Mom Jeans and Other Mistakes

by Alexa Martin

  Not since the first night Ben had Adelaide after we separated. The next morning was so miserable that I vowed it would be my last-ever hangover. I’ve kept my promise so far and don’t intend on ending it tonight. Especially not in a room filled with cameras to document it.

  I focus on the front door, which is propped open as the constant stream of people flows through. I was really worried no one would come even though Jude assured me that wouldn’t be the case. As always, she was right. I guess it doesn’t matter that I’m a nobody when my rock star best friend is my cohost. I search the faces for any of the moms from Adelaide’s school but don’t recognize anyone yet.

  “Stop, they look great.” I grab Jude’s attention from fixing the tissue paper in some of the guest bags. “And I need you to talk to me so I don’t look like a loser in the corner. What time did your mom say she was going to get here?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You do not look like a loser in the corner, but even if you were huddled in a corner, all you’d have to say is you’re an introvert and people would get it.” She reaches into her tiny purse and pulls out her phone. “My mom didn’t say when she’d be here, but between her personality and traffic, it could really be anytime.”

  I love Jude’s mom so much. She was a staple in my childhood, and I could always count on her to help me relax when the expectations from my own home became too stifling. Since we moved in with Jude, I thought I’d see her much more. But besides the few times she’s come to get Jude for their brunches, Pilates, and all those other things normal moms and daughters do together, I haven’t seen her at all. I feel like something is going on between them, but I don’t have any proof, so I’ve kept my mouth shut.

  “Well, whenever she decides to grace us with her presence will be great. I’m excited to finally get to really see her, you know, without Adelaide interrupting and while I’m wearing real clothes.”

  Mrs. Andrews is never anything short of stunning—often just teetering on the edge of ostentatious. It will be nice to see her tonight and not have to apologize for my stained T-shirt or the headscarf I hadn’t taken off.

  “Well, while I go get ready for our welcome speech and you’re waiting for Juliette, I think I know someone else who might enjoy checking out your real clothes . . .” She lets the sentence fall off and does a quick chin jerk toward the door.

  Considering the only people I invited to this party were the moms from Adelaide’s kindergarten class, I know by the smirk on her face that I’m going to be face-to-face with Jennifer, aka Ms. Preppy Prints, aka the mom who is always matching her daughter.

  I’d rather be alone in the corner.

  I try to arrange my face into what I hope looks like a smile and not a grimace before I turn around. But my efforts are futile because when I do turn, it’s not Jennifer’s whitened teeth and flamingo-print dress that I see.

  It’s Hudson.

  The last time I felt flutters of any kind in my stomach, I was pregnant with Adelaide. Even though I thought everything was okay with Ben until the day he walked away, I stopped getting butterflies from him long before.

  I hoped I could talk some sense into myself after the whole Addy Show thing and gather my wits. I prayed I wouldn’t feel like this. So when I feel them as Hudson’s hazel eyes go soft, the delicate lines around his eyes crease, and his crooked smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, it’s not a feeling of excitement or giddiness that follows.

  It’s fear.

  And maybe even a little anger.

  “Hudson, hi!” I try to gather my wits so I don’t make a fool out of myself even though all I want to do is duck the hell out.

  “Hey.” He takes a step closer, dropping one arm around my shoulder and giving me a quick side hug, which doesn’t just make the flutters come back. No, it makes them take over. “This all turned out great.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t have anything to do with it. But you knew that. Anyway . . .” His smile gets wider as he watches me stumble over my words and fiddle with the drink in my hand, the liquid courage I need but also need to avoid splashing onto the floor. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.”

  And honestly. Why didn’t I realize he was coming tonight? Of course he was going to come tonight! The guy has single-handedly provided us with all of our tech and is teaching me how to edit—by watching him do all of the actual editing. All of this rambling is to say that while living with Jude has been a godsend in many ways, it has not helped get my talking-to-adults game back on track.

  “I figured I’d swing by and see all the work Jude has been telling us about.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “It’s just too bad that you’re here, taking away from all the work she’s put in.”

  What the hell?

  I’ve never been a person who gets angry easily. Over the last few years I’ve dealt with a cheating significant other, my mother, and a small child who loves to push my buttons, so now it takes a whole lot to rattle me.

  But Hudson managed to do it in a second.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh shit. No.” His eyes almost double in size and his cheeks go cherry red. He takes his hands out of his pockets and waves them in front of his chest. “That’s not what I meant! I swear, in my head it sounded so much better.”

  I find that hard to believe.

  Yes, Hudson has really grown on me, but he is still the same idiot from the gallery.

  “Then, please”—I gesture for him to continue before my hands find their way to my hips—“explain how that sounded in your head.”

  I should just walk away, go talk to one of the many other people who are here to support us. Maybe hit up the manicure station since I haven’t had a manicure in years. But instead, I’m standing here, needing Hudson to prove that even when men have kind eyes and crooked smiles and sit patiently with your daughter, they’re still trash.

  “I just meant that you look really gorgeous and it’s hard to see past you.” The color in his cheeks somehow deepens as he starts to study his shoes. “I wanted to tell you you’re pretty. That’s all.”

  Well.

  What do I do with that?! Besides love his eyes and smile even more?

  Even without the fear of a custody battle lingering over my every move, I swore off men after Ben.

  Not only to avoid the drama that comes with starting a new relationship, but because I’ve watched enough crime shows to know when something goes bad, it’s always the mom’s boyfriend.

  So why the hell does my entire body go soft and why is my stomach all knotted up? This is freaking treachery.

  And how dare treachery feel so dreamy!

  “Oh, um.” I try to think of something, anything, to say. “Thanks, I guess?”

  Yup.

  Thanks, I guess?

  That’s what I came up with.

  The music stops playing on the speakers, because of course the only thing this moment was missing was uncomfortable silence.

  But, in a stroke of luck that never happens, Jude’s voice comes over them a moment later. “Lauren Turner, get your MILF ass up here ASAP!”

  Okay.

  So not that lucky.

  But if I have to decide between public humiliation at the hands of Jude Andrews or quiet and personal humiliation with Hudson, I’ll take option one.

  “Um, sorry,” I say, not sorry at all to be escaping this awkward interaction. “Better get to her before she starts to lose it. But chat later?”

  “Yeah, Lauren, later sounds good.” He obviously knows I have no plans to talk to him later because all hints of embarrassment leave his face and instead he looks amused—amused!—as he watches me walk away.

  “Hudson!” Jude’s voice booms over the speakers again. “I see you giving Lauren flirty eyes! Just wait five minutes and you can have her back.”

  Okay. I’ve c
hanged my mind. I would definitely prefer private humiliation over this.

  You know where stuff like this never happens? At home. Screw pretty nails and martinis. I’m never leaving my couch again.

  SIXTEEN

  • • •

  Jude

  I was already thrilled with the way the party has turned out, but seeing the look of pure mortification on Lauren’s face as she walks to the front of the room and our makeshift “stage” officially makes this the best party I’ve ever been to.

  In my fucking life.

  She gets to embarrass Addy. I get to embarrass her. Nobody embarrasses me. It’s called balance.

  “I’m going to murder you,” she mutters through the fakest smile I’ve ever seen as she finally takes her place beside me.

  I hold the mic down so I’m not accidentally broadcast throughout the store. “Not scared. We both know I’m the scrappy one.” Before she can respond, I uncover the mic and bring it back to my mouth. “Hello, everyone!”

  Cheers and whistles echo throughout the tight space, and lightning shoots through my veins. This is the feeling I love, what I still crave after years of not being onstage. Yeah, social media helps and I have a large following, but there’s no feeling like being live and in front of a crowd. Too bad Lauren’s hands balled into tight fists and the way she is chewing on her bottom lip indicate she feels the polar opposite.

  Another way we balance each other out.

  “Thank you so much for joining us tonight!” I shout even though I have a microphone. “For those of you who don’t know us”—I turn and gesture to Lauren, who still looks like she might vomit—“this is my gorgeous best friend, Lauren Turner, I’m Jude Andrews, and we’re the hosts of Mom Jeans and Martinis. The fab new podcast that gave us a reason to get dressed up and drink tonight.”

  I lift my martini glass in the air and take a quick sip and watch as the people in front of me do the same. “As you can see, I’m clearly the martinis part of this duo.” I laugh with the crowd before moving onto the speech I semi-prepared. “Lauren’s the peanut butter to my jelly, the Beyoncé to my Jay-Z, the filter to my photos, and the mom jeans to my martini. We met in the third grade while I was being reckless on the playground and my wonderful friend rushed to me when I fell on my head after dangling upside down on the monkey bars. From that day on, we were inseparable. We were even college roommates. Then Lauren went and met a man and had a baby. And me? Well, I worked out and took pretty pictures for the ’gram.

  “Even though on the outside, our lives couldn’t look more different, we’re still best friends. And when things went south for us both over the last few years, we were each other’s cushions. So now we’re roommates again . . . except this time, Lauren traded in the mason jars filled with flavored vodka for a swear jar I’ve contributed to more than I’d care to admit, and we have another roommate, the love of both of our lives, Adelaide June.

  “Mom Jeans and Martinis was started because we wanted to create a place where women could get together and support each other. It’s for moms to find the person they were before they had children. It’s for single women to love their lives without wanting to rush to the next step. It’s female friendship amplified. It’s motherhood raw. It’s the life of two millennial women just trying to live our best lives out in these wild streets. And we’re so happy to have you come along on this ride with us.”

  I told Lauren I would do most of the talking but she’d still need to say a little something. Even with that warning, she doesn’t look the littlest bit prepared as she wraps her trembling fingers around the mic as I hand it to her.

  “Um, yeah, like Jude said, thank you for coming tonight. I’m definitely more comfortable behind the scenes than I am standing in front of all of you beautiful people. I’m not sure I would’ve had the courage to start this podcast without Jude, and I definitely wouldn’t have thrown together such an amazing event.”

  Even though she’s holding a mic, she’s still managing to pick at her nails with her free hand. But since I’ve already publicly embarrassed her once tonight, I don’t scold her.

  “Like Jude said, we’re two women living completely different lives. Jude is a white woman with no kids and a fitness influencer. I’m a Black woman, a single mom, work at a doctor’s office, and avoid any and all physical activity. On the surface, we have nothing in common, but life is so much deeper than the surface. Our differences have made our bond so much deeper.” She turns to me and takes a deep breath before continuing on. “When I got engaged, people were always telling me how my fiancé was my soul mate. It never felt right, but I didn’t know why.”

  “Probably because he’s a dirtbag.” I don’t mean to cut in, but Addy’s not here and it’s basically impossible for me to bite my tongue when it comes to that douche-canoe.

  Lauren laughs with the crowd, and her grip on the mic finally loosens. She shakes her head, her glorious smile probably stealing the breath of everyone here right now. “No. It’s because you’re my soul mate. You’ve been there for me at my best and my worst. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to do this with. So thank you for always pushing me to be better. I hope I do the same for you.”

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  I don’t cry.

  Not out of anything except anger. My heart has been ripped up and patched back together so hastily that I’m still not sure it’s functioning properly.

  But because I never cry, I don’t bother with waterproof mascara. And now Lauren has scored a direct hit to my feels and that burning behind my sinuses starts up. If I start blubbering in front of this crowd, someone’s going to take a picture and my ugly cry face is going to be printed all over StarGazer. Guaranteed.

  Fuck.

  I take a step toward Lauren, closing the small gap between us, and wrap my arms around her, using her body as a shield for my face. “How dare you try to make me cry,” I whisper in her ear. “Now you have to tell everyone to enjoy themselves so I can run to the bathroom and contain myself.”

  “You’re so dramatic.” Even though I’ve never been more serious, Lauren’s body is shaking with laughter. “But fine, you run away and I’ll keep pretending like I don’t feel like throwing up from talking in front of everyone.”

  “That’s all I ask.” I squeeze her a little harder before turning on a heel and bolting away.

  I hear Lauren fumble with the mic a little more before her voice comes over the speaker.

  “Thanks for coming, everyone, now please, go! Drink, buy some jeans, get your nails done, whatever you want, just enjoy yourself. And thank you again for all of your support now and in the future.”

  I don’t know why she was so nervous. She’s a natural at pretty much everything she does and she’s so fucking beautiful that nobody can take their eyes off her when she speaks.

  One day, she’s going to realize just how fucking powerful she is and she’s going to rule the world. I won’t rest until it happens.

  Thankfully, because everyone was up front for our little speech, the single-person bathroom is unoccupied and I don’t have to stand in line before I get my moment of privacy.

  I push into the well-lit bathroom, making sure to lock it—we’ve all made that mistake before—and hanging my little purse on the hook behind the door. I close my eyes and slowly breathe in and out like I do at the end of each of my Pilates classes. Only once I feel like I’ve regained my composure do I open my eyes and look in the mirror. And not to be cocky or anything, but I still look great. The tears that welled up didn’t mess with my mascara, and my winged eyeliner still looks fab. I reach into my purse to grab my sponge to get rid of any shininess I have, but when I see my phone lighting up, I grab that instead.

  My phone is usually an extension of my arm, so having all of these missed call notifications is a bit of a novelty. Four missed calls, all from my mom.

  I swear, only she could mana
ge to get lost going to a place she was at only hours ago.

  I swipe it open once it recognizes my face and hit my mom’s contact to call her back.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” she greets after the third ring.

  “Hi, Mom, do you need directions?” I grab my sponge and start blotting my T-zone. “Lauren is so excited to see you.”

  “Well actually,” she starts, and my hand freezes on my forehead. “You know how badly I wanted to come tonight, but Jonathon found out that Angelica Sanders is hosting a party in the Hills. You know how important it is that I show my face there, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.” All of the emotion I was feeling only moments ago is gone. The love and appreciation and gratitude just dissipate, and those familiar feelings of anger and hurt and loneliness take over. “Wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

  My tone has gone flat and I’m sure any other mom would notice, but not mine. “Oh good! I knew you’d understand,” she says. “I can still stop by later this week. It’s not like you two don’t live together.”

  Her laughter through the phone makes my eyes twitch and my entire body tense. I know it’s not normal to feel like you want to punch a wall when you hear your mom’s laughter. It’s why the only thing able to break through my rage is shame. This is just who she is. I need to learn to accept it. It’s my fault for expecting a different result this time.

  I’m pretty sure it’s the literal definition of insanity.

  “Yeah, of course. You’re welcome anytime.” I offer the open invitation knowing damn well she won’t take me up on it . . . which is the only reason I extended it.

  “Well, do give Lauren my love. We’re pulling up now, so I have to go.”

  I’m met with dead air before I can even respond.

  Typical.

  I throw my phone and sponge back into my purse without another glance in the mirror.

  The only good thing about my mom making me crazy tonight is that she did it while I’m in the vicinity of an open bar. And if anything can get me over Juliette Andrews, it’s a free fucking martini.