?”
“No, Mom.” I repeat the word I shouldn’t dare utter to her. “I won’t get drunk. I’ll take Pilates classes with you at Fit Flow every week. I’ll start taking whatever vitamins you want and spamming my followers with them, but I can’t do the paparazzi thing. That’s my line in the sand.”
“I . . . I don’t understand.” Her voice begins to wobble as her eyes gloss over with the crocodile tears only a soap actress could conjure up so fast. “You know that paparazzi are part of the deal. I can’t get back on Hollywood Housewives without them.”
“And you should do paparazzi, I’m not stopping you. But I live with Lauren and Addy and they aren’t signing up for this. They have enough going on without strange men standing outside of our house taking pictures of them.”
“They won’t be taking pictures of them.” She swipes away the stray tear rolling down her cheek. “You know I would never put Lauren or Addy in danger. I love them.”
I’m sure my mom does love them. But the way my mom loves now is so convoluted and dysfunctional. She’s so caught up in her own hurt that she doesn’t register the pain she inflicts on others. On me.
“I know you wouldn’t, it’s just that we’re still adjusting to living together and it’s going really well. I don’t want anything to mess with it. Especially with Lauren having to deal with her ex.” I don’t really understand why I have to explain not wanting strangers stationed at my house or why I’m using my gentle voice to do it, but somehow I always end up here with my mom. “Things are just very delicate right now.”
The quiet, pretty crying she was doing moments ago is a thing of the past. Her face crumples and she collapses into a chair and begins to sob. “And I’m just a burden. I’m always such a burden. I don’t even know why you bother with me anymore. Even when I try to make things right, I still ruin everything for you.”
“You know that’s not true, Mom. You’re not a burden.” I’ve seen her cry on demand hundred of times. Logically I know this is too big a reaction for what’s happening, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from infiltrating every cell in my body. “I guess as long as they promise only to get shots of me and not to get too close to the house, it’ll be okay.”
She sniffles, slowly unfolding in the chair. “Are . . . are you sure?”
Mascara stains run down her face, and her nose is bright red. She looks as awful as I feel.
“Yeah, I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll run it by Lauren and if she has any questions, I’ll give her Jonathon’s number and she can ask him all of her questions.” I look at Jonathon just in time to see him roll his eyes. He only gets paid if my mom gets paid, so technically he owes me for all of this. Which reminds me. “Hey, Jonathon. Actually, since I have you here and we’re talking about Lauren, we’re starting a podcast together. Since you’re so good at finding sponsors, could you keep an eye out for good ones for a mommy-type show? I mean, if she’s going to get pulled into all of this, it really is the least we could do.”
“You and Lauren are finally doing a project together? I love that so much! Of course he can help!” My mom volunteers Jonathon just like I knew she would. “He’s the best at that kind of thing. Right, Johnny?”
His head snaps to my mom, and color rises up his freshly shaved cheeks. “Um, yeah, sure. That shouldn’t be a problem.”
He looks pissed and it brings me so much joy. Just another brick in my pathway to hell. Not so fun to fall victim to Juliette Andrews, is it, bud? Ha!
“My mom’s right about you, you really are the best . . . Johnny.”
My mom isn’t watching, so she misses his glare. I bask in it. If I have to suffer through all of this, it’s only fair that someone joins me. I know I would normally post about misery loving company and how we should rise above. But I’ll save that for tomorrow’s Instagram.
Today, petty reigns supreme.
“I’m going to head out and get all of this paperwork faxed over, but I’ll give you an update soon.” He stacks up all the paperwork and puts it in his briefcase. I stand up with him, ready to get the hell out of here. That Disney cocktail is calling my name.
“Ju-ju.” My mom’s hand on my arm stops me, but she doesn’t say anything else until she waves her farewell to Jonathon. “You know I hate to bother you, especially when you’re already doing so much for me. And I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”
Of course.
Because agreeing to let paparazzi infiltrate my life wasn’t enough for her. I don’t know why I assumed I was free and clear from an extra favor today.
“What do you need, Mom?” Any sympathy I had during her crying outburst fizzles away with the heat of anger that constantly lingers just beneath my skin.
“It’s just my phone bill, so not too much. And I promise I’ll pay you back.”
“I know you will.” She won’t. “Just text me with the amount and I’ll figure it out.” Somehow.
Her smile is real as she wraps me in a tight hug. “How’d I get so lucky?”
And how the hell do I get out of this?
ELEVEN
• • •
Lauren
“I feel like I need a cocktail.”
I don’t know why I’m so anxious about starting this podcast with Jude. It’s just a podcast. It’s not like anyone will see me, and there’s a good chance nobody will even listen. I mean, why in the world would anyone want to listen to me, a bona fide hot mess who’s not only a med school dropout but also a single mom in the midst of a custody battle, and Jude—not a parent at all, also a bona fide hot mess—for parenting and life advice?
�
��You know I’m always down for a cocktail, but you don’t need one.” Jude sits on the couch, watching me with more than a little amusement as I pace back and forth across the living room. “We aren’t recording, today is just a brainstorm session. We’ll get everything in order, a name, website, content calendar, brainstorm ideas, that kind of stuff. Then we’ll figure out days when to batch all of our content so we don’t fall behind.”
“I only understood like twenty percent of what you just said. What’s a content calendar? What does batching mean? And how do you know so much about podcasts?”
She shrugs and takes a sip of the giant water bottle she always has close by. Besides booze, the only other thing she chugs is water. “It’s just a different medium than my website and socials. I don’t know the technical things, but the organizational stuff that goes into it is the same. The content calendar will be our plan for the next two or three months. We can plan monthly themes like back to school or nutrition and stuff like that. We’ll list the dates we’ll release a new podcast. We can do it as frequently or spread out as you want, but I think once a week is the sweet spot. Then we’ll pick a day to batch our content. Once a month, we’ll schedule back-to-back interviews and get them all done in one day. That way we won’t ever feel rushed to create a new podcast. It’ll keep us organized and our stress minimal.”
“Holy crap.” I give our rug a break and sit next to Jude. “I mean, I knew you were killing it with your influencer gig, but I didn’t know how much went into it. You’re, like, really good at this.”
She turns to face me, tucking her legs crisscross-applesauce-style. Something I haven’t been able to do comfortably since Adelaide wrecked my pelvis and hips during pregnancy. “If I wasn’t good at this, there’s no way I would’ve brought the idea up to your mom and Kim. Kim thinking I’m an idiot is one thing, but I would never give your mom that kind of satisfaction.”
“Okay. No, you’re right.” I know this. Even without proving my mom wrong, Jude would never get me in over my head and leave me hanging. “I think I’m just nervous to put myself out there. You heard Kim, this could be great or terrible. Ben was always telling me what a know-it-all I was with Adelaide. What if I come across as condescending and people hate me?”
“Fuck Ben. We don’t take his opinion into consideration because it’s trash, just like him.” Her cheeks go red like they always do when Ben is mentioned. “Speaking of the jackass, don’t you all have a meeting with your lawyers or something?”
“Yeah, September fourteenth.” A month and a half away. The date is burned into my mind. Every time I close my eyes, it lights up like a giant billboard. I just hope the light is more of a spotlight and not the headlights of a train getting ready to plow me down. “I want to say I’m hopeful we’ll get things worked out, but I know Ben. He’s never been told no, and I’m not giving him full custody, so we’ll see how it goes. Do you think we’ll be able to have the podcast running before then?”
“I think we can get the first one posted by the first week of September. That’s what? A month away? I’ll ask my podcast person when they get here just to be sure. Which”—she grabs her phone off the coffee table and looks at the time—“should be any minute.”
My nerves start to flutter back to life. “Who’s coming again?”
Jude starts to fidget with her phone and avoids looking at me. “You’ll see.”
Before this very moment, I thought Jude didn’t tell me who she asked to help us because I wouldn’t know who they were even if she gave me a name. But now? Now I know she’s doing something sneaky.
“Jude Elizabeth Andrews.” I stand up and put my hands on my hips. If she thought I’d given her my mom glare before, she had no idea. “What are you up to?”
“Me? Whatever do you mean?” She’s laughing at me. My mom stance and glare didn’t even affect her! This is worse than I thought.
“Oh no. What did you—”
Unfortunately for me I’m cut off by our doorbell. Thanks to Jude, the gentle fluttering of butterflies in my stomach has transformed to freaking fighter jets . . . and I’m pretty sure one just knocked out my kidney.
Jude jumps off the couch and skips—skips!—to the front door.
“Ooooh! I wonder who that could be?” She pulls open the door without looking through the peephole. It would serve her right if it’s a missionary trying to save her godforsaken soul. But it’s not. “Hudson! I’m so glad you could make it.” She grabs his hand and pulls him into the house without waiting for a response. “Lauren, look who it is! It’s Hudson. You remember Hudson, don’t you?”
The guy she tried to get me to sleep with after announcing my dry spell to the entire world? How could I forget?
“From the gallery, right?” I try to play it cool, but after pretty much only socializing with other moms and small humans for the last five years, my ability to hold a conversation with other adult humans is pretty much nil. Another thing the baby books don’t warn you about.
“Yeah, you threatened to have your mom put me in jail.” He smiles, and I don’t know if it’s from fondness of the memory or the cringe I’m unable to hide.
“So!” I clap my hands and run to the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink before we get started? We have . . .” I pull open the fridge and look inside. “Ummm, we have juice boxes and water. But Jude has booze somewhere.”
“Water’d be great, thanks.”
I busy myself looking for a glass that doesn’t have a cartoon character on it while Jude brings Hudson into the living room. I vaguely hear them talking about what the plan is for today as I procrastinate in the kitchen. But when I can’t take any longer—I mean, how long can it possibly take to get someone a glass of water?—I make my way to join them.
I don’t know if it’s the lighting or that he’s in a T-shirt instead of a button-up, but he seems so different than he did when we first met. He’s not outright movie-star gorgeous by any means, and I’m sure someone has called him average before. Ben was movie-star gorgeous. Hudson doesn’t have a megawatt smile that you’d see on a toothpaste commercial. It’s small, even hesitant. It lacks the cocky tilt that all men in LA seem to have. His body lacks the bulk most of Jude’s fitness-fanatic friends have; instead there is a softness, the quiet confidence of a man who doesn’t have to try to be someone else. Everything about him screams gentle and it stirs something inside of me that hasn’t been stirred in a long time.
“So, Hudson”—I hand him the water—“I didn’t realize you did podcasts. I thought you were an artist.”
“I have a podcast centered around becoming more green and living a more sustainable lifestyle. I was just the host of the art show. Unfortunately, my artistic skills max out at stick figures.”
Jude cracks up at that. “Looks like you two have that in common. Lauren’s the only person I’ve ever known who could ace a chemistry test with her eyes closed but fail art.”
“It’s true.” I try to laugh off her words, suddenly very conscious of what Hudson might be thinking of me. “And my poor daughter loves all things arts and crafts, I’ve been told many times that I’m a terrible assistant.”
“Write that down!” Hudson reaches in front of Jude and snatches her laptop away from her. “That right there is what we need for the podcast.”
“Really?” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together and see Jude prepare to reprimand me for force-feeding wrinkles onto my face, but lucky for me, she doesn’t say anything in front of our company. “How is my lack of art skills going to help the podcast?”
“Because it’s real and it’s authentic. That’s what people want.” He slides the laptop back onto the coffee table. “We all know that the influencer/podcaster/blogger space is oversaturated. Standing out in the crowd is hard. You’re slightly above the ground level because Jude’s your cohost, and on the Venn diagram of life, some of her followers will be your target audience. Bu
t listeners today know when they’re being spoon-fed shit and told it’s caviar. They won’t listen if all you two do is talk about what you think they want to hear.”
“I guess that makes sense, but I’m not sure they’ll want parenting advice from me either. I don’t necessarily have all my ducks in a row.” Understatement of the century.
“I hate to break it to you, Miss Perfectionist, but nobody has their shit all the way together. Thinking it’s possible is life’s oldest and greatest fucking con,” Jude says. “Even with my platform, I have to talk about my stumbles sometimes. I have to let my followers know that I struggle, too, but that even if it’s hard, there’s always a way to grow and learn. If I was just telling them how wonderful I was and how everything came so easy to me all the time, nobody would follow me.”
“Exactly.” Hudson breaks back in. “And I’m not a parent, but what I’ve learned from friends who are is that nobody wants them telling them how to parent their kid. They want people they can relate to and commiserate with. You don’t need to be an expert. You just need to be open and honest. Plus, you and Jude already have this great built-in story. Childhood best friends living together and raising a kid? It’s honestly podcast gold.”
Apparently, Jude has filled him in on our situation. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or irritated by that, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m too focused on everything else they just said. And they’re right.
I know they are.
Because when I think about the mommy influencers I follow or the podcasts I listen to, it’s not because they know more than me. It’s because I feel like they’re my friends. I read the posts about the art projects they had to come up with so they could get a moment of reprieve. I laugh at the podcasts where they bitch about drop-off lanes and the new stain on their carpet. None of it is because I want to listen to an expert tell me all the ways I’m screwing up my child.
This should make me feel better. I won’t have to try to pretend to know everything and be something I’m not.