by Alexa Martin
But it does the opposite.
I don’t know how to be open and honest about parenting. It’s so personal and scary. When this podcast was just us working together to conduct expert interviews and give ideas for lunch, it was boxes I could check off. Nothing had to get deep, I didn’t have to reveal myself to strangers. I could carefully craft what they saw.
This? Well, this scares the crap out of me.
But the payoff, making sure Adelaide stays with me? That outweighs everything.
“All right.” I take a deep breath and sit up straight. “Then I guess we’re going to need at least one episode on why it’s so hard for kids to wear shoes.”
There’s no turning back now.
TWELVE
• • •
Jude
Lauren grabs the giant bag she packed out of the trunk and hoists it onto her shoulder before getting the picnic basket—yes, a real picnic basket and not a plastic bag, because Lauren is that much of an adult—and shoves it into my hands.
“Hand.” She says the one-word command like everyone should know exactly what she’s talking about. But by the way Addy curls her fingers tight around Lauren’s as we cross the parking lot and doesn’t dare let go until we’re safe and sound on the sidewalk, it’s clear the only person who needed to understand the command got it.
“Yo, that mom magic shit is fucking wild,” I say when Addy is far enough in front of us that I won’t get scolded for my liberal use of “grown-up” words.
“Well, it took a lot of repetition and fear tactics to ingrain it into her cute little head.” She adjusts the bag and keeps her eyes on Addy. “Thanks for tagging along today, but you know you really didn’t have to,” she reassures me.
For the fifth time.
“You’re starting to give me a complex. Did you not want me to come?” Because it’s not like the road trip to Irvine for a playgroup at an “adventure park” is the way I planned on spending this lovely—and blistering—August Saturday. But when she mentioned it, I figured it’d be good to see what happens with mom groups.
Research for the podcast and stuff.
Obvi.
After our little meeting with Hudson, Lauren did what Lauren does best. She took all the information Hudson and I gave her and learned as much as possible. She never wants to be seen as the weakest link, so thanks to her, the three of us have shared Google Docs with all the information we could possibly need. She signed us up for a web domain and then figured out how to DIY a simple yet awesome website and get an email list going. Things that took me years to master, Lauren picked up in weeks. Because that’s just how she operates.
She’s also been asking about Hudson in a way that is too nonchalant to be nonchalant. I’ve been pretending like I don’t notice, because she spooks easily, but I fucking notice!
And since Hudson has also been texting and calling me way more than he ever did before, also asking about Lauren, I feel like Lauren’s dry streak could soon be coming to an end.
“Of course I wanted you to come, it’s just— Adelaide, slow down! Not too far ahead!” she yells as Adelaide tries to disguise her running as skipping as she makes her way to the masses of kids not too far away. I always find it so impressive how Lauren can jump in and out of two conversations so easily. “It’s just that I know this isn’t exactly your scene and . . . well . . . never mind.”
“No. No never minds.” I stop and grab her arm. “What were you going to say?”
“I don’t really know how to say it, it’s just, mom groups are kind of savage.” She glares at me when I start to laugh. “I’m serious, Jude! I just started meeting with these moms, their kids are going into kindergarten at Remington Academy with Adelaide. There’s a lot of pressure to fit in for her sake and I’m already kind of the odd one out. So just . . . no more f-bombs, okay?”
“I got it. I’ll be on my best behavior.” I raise my free hand in front of me, pinkie out. “Promise.”
Without hesitation, Lauren links her pinkie with mine. We kiss our thumbs, then smoosh them together, and when we’re finished, she looks infinitely less stressed. There you have it: the power of a pinkie promise does not fade with age.
She starts walking toward the park again. “Thank you. And don’t judge me for what’s about to go down.”
“Why would I judge you?”
Lauren is the shit. I would never judge her.
“Oh, you’ll see.”
That sounds way too ominous for a playgroup at the park, but she has successfully piqued my interest. Maybe this drive to Irvine will be worth it after all.
* * *
• • •
I’m never having kids.
Don’t get me wrong, the mini-humans running around are adorable and everything. It’s having to deal with the parents that has completely turned me off the idea.
When Lauren said she was the odd one out, I assumed she meant it was because she’s a single mom and probably a lot younger than most of them.
I didn’t think it was because she was the only one without a massive stick up her ass.
These moms.
They’ve done nothing but humblebrag about their little angels since we arrived. Like, I get it, Karen, your kid’s a genius and can paint like Picasso. Nobody gives a fuck.
Poor Lauren just sits there, nodding politely and laughing at their jokes that are def not even a little bit funny. If I’d known it was going to be like this, I would’ve snuck some wine into the picnic basket.
On the bright side, however, I’ve been able to see Addy’s playground leadership skills in full effect. And let me tell you, they have not let me down. She’s totally going to be president.
Thankfully for me—not the child—a high-pitched scream pulls all of our attention away from the mind-numbing conversation about class moms and the future field trip chaperone schedule.
“Mommy!” A little girl with curly brown hair and overalls runs over to Beth—one of the moms who doesn’t seem to be terrible. “Declan took my fruit snacks and put them in his mud pie!”
Tears are running down her dirt-stained face as she wraps her little body around her mom. And even though it’s sad, it makes me nostalgic for the days when losing my fruit snacks was the worst thing that could happen to me.
Beth turns and looks at Whitney—one of the awful moms, who I’m assuming the little jerkface gummy-stealing Declan belongs to.
Whitney shrugs and gives Beth the most patronizing smile I’ve seen outside of my own mother. “Boys will be boys.”
Ewwww.
I bet Asher’s mom said shit like that and it’s why he grew up to be such a giant fucking scumbag.
“Being a boy doesn’t make it okay to be mean, they should be nice too,” Adelaide, the rock star of my life, says as she approaches the crying girl. “It’s okay, Marlow, we brought extra gummies, if your mommy says it’s okay, you can have some.”
The stupid smile falls right off Whitney’s face once she realizes she’s been schooled by a five-year-old. And even though I know Lauren is proud, she also looks like she wants to crawl beneath the table and die.
“Thank you, Adelaide, you are a very good friend. Marlow would love gummies.” Beth’s voice is sugar sweet, but the way she turns to shoot daggers at Whitney is not.
Is it wrong that I hope the playground brawl I see today is between the moms? Because I so do.
“Here you go.” Lauren hands Marlow one of the baggies of fruit snacks that have hidden vitamins in every bite—Lauren’s words, not mine.
“Thank you!” Marlow takes the bag, tears long gone, and has a huge smile that shows all of her tiny teeth.
It’s not long after Gummygate that the kids finish their lunches with minimal drama before throwing away their trash and running back to the slides.
“So, Jude,” Jennifer says from across the pic
nic table we’ve all congregated around now that the kids have dispersed. “How do you know our Lauren?”
Lauren practically glows when Jennifer says our Lauren. My sweet, beautiful friend only sees the best in people and so deeply wants to fit in with these moms.
But here’s the thing: I hated Jennifer on sight.
Her blond, layered hair doesn’t have a strand out of place, and her bright pink lipstick and perfect contour were undoubtedly applied by a glam team. Whatever. Fine with me, I get wanting to look good. She’s wearing a bright, floral Lilly Pulitzer dress, and her daughter is wearing shorts with the same print, which is weird, but still not the reason I hate her. (Okay, maybe it’s part of the reason. Who wants to match a five-year-old?) It’s not even the way she keeps yelling at sweet little Lake for playing in the mud feature this park is apparently known for because she doesn’t want her to ruin her stupid shorts.
No. It’s none of that.
I hate her because when we first arrived and Lauren pulled Addy to the side to put sunscreen on her, I saw the way Jennifer took off her overly embellished sunglasses—that I do actually really like—and pointed at Lauren before she started snickering with her little group of bitches. And maybe it’s because I only associate with people who aren’t the worst, but I thought the whole mean-girls thing was over. I definitely didn’t expect it from a group of moms who should know better.
But because I promised Lauren I’d be on my best behavior, I’m nice to the bitch. “We’ve known each other since third grade and now we live together.”
“You live together? How fun!” Her bleached teeth nearly blind me, but still don’t distract me from how fake her smile is. “I can’t imagine having a roommate, but I’m sure you both make it work.”
“It’s actually been really great.” I force my smile to mimic hers. “I imagine it’s just like having a husband, but with more help around the house and none of the terrible sex or mansplaining.”
I purposefully look away from Lauren and thank my lucky stars she’s not close enough to pinch me under the table.
I know, I promised my best behavior, but seriously. Fuck that woman. Anyway, way more moms laugh than gasp, so I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t like the mean-girls clique. Maybe some of them aren’t so bad after all.
“I would die to live with my best friend,” Sabrina says. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Zach more than anything, but he’d rather eat every meal on paper plates than help me with the dishes. And the golf. If I have to spend one more Sunday watching golf with him, I’ll scream.”
See, Lauren, be friends with Sabrina. I’m doing you a favor by weeding out the terrible moms with no sense of humor.
Plus, Sabrina’s daughter, Winnie, is so cute and so funny. She and Addy are both covered in mud and loving every second of being messy and wild. Poor Lake is just watching from the side as they take turns running over to her and giving her toys from the mud zone.
“It has been great,” Lauren speaks up, and I’m so proud of her. I know how uncomfortable she gets during these things. She’s an introvert to the core and needs to be invited to feel welcome to anything. “Plus, Adelaide loves Jude. It’s so nice to have someone she wants to spend time with so I can make dinner or shower in peace.”
“Wait,” one of the moms whose names I don’t remember cuts in. “You mean you can take a shower without her asking you for snacks? I swear, my husband will be sitting in the kitchen and Jaxon will still come and get me out of the shower for food. It makes me nuts!”
She’s met with a choir of me toos and sames. The only people not laughing or joining in are Jennifer, Whitney, and Colleen.
Color me shocked.
“I’m so glad I’m not the only one that happens with.” Lauren’s shoulders are finally relaxed, and the tension lines around her mouth have disappeared. “Jude, we have to write that down for the podcast.”
“A podcast?” says Lucy, who I remember because she has bright red hair just like Lucille Ball. “How fun! What about?”
Even though Lauren does her best to play it cool, I know she’s mortified being the center of attention right now and is kicking herself for mentioning the podcast.
“It’s about being a millennial mom in the city,” she says. “But Jude’s doing it with me, so she’ll add her perspective as a single woman with no kids. Plus, she’s really into fitness—she’s pretty much a Pilates master and has tons of good workout advice too. It should be fun, we start recording soon.”
“Oh my god! I knew you looked familiar,” Colleen, who was giving me a strong stink eye only seconds ago, is now grinning like a fool. “You’re Jude Andrews! I follow you on Instagram and went to one of the classes you taught. I thought I was in great shape, but my legs were sore for almost a week after. It was the best.”
Even though Colleen is one of the mean girls, I can’t help but bask in the glow of her compliment. And Jennifer looking as if she just gulped spoiled wine doesn’t hurt either.
“She really is the best at everything she does,” Lauren says. She’s my number one fan. Even though she would rather die than ever brag about any of her many accomplishments, she’s the first to shout mine from the rooftops. “She’s even been doing little classes with Adelaide, and Adelaide is completely obsessed.”
“Kids’ Pilates?” Beth reaches into her purse and pulls out her iPhone. “I would love to do Pilates with Marlow! What’s the name of your podcast? I’m going to subscribe now.”
I look to Lauren and nod since—despite telling everyone how uncreative she is—she came up with the best name ever.
I can see how nervous she is to share this, which I understand. It’s scary to share anything personal with other people. But because she’s Lauren fucking Turner, mom and friend extraordinaire, she pulls back her shoulders and puts a little extra oomph into her voice. “Mom Jeans and Martinis,” she tells the table. “It’s not out yet, but you can still subscribe.”
“Oh my god!” Sabrina shouts, pulling out her phone as well. “I love that! I’m totally subscribing too.”
The other moms—minus Jennifer and Whitney—all do the same, pulling out their phones and hitting that subscribe button as they gush about our name and buying new yoga pants.
I knew our podcast was going to be a hit, and I think Lauren is starting to finally see as well. And if she’s not, I have no problem forcing her and the rest of these uptight LA moms to let loose and enjoy themselves a little while they figure it out.
Even if I have to ride to Irvine in Saturday traffic to do it.
THIRTEEN
• • •
Lauren
Adelaide wanted to spend the day with my parents.
They spoil her something fierce, so this is a common occurrence. But because of the lingering fear of losing time with her, it’s been hard for me to let her go. I probably wouldn’t have agreed at all if it wasn’t for Jude pressuring us to record our podcast. Ever since the playgroup two weekends ago, she’s been on my case, constantly reminding me of how excited the other moms were. She’s been reminding me that if we want to get the first episode out by the first week of September, it’s pretty much now or never. She softens her reminders by saying we should strike while the iron’s hot, but I think she really just wants to do it before I inevitably panic and change my mind.
Thanks to her and Adelaide having matching pout faces and saying please about a thousand times, I gave in.
I’m such a freaking sucker.
So now Adelaide is off at my parents’—probably loading up on as much sugar and caffeine as she can get her hands on—and I’m sitting on my couch with my leg profusely bouncing and my stomach doing Olympic-style flips.
“Don’t worry, Lauren,” Hudson says as he adjusts the mic in front of me. “This isn’t live. If there’s something you regret saying, we can edit it out. Just try to let loose and be yourself. Yo
u’re impossible not to like.”
My stomach twists again, but this time it’s not because of nerves.
I don’t know the precise moment when I stopped viewing Hudson as the idiot who said, “Reproduction is dope,” and started seeing him as much, much more, but all I know is that now, he makes me so freaking giddy I can’t control myself. I don’t know what it is about his floppy hair and Southern California vibe that just does it for me, but it freaking does it for me. Maybe it’s because he’s so laid-back that just being near him eases my anxiety by half or that when he smiles, he does it with his entire face. Or maybe it’s because he’s such the polar opposite of Ben that I have to believe he must be perfect?
All I know for sure is that I need to check it. Because awkward giggling definitely isn’t what we’re going for here.
Plus, I’m pretty sure a single mom who’s nearing thirty and living with a roommate isn’t exactly on Hudson’s wish list. And while unrequited love is wonderful and gloriously angsty on TV, it never is when you’re living it.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you a cosmo?” Jude points to the pinkish concoction sitting in front of her. “Martinis are part of our brand, so you could rationalize that drinking is a work necessity . . . at least that’s what I’m doing.” She shrugs before picking up the glass and taking a sip.
Usually I’d be a firm no—day drinking really isn’t my thing—but I’m not usually in close proximity to a man I find extremely attractive and about to record myself talking about the thing I’m most self-conscious about, so I do consider it for a second.
“No,” I say when I finally come to the decision. “We both know my tolerance is pretty much nonexistent, and I don’t think slurring would be the best look for me.”
“Responsibility is on brand for you, so that makes sense.” Jude shrugs before picking up the glass and taking a sip.