by Alexa Martin
“Okay, Mommy!” Adelaide flies down the stairs with her new navy glitter Keds on. I swear, this might be the first time ever shoes weren’t an early-morning fight. She was so excited to finally wear them that she found a special spot in her closest and then checked on them every night. “I’m ready for pictures!”
“Addy June! Why are you the cutest, flyest kindergartner on the face of the earth? I can’t even deal!” Jude runs from the kitchen and picks Adelaide up, swinging her in circles.
Adelaide squeals in delight. Her headband falls off, but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are gleaming when Jude puts her down. This is just another reason why I know that living with her is what we needed. She loves Adelaide almost as much as I do, and Adelaide loves her. Nothing feels missing when we’re all together.
Sure, I still kind of want to kill Jude for what she said to Jennifer the other night, but I know her heart and why she did it. If someone tried to bad-mouth Jude in front of me, I probably would’ve had—almost—the same reaction.
Jude bends down to look at Adelaide eye to eye. “Did I tell you I got you something for your first day of school?”
“No! What is it?” Adelaide starts bouncing and clapping her hands. My girl loves surprises and gifts so much that sometimes I wonder if she might actually be part Jude’s kid too.
Jude grabs her hand and pulls her to the entryway closet. She lets go of Adelaide and reaches to the top shelf, pulling out a little bag that has three tiny boxes, each one with a different-color ribbon. She hands Adelaide the one with the pink ribbon, gives me the one with the gold ribbon, and she takes the silver-ribbon box.
“When I count to three, we can take off the ribbon and open it, okay?”
Adelaide nods her head, and I swear her entire body is trembling with excitement. I’m just really curious. Jude is a notoriously terrible gift giver. Not in thought, but in timing and keeping secrets. She usually gives me my Christmas gifts in November . . . and that’s after she’s already told me what they are. But she hasn’t mentioned a word about these.
“One . . . two . . . three!” she says, and we’re all ripping off the ribbons and giggling like crazy.
Then I open the box.
And my giggling stops.
Somewhere I hear Adelaide’s gasp of excitement at the shiny necklace Jude’s just given her, but I can’t pull my gaze away from the small box in my hand. My thumb grazes over each of our names engraved on the triangle attached to the delicate chain.
“See?” Jude says to Adelaide. “There’s your name, Mommy’s name, and my name. All on the strongest shape. So no matter where you go, you’ll always be able to remember how much we all love each other.”
“It’s so pretty. I love it!” Adelaide leaps into Jude’s arms, causing them both to fall on the ground as Jude covers Adelaide’s face in kisses.
To Adelaide, I know this is a fun, pretty necklace, but to me? It’s so much more.
I love Jude to the end of the freaking universe. She’s loyal—almost to a fault—my biggest encourager, and lives life with a zest I can only hope will rub off on me. What she is not is emotionally open. Never has been. But since her dad died, it’s gotten progressively more noticeable. And every time I try to dig in, breach the walls she’s built around her, she jokes me off. Or, as I’ve seen lately, drinks in excess.
I know her mom not showing at the launch party hurt her. I know something is going on between the two of them. I’m pretty sure I know Jude better than she knows herself. So even when she thinks she has successfully thrown me off the scent of her pain, I’m really just retreating to figure out what the hell my Trojan horse is going to be. And this necklace, this thoughtful, meaningful necklace that says more than maybe she even intended, just reinforced everything I was already thinking.
“Jude.” My voice is hoarse with unshed tears. “This is amazing.”
“Right?” She ignores the way I’m obviously on the verge of tears and starts to untangle her body from Adelaide’s. “I saw them and knew we had to get them, like those BFF necklaces we used to buy, but better. I got Addy a shorter and stronger chain, though, because I love you, Addy June, but you play rough AF and I knew you needed extra strength.”
Adelaide pushes off the beige carpet, her little jumper wrinkled and crooked, but looking so cute and happy that I can’t even care. “What’s AF mean?”
I bite my lip and look to Jude to see how she works her way out of this one.
“Oh, it means . . . it means awesome forks.” She says this with such authority that I know with one hundred percent certainty I’m going to get a call from Adelaide’s teacher for her constant usage of AF every time she thinks something is cool.
Because I’m still emotional AF from the necklace, but also impressed with how quickly she worked that one out, I let it go.
“Adelaide, pick your headband up and go grab your backpack and clip your lunch box on like Nana showed you, okay? I’m going to talk to Auntie Jude real fast.”
“Okay, Mommy.” She starts to walk toward the kitchen, then halts her steps and swings back around, pointing a light pink polished finger at me. “And then can we take my pictures?”
Leadership skills, leadership skills, leadership skills.
I always want her to be so strong willed and ready to speak her mind, but sometimes it’s a serious struggle living with it.
“Yes, then we’ll take your pictures and go to school and I’ll take more pictures.”
I told my office I’d be in late today. I want to make sure I get as many pictures as possible and then linger by the classroom door until her teacher asks me to leave. And I took Friday off. I’m going to pick her up from school and I have a whole evening planned to celebrate her first week of school. We’re going to go to this warehouse that’s full of bounce houses and have dinner at a restaurant with milkshakes that are unreal, and then we’re going to come home and have a spa night while watching a movie. She’s going to love it and I can’t wait.
She turns back around and continues her way to the kitchen, so I think my answer seems to appease her. Even though I think I might hear her mumble, “Finally,” beneath her breath.
Sassy.
Once she’s out of sight, I walk over to Jude just in time to see her exaggerated eye roll. I swear, she’s like an adult Adelaide.
“Don’t you come over here getting all emo on me. It’s a necklace. That’s all.”
“Bullshit,” I whisper so only she can hear, and her eyes go wide. Life lesson: when you don’t swear often, it has a greater effect. “You know these are more than just a little gift and don’t even try to pretend with me.”
“Lauren, really—” She starts, but I cut her off.
“No. Don’t Lauren me.” I make a zipper motion in front of her mouth. “I know that I’ve been preoccupied with everything from Ben to the podcast to Adelaide, but don’t think I haven’t noticed that something serious is going on with you. I don’t know what it is, but this necklace means something. Our unit means something to you.”
She unzips her lips with her hand before talking. “Well, duh, you know how much I love you and Addy.”
“I do. But I also know you aren’t letting me in. You’re always there for me. Literally, always. And I know you think that by being strong and not confiding in me, you’re protecting me. But you’re not. How can I be your friend if you won’t let me in?” I wanted to yell at her a little bit, but the words come out as a plea instead. “I can see that you aren’t okay. I know something is going on with your mom. Please, just let me be there for you like you are for me.”
Jude is a great actress. Starred in our high school plays, majored in the arts, lives her life out on social media without blinking an eye. She never breaks character. Not ever. But right now, the strong, carefree facade she’s been trying to sell me finally starts to crumble. Her bright blue eyes start to g
loss over and her chin quivers.
It’s the closest I’ve seen her come to crying since her dad’s funeral.
And of course, it’s the moment my little ray of sunshine barges in between us, grabbing both of our hands and yelling, “Time for pictures! I can’t be late on my first day!”
I look over at Jude, her bright smile back in place along with all of her walls.
I was so close.
“All right, girlfriend.” Jude opens the front door and helps Addy position herself with her sign on our little front porch. “Big smiles and strike some poses!”
I start snapping pictures, not letting my finger off the button, hoping at least one shot will capture a fraction of the joy I can feel in this moment. Fighting back the fear that next year, I’ll have an empty sign and no Adelaide on her first day of school.
Adelaide smiles her huge, totally fake smile, holding her sign with one hand and putting her free hand on her little hip. “Like this?”
“Yes, queen slash president!” Jude says, probably a little too loud outside this early in the morning. “New pose! Yasss! Work it, work it!”
Thanks to Jude and her antics, Adelaide’s fake smile is gone and the smile that lights up my whole entire world is bright and wide. Her curls frame her face, highlighting her eyes, which are sparkling with excitement.
And I know that if I could create this magnificent little human? If after all the uncertainty she’s faced in her short life, that she can stand here full of confidence and joy? Jude doesn’t stand a chance against me.
I’ll crack her wide open. No matter how hard she fights it.
EIGHTEEN
• • •
Lauren
From: Lauren
Date: September 6
Subject: Cheers to that!
Hey!
Today’s the day! The first ever episode of Mom Jeans and Martinis is officially LIVE! Because I’m behind a computer, you can’t see me, but if you could, you’d know I’m full-blown channeling Eminem via 8 Mile with my sweaty palms. But I’ve been sitting here, trying to figure out why I’m so nervous and I think it might be because we don’t really know each other yet. And since you’re here and I’m here, I figure now’s about as good a time as ever to change that!
I’m Lauren, a single mom to a 5-year-old firecracker named Adelaide. I grew up wanting to be a doctor and was on track to do so until I found myself unexpectedly pregnant at 23. Even though I would do it all over again for Adelaide, pregnancy was not fun . . . it was actually miserable. So while I was on bed rest, my fiancé and I decided it would be best that I stay home and focus on the baby while he finished getting his medical degree. Yeah, no need to go back and reread. I’m single. That plan didn’t work out all too well for me.
I’m sure some of you are thinking, “Whoa there, Lauren! We just met! Slow it with the oversharing already.” And that’s probably fabulous advice, but since we’re friends now (I called it already, no take-backs!) and you’re going to be listening to Mom Jeans and Martinis, it’s best you know up front . . . we’re oversharers. Me, because I have spent the last five years of my life with a small human and have forgotten how to properly interact with adults. Jude, my cohost/best friend/roommate/unofficial sister wife, has no kids. She overshares because she’s your typical millennial who posts everything on social media and therefore has no concept of boundaries.
Between the two of us, you’re in for a ride—like to Target or your favorite coffee shop, not hell or anything. It will be fun, I promise. We aren’t perfect and just because we have a microphone and editing equipment available doesn’t mean we pretend to be. We started Mom Jeans and Martinis to be an open dialogue. To talk about motherhood without the fear of judgment and talk life without the expectation of knowing everything already. Because nobody knows it all. That’s part of the fun.
Jude and I live wildly different lives, but we’re still best friends. And we hope that by joining us today and every Tuesday from here on out, you’ll realize how sometimes it’s the differences between us that create the most magic.
Cheers!
Lauren
PS In case you haven’t already, don’t forget to subscribe! And maybe leave a review . . . but only if it’s a good one. Kidding. Kinda.
I reread the email until the words blur together into one giant blob of text. As a person who has only sent very professional emails for the last three years, everything in me wants to delete this. It’s too personal and informal. I mean, I used a freaking emoji! And thanks to Jude and her other social media maven friends, our email list is bigger than I would’ve ever imagined . . . and so is the pressure. It was already a decent size, but after everyone posted pictures of the launch to their Instagram accounts, it tripled.
But instead of hitting the delete button, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hit the send button.
“There,” I say to absolutely nobody. Not even the sun is up yet. “Done. No turning back now.”
I don’t know what I thought would happen when I finally sent this out. Logically I knew a marching band and confetti wouldn’t magically appear in my living room, but it still feels slightly anticlimactic. I mean, this was a big deal for me! This is the most I’ve put myself out there in . . . well? In forever.
I take a sip of my coffee, which stopped being hot about thirty minutes ago, and look at the screen, expecting something to happen. What? Still not sure. An email telling me I’m insane and to never email them again? Possibly. A response thanking me for this amazing email and my superb usage of the champagne glass emoji? Also possible.
I just want something to happen.
I wonder if this is how Jude feels every time she posts a picture on Instagram. Just waiting for likes and comments to roll in? I would lose my mind. Thank goodness she’s in charge of the social media part of this podcast.
After refreshing our podcast email account approximately a thousand times, I close my computer, drain the last of my coffee, and walk to the kitchen so I can make Adelaide’s lunch and obsess over something—or someone—else.
Ben.
We have our first meeting next week, and I can’t help but think it’s going to be even worse than I thought. I need this to work and be over. I don’t know what I can say that will make me sound like the better parent. Ben is a doctor, I’m in administration. Ben owns a house, I have a roommate. I’m just so scared that by trying to be easygoing, I screwed myself over.
When I picked Adelaide up from his house last weekend, he seemed fine. Stephanie was nice as ever. They gave her a really cute sequined pencil case for school filled with all sorts of goodies. I just don’t trust it. But I guess that makes sense given our history.
I grab one of the banana-zucchini chocolate chip muffins I made while Adelaide was gone and put it in her lunch box along with turkey roll ups, carrot sticks, and heart-shaped cucumber slices. I pull out my phone and take a quick picture like Jude has insisted I do each morning after she gave me a hard time about Adelaide’s flower-shaped sandwich yesterday. I open our junk drawer, which is actually pretty organized, and pull out the pink card stock and silver glitter pen I bought. I write out a quick note telling Adelaide I love her, complete with lots of hearts, before I put it on top of her unicorn bento box and zip up her lunch box.
“It’s so early.” Jude’s groggy voice comes from behind me and scares the crap out of me.
“What the heck!” I jump, holding a hand over my rapidly beating heart. “You scared me.”
Her eyes are barely open as she grabs a mug out of the cabinet. She drags her pedicured feet across the vinyl kitchen tiles to the coffee machine and fills her mug to the brim, taking a deep sip without adding cream or sugar.
Gag.
“I still don’t know how you drink your coffee like that.” My coffee is basically half vanilla creamer, and that’s how it will always b
e.
“I save my sugar for better things than coffee.” She closes her eyes and takes another sip, inhaling the caffeine like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “Unless I go to a fancy coffee shop, then I’ll try whatever sugary, fun, overpriced latte they have if I think it will photograph well.”
Influencers are so freaking weird.
“So I’m guessing you don’t want one of the muffins I made?” I didn’t add extra sugar . . . besides the chocolate chips, and I used a light hand.
“Are you crazy? Of course I want one.” Her voice kicks up a notch, like the coffee is finally settling in her system. “You added zucchini. That’s all I needed to know to convince myself it’s guilt-free. And send me the recipe so I can add the link with the picture I’m posting of the muffins later this week.”
I hand her a muffin and she takes a giant bite, groaning as she chews. “I’ll email it over to you later.”
She gives me a thumbs-up, washing her muffin down with bitter coffee.
We sit in silence for a few moments. Me still enjoying the final moments of silence, Jude getting rid of the final residues of sleep.
“Why are you up so early?” I ask once she’s tossed her muffin wrapper in the trash and rinsed out her mug. “The only time I’ve seen you awake before the sun comes up is if you haven’t gone to sleep yet.”
“I have a photo shoot while teaching a Pilates class, and then I have meetings with some of the sponsors my mom’s agent set up.” The edge always present in her voice when she mentions her mom is stronger than ever. I want to dig, but it’s too early . . . even for me. “She helped secure some sponsors for both of us and I have a meeting with a few of them today. It’s looking like they might want to expand our work together.”
“Of course they want to work with you more! You’re amazing and so good at what you do.”
“Thank you. I do work really hard.” Unlike me, Jude has never had a problem accepting compliments. “The only thing is this company has a moral clause, which I already broke a little at the launch party. So if we expand, I’m going to really have to check how I act when I go out in public.”