by Alexa Martin
“Well, I have faith in you.”
This weekend was kind of a disaster, but she felt genuinely terrible after. She may be a hot mess sometimes, but she’s dependable and I know she wouldn’t break a contract just to get drunk.
“Thank you.” She stops and her eyes bulge out of her head before she slaps my arm. “Oh my god! I can’t believe I let it slip my mind. It’s podcast day! Are you so excited?”
She’s bouncing from foot to foot, and if she was still sleepy before, she’s not now.
“I’m not sure yet. Right now I’m just nervous.” I start to pick at my nails but drop my hands to my sides when Jude glares at me and raises her hand like she’s about to pop me . . . which she might. “I sent the email just before you came downstairs. It feels really official now. I’m just nervous that maybe Kim was wrong and this is the opposite of what I should do.”
I don’t know if I’ve always been a worrier or if I just can’t remember what life was like before I became a mom, but I feel like my nerves are constantly frayed. I’m sure my turbulent pregnancy triggered it, but the calm I expected once I held Adelaide in my arms never came. I’ve always been so afraid of losing her that what’s happening with Ben feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy. What if everything I do is only making matters worse? What if nothing I do can stop Ben from getting her?
“Lauren.” Jude takes a step closer to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “All you do is talk about how much you love being a mom. Sure, you’re real about it getting hard, but nobody could listen to you talk about Addy and not hear the love that emanates from you. It’s going to be great.”
I close my eyes and let Jude’s words sink in.
She’s right.
It’s going to be amazing. I know it.
* * *
• • •
I know nothing.
This podcast is a disaster and is going to be the absolute death of me.
After our big recording day, Hudson helped me edit them and told me how to schedule the publishing dates. Literally, all I had to do was send an email and publish the podcast.
The email? Sent. Easy-peasy.
The podcast? It’s still not up.
I just assumed it was up and running all morning, and went about my business as usual. It wasn’t until I dropped Adelaide off at school and decided to listen to it on my way to work that I realized it wasn’t live. And of course it happens on a day when Jude is booked all morning and can’t help out.
Proving even more that Lady Luck hates my freaking guts, my usually laid-back job working the front desk and doing admin at an ob-gyn’s office went crazy when not one but two women’s water broke while they were waiting for their checkups.
What are the freaking chances?
I managed to text Hudson after the first waterworks show to see if he could help, but I haven’t been able to check my phone since. I feel like a leech. He’s such a good guy and I feel so bad constantly asking him to help with things I could probably just google.
“Lauren.” Jackie, one of the nurses, calls my name. “It’s your lunchtime, why don’t you head out.”
The office I work at is composed of all women. Something I, and our patients, appreciate immensely. If I’d known about this office, I would’ve for sure gone to them when I was pregnant with Adelaide. I’m not saying all male doctors are terrible, but mine was. He was so condescending and dismissive.
Being a Black woman in America is hard. Being a pregnant Black woman in America is terrifying. I’m almost certain that if it wasn’t for Ben, Adelaide and I both would’ve died. Just another statistic of a Black woman who died with pregnancy complications.
Beside Adelaide herself, it’s the only thing I’m grateful to Ben for.
I look at the clock and see that Jackie is right, it’s actually ten minutes past my break time. Thanks to the pandemonium of the water shows, we’re running behind and I didn’t even realize how late it had gotten. “Thanks, Jackie.” I grab my purse from beneath the front desk. “I’ll be back soon.”
“No,” Kristen, my favorite doctor, says. “Take your entire break for once. You always come back early and today was a mess. Literally. You need a real break. Actually, you know what? Take an extra thirty minutes. We can handle it without you for a bit.”
“But—” I start, but she does the zipper motion in front of her mouth . . . and I see why it’s so effective with Adelaide.
“No. We’ll kick you out if you come back early.”
Ew. Doctors are so bossy.
“Fine, I guess if you don’t want me.” I pout, hoping to channel the look Adelaide gives and break some of their resolve.
“Not for an hour and a half.” Kristen shoos me out the door. “Bye, go. Leave.”
“Geez.” I throw my purse strap over my shoulder. “I’m going, I’m going.”
The door to the office closes with a soft thud behind me, and I look at the time on my phone. I see a few notifications from Hudson and relax a little. I still don’t know what I’ll do for an hour and a half, but at least now I can call Hudson and hopefully work out the podcast.
Our office is located on the first floor of the hospital we deliver at. It’s super convenient for the doctors and the patients . . . especially those whose waters break in the office. I usually eat lunch in the hospital cafeteria. They have a really good salad bar and it’s cheap, but I guess now that I have so much time, I can go to a real restaurant.
The bright, sunlight-filled lobby comes into my sights as the quiet murmurs of hushed conversations start to get a little louder. I reach into my purse, trying to find my keys somewhere in the mess of receipts, crayons, and unused tissues. I’m a pretty organized and neat person, but my purse? That’s another story. I stop near the lobby entrance, shaking my purse, trying to lure my keys to the top of the pile, when a hand lands on my shoulder and scares the ever-loving hell out of me.
I jump away from the hand, a little scream falling out of my mouth that echoes among the quiet voices around me.
“Shit,” a familiar voice says behind me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hudson!” I put my hand on my chest and take a deep breath to slow my racing heart. “What are you doing here?”
Between Jude scaring me this morning and now this, I probably just lost a full year of my life.
“Oh, um . . . it’s just . . . I . . .” He stumbles over his words, and I realize how rude I must’ve sounded.
“Not that I’m not thrilled to see you,” I say, trying to recover, “I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“You seemed freaked about the podcast and I know how stressful those first ones are . . .” He fidgets with the straps of his backpack, still seeming a little nervous. “Jude told me your lunchtime. I texted you. I guess they didn’t go through.”
“No . . . I mean, yeah. They did come through.” I pull out my phone and show him the notifications on my screen. “Today was just so hectic in the office. I was going to read them when I got to my car.”
“Word.” He exhales and seems to finally relax a little bit. He always seems so cool and collected, it’s weird seeing him so fidgety and awkward. “Well, I brought my laptop with me if you want to go somewhere and get the podcast all figured out?”
“Oh my god!” I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him tight. “Yes, please! You’re a lifesaver!”
I reluctantly let him go—I want to feel his arms around me for much longer—and his cheeks are bright pink as he adjusts the straps of his backpack I knocked off him in my hug, which was accidentally very aggressive.
“There’s a little place close by,” he says. “They have good food and Wi-Fi, if you want to head there? You can just ride with me if you want.”
Considering I think my purse ate my keys, this is perfect.
The ride
in Hudson’s Prius to Locally Grown is quick and quiet. Both of which I appreciate after a crazy morning. Once inside, we head to an empty table in the corner and place our orders with the überhandsome hippie, boho waiter who undoubtedly moonlights as an actor.
Hudson pulls out his laptop and opens the files of our podcast that he—thankfully—didn’t delete, and has me sign into our Libsyn account so he can figure out how I screwed up something that’s basically impossible to screw up. And after typing a few words and a couple of clicks? Mom Jeans and Martinis is up and running.
“Holy crap.” I pull out my phone and open my podcast app to see that it’s live. “Thank you so much!”
I want to hug him again, but he’s across the table and my arms aren’t that long.
“You don’t have to thank me.” His shy smile makes his eyes curve up like little moons. I love it so much. “I told you I was here for you and I meant it.”
I know he’s just talking about the podcast, but besides my dad—who can also be iffy depending on my mom’s mood—I’ve never been able to rely on a man. I mean, sure, I haven’t tried since Ben. I got burned once, I don’t need it to happen again before I learn my lesson. But Hudson? He’s just so different. He’s amazing at what he does, but he almost completely lacks ego. Which seems to be a stark contrast to the way most influencers behave.
The Addy Show is now up to three episodes. He still sits with her, no matter how long it takes or how many times she changes her mind, letting her have control and patiently answering the hundred and one questions she throws at him. I hoped maybe the novelty would wear off, but it’s still so sweet that my heart aches a little bit every time it happens. And when I say bye to him, I can’t help but get jealous of the woman out there who’s going to avoid the pain I went through when she snatches him up.
“I feel so bad. That was so easy for you to fix and you drove all the way out here.” If I’d just checked my damn texts, he could’ve avoided traffic and having to entertain me during my absurdly long lunch break. “You know you don’t have to stay, right? I can just grab a Lyft back to work. I won’t be offended.”
“No,” he says right away. I can tell he didn’t mean to say it so fast by the color rising in his cheeks again. “I mean, you don’t need to feel bad, I came out here on my own. Plus”—he looks down, twisting the corner of the fabric napkin around his finger—“I really like spending time with you.”
All of my insides turn to Jell-O, and I can feel the goofiest grin spread across my face. He’s just so sweet.
“Really?” I bite the inside of my cheeks to try to stop smiling like a crazy person, but even so, the doubt rings clear in the single word. I’m not the most fun person to be around.
He looks up, his eyebrows furrowed together and his hazel eyes assessing. “Yeah, really. You’re smart and determined and”—his face goes bright red—“really beautiful. Why wouldn’t I love spending time with you?”
Now my cheeks are heating, but hopefully my melanin prevents him from noticing.
Nobody has ever said anything like that to me. Ever. Between me and Jude? I’m never the person people want to spend time with. Jude is hilarious, easygoing, spontaneous, and drop-dead gorgeous. And me? Well . . . I overthink everything to death, I’m uptight and too serious.
“Um, thanks.” Now I’m the one fidgeting and unable to make eye contact. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“It’s not me being nice.” He sounds more confident than I’ve ever heard him. “It’s me telling the truth. And actually, I was hoping that maybe we could eat together again soon? Maybe for dinner? And go to a movie or something?”
My head snaps up and my mouth falls open.
Did he just ask me on a date?
“Like . . . like a date?”
“Yeah, exactly like a date.” He holds my stare. His gentle brand of confidence radiates across his kind and beautiful features. “I really like you, Lauren. I want to get to know you better.”
My lungs freeze and breathing feels impossible.
The last time I was asked out on a date was when Ben and I started dating.
And I want to say yes.
Holy shit do I want to say yes. So bad.
But I can’t.
It took me too long to pick up the pieces after Ben, and I can’t risk that happening again. Not when Adelaide is finally beginning to feel settled. The only relationship I can trust myself with is with Jude. And now, with the custody battle looming over my head, I’m afraid a relationship is something else Ben could use against me.
“Hudson.” I say his name, hoping the words I don’t know will just follow naturally . . . but they don’t.
He must see my answer—or my fear—written across my face, but instead of getting angry or offended, a soft smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s okay if you’re not ready or even if you don’t want to.” He reaches his hand across the table and holds on to mine. “I know Addy is your priority now, as she should be. I just want you to know that I like you . . . a lot. When and if you’re ever ready to date again, I’d love to have a chance. Because I think you’re incredible.”
All of the feelings flow through my body at his words.
Happiness, gratitude, sadness.
But one feels stronger than the rest. Anger.
Anger that even though Ben left me, even though he’s the one who betrayed our relationship, I still seem to be the only one paying for it.
I just hope that with our meeting next week, some of the uncertainty around him will come to an end. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to move on. Maybe I’ll even accept a date from a gentle and kind man who might see more in me than I see in myself.
NINETEEN
• • •
Jude
This week has been a freaking ride.
I’ve had to apologize—multiple times—for getting wasted at the launch and yelling at matchy-matchy, and slightly racist, Jennifer. Adelaide had her first day of kindergarten. Our podcast launched with some small glitches that somehow led to Hudson finally asking out Lauren . . . which she turned down.
But the main thing that went down this week is that I showed Lauren weakness. And now I’m fucked.
I don’t know how I let it happen. I’ve been expertly disguising my sad mommy issues for years. Then, bam! Four months in the same house with Lauren and she’s onto me like fucking Scooby-Doo! I hoped with everything we have going on in our life, Lauren would lay off a little bit.
The opposite has happened.
How she has time to work, help Addy with homework—yes, in kindergarten—make gourmet-quality breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and still concentrate on my problems is beyond me. All I know is I don’t appreciate it. I need time to rebuild some of that wall she knocked down and she’s not giving me any space to do it. Even when we’re all sitting on the couch watching Addy’s measly thirty minutes of screen time, I can feel her eyes on me, analyzing and trying to figure out how to break me.
It’s rude.
Like, let me fucking struggle in private!
Sure. I would never let her do that to me and I would cuff her to the banister until she broke, but this isn’t the same.
She took today off so she can take Addy on some grand adventure for finishing a week in kindergarten. I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like when that child graduates high school.
Lucky for me, though, she wasn’t able to ambush me like I know she wanted to because there’s an influencers’ convention—yes, that’s a real thing—and I’m speaking on a few panels.
I was so lucky to get more than one leg up in this industry. Anytime I get an opportunity to help other people trying to come up as influencers, I jump at it. So many people think there can only be a few people on the top, but that’s such bullshit. As long as you’re being yourself and not trying to mimic som
eone else, there’s room for everyone. We all have unique voices and experiences that should be showcased.
It’s gaining visibility and learning how to make money that’s the hard part. But lucky for everyone who’s coming today, I’m pretty good at teaching both of those things.
“Jude!” Spencer Foster shouts my name from across the room before her long, lean legs dodge the crowd as she runs over to me. “Bitch! I’ve been looking for you all day! Where the fuck have you been hiding?”
I love Spencer. She’s one of the first people I met when this entire influencer journey of mine began. We were both kind of getting started. When it comes to our brands, on the surface, we’re almost completely opposite. I’m muted, light tones and she’s over-the-top neon. I do Pilates, she’s into kickboxing. My blond hair is always braided or in a bun, she’s got masses of black hair always pulled in a high pony.
But at our core? We’re so similar it’s scary.
Her dad invented some crazy workout device that had a huge following in the eighties, but had a comeback when one of its infomercials resurfaced a few years ago. She was able to piggyback off his fifteen minutes of fame and build a super-loyal following of her own, just like I did.
And even more, we’re both fucking disasters. Her more so than me . . . and that’s saying a lot.
“I went to one panel about podcasting and then I’ve been walking around to meet some new vendors.” Finding new sponsors is always a good idea. Plus, I’m really good at networking. Getting to do so much peopling is one of my favorite parts about this job. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I fucking tried! There’s no service in this place.” She pulls out her phone and shoves the screen in my face to prove her point. “Who plans a fucking influencer convention in a place with no reception? And how did you not notice that? You’re always glued to your phone.”