by Alexa Martin
“And you told him to go sit on the tea spout and fucking spin, right?”
I hate that man with a fiery passion.
“I looked up tickets for Frozen when it first came to town, they were so expensive.” Her voice is beginning to shake again. “I couldn’t prevent her from having that experience. It would’ve been selfish. You should’ve seen her when she FaceTimed me after. She was so happy.”
I can feel my temper rising more and more with every word that comes out of her mouth.
“Listen, Lauren. You know I love you, right?” I ask, and she nods her head, still not looking at me. “I need you to look at me. I need you to really hear this.” She turns her head to the side and finally makes eye contact with me. “Ben is a manipulative piece of shit. You have a temporary custody agreement right now, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts.” I cut her off before she can try to explain or defend him. “So he knew this was your weekend with Addy. He knowingly made reservations and bought tickets for a night he knew was yours. He could just as easily have done both of those things with her next week when it was his time with her.”
“I mean . . . maybe.”
“No, Lauren. Not fucking maybe.” I’m trying really hard not to take my anger out on my sweet friend when something else dawns on me. “Wait . . . did you say he showed up at Addy’s school?”
She slowly nods her head up and down. “He came up to me while I was waiting outside of Adelaide’s school, waiting for her to get out.”
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. That piece of trash!
“And he knows Addy goes to after-school care.” This is a statement, not a question. I’ve listened as Addy told him and Stephanie all about her new school . . . which includes after-school care. “So he was planning on going up to the school, thinking you were at work, and taking Addy with him without you knowing.”
“He said he was going to call. That his lawyer said it’d be fine.”
“Lauren! Wake up!” I don’t mean to yell, but fuck! I want to shake her! “No lawyer would ever say that basically kidnapping a child is fine because that’s fucking crazy.” I draw out the last two words. “I need you to see how horrible this is. Like really see it. If this happened to anyone else, if their ex showed up behind their back to take their kid when they weren’t supposed to have them, would you think it was okay?”
And that’s when the thread of composure she had gained snaps.
“I’m so afraid I’m going to lose her, Jude! So, so afraid. She’s my whole entire world.” Her words are barely understandable through the onslaught of tears, and my heart breaks into a million pieces. “He told me that he just wants to be involved, not get full custody, and will say that at our meeting. So I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t do anything to make him change his mind because I. Can’t. Lose. Her.” She buries her face in her hands.
I take a moment to make sure my voice is intentionally gentle. I don’t want to do anything to add to her pain, but I don’t believe anything that shithead says. “If he doesn’t want full custody, then why go through all of this? Why the lawyers and court? It doesn’t make sense.”
“He said it was all his mom, that she pushed him to go for full even if he wasn’t going to do it.”
That I kind of believe. His mom always had it out for Lauren. She makes Mrs. Turner look like a fucking saint. But still, Ben is a fucking adult and he can’t put all of the blame on his mommy.
“So you had him put this in writing, right?” I ask, but know the answer when she looks away from me again. “Lauren, you made him put it in writing, didn’t you.”
She starts picking at her poor nails, which honestly can’t take any more of her abuse. “We were outside of the school. It’s not like I had a pen and paper ready.”
“So then you emailed him this weekend, recounting the conversation and he confirmed everything?”
Her silence is all the answer I need.
“Fuck, Lauren.” I stand up and start pacing the room. “When are you going to stand up to him and stop letting him walk all over you?”
“This will all be over soon and I won’t have to worry anymore.” She stands up and walks over to me. “Once this is over, it won’t matter what he says and I’ll be able to move on with my life.”
I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince, though, me or her, but I know she doesn’t need me to talk sense into her. She needs her friend. In this moment, the only thing she needs is for me to be there for her and tell her everything is going to be okay.
“You’re right.” I grab her hands, as much to comfort her as to stop her from messing with her nails. “Everything is going to be fine. And even if Ben tried to go for full, he wouldn’t get it. Because you’re an amazing mother and Addy is all the proof you need. You created that amazing girl and she’s the magical being she is because of you. Because you fight for her and lift her up and do everything and more that a mom should do.”
Her eyes start to well up again, but this time, the smile on her face is real. “Thank you.”
“You know I have your back.” I touch her necklace, the one I gave her and Addy. “We’re stronger together. Always.”
And it’s at that exact moment that there’s a knock on the door and I realize what time it is.
“Fuck.” I let go of Lauren’s hand and go open the door to greet whatever driver my mom sent to get me. “Hi! So sorry, I’ll be out in a second.”
I ignore the disapproving once-over the man gives me that says I’ll need much more than a minute and close the door in his face.
“What’s that about?” Lauren asks, her problems behind her now and her curiosity piqued.
“Nothing, just meeting my mom for brunch.” I try to keep my tone light and conversational. The last thing I need is to have all that concern I focused on her flipped back on me.
But when Lauren’s eyes laser in on me, I know I’ve failed. Massively.
“Oh, no, ma’am. Do not think that because I had a momentary breakdown that I forgot there’s something serious going on with you and your mom.”
All traces of sadness have dissipated, and she sounds like her normal self . . . but more determined. Which really sucks for me.
“There’s nothing—” I start, but this time she cuts me off.
Oh how the tables have turned.
“No. Not a chance. I’ve let you skirt around this for too long because I’ve been so preoccupied by everything with Ben. But that stops now. When you get home, you’re telling me everything. Whether you’re ready or not.” Her hands are on her hips and she’s using her scary mom voice. I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to.
There’s no way around this.
I purse my lips and grumble, “Fine.”
“Good.” She bends down and starts to clean up the depressing mess on the floor. “And go take a shower, you smell terrible.”
Rude!
You help your friend out and this is how they treat you.
But she’s right, my hair is so greasy and I’m pretty sure my pores are leaking tequila. Plus, I need to armor up for my mom.
TWENTY-TWO
• • •
Jude
The driver rolls up to the Ivy twenty minutes after our reservation time.
My mom is sitting on the patio—because of course she is—and her practiced smile is pasted on her face as she looks over the menu. I let myself roll my eyes one time before I open the car door and weave my way through the light crowd.
As much as I hate when my mom drags me out of the house for her own gain—which is the only reason she ever sees me anymore—and as much as I hate being paraded in front of cameras, it could happen at a worse spot.
The Ivy is cute as hell.
True to its name, ivy drapes from the roof and climbs up the exterior walls. Flowers, both fresh
and in print, cover every single surface. Vases overflowing with bright, multicolored roses and whatever other flowers they chose for the day sit in the center of the tables. Even with the LA smog, you want to breathe deeper as soon as you approach the little picket fence surrounding the patio. Their signature pottery, covered in floral prints, tops every table, while floral cushions and throw pillows make the metal chairs look homey and welcoming.
She sees me approach the table and her smile grows wider.
“Jude!” Her voice is much, much too loud for a public space as she stands and circles the table to greet me. She pulls me into a hug and whispers in my ear, “Twenty minutes? You couldn’t even be on time when I sent a driver?”
All of my nerves go haywire. Do I want to scream? Do I want to laugh? Do I want to turn my happy ass around and go the fuck home? Yes to all of that.
But I’ve been trained better. I’m not the person in this relationship with a free pass to hurt, use, and disappoint. So instead of hiking it out of this paparazzi hot spot and disregarding her like she did to me at my launch, I focus on the flowers and take a seat.
The other wonderful thing about the Ivy? The service. Which I’m reminded of when a waiter walks over and places a glass of champagne in front of me like the godsend he is.
God bless the fucking service industry. They’re mad undervalued. There’s honestly no way I, a person who posts pictures on an app, should get more love than the people who literally keep this world moving.
“Thank you so much.” The desperation is clear in my voice.
“Of course. I’ll be back to check on you soon,” he says, and I swear I see sympathy in his eyes.
But considering where we are, I’m sure we’re not the first tragic mother-daughter duo he’s helped out today.
Because the Ivy is not only visually beautiful but also perfectly located, it has become destination numero uno for many pseudocelebs to dine and be photographed. Even if my mom didn’t already have her own team of camera people following her around, she’d still end up in a magazine or two just sitting here. This is where you come to be seen.
My mom ignores the waiter, staying quiet until he leaves. Her giant, bedazzled sunglasses cover her beautiful blue eyes and make her already delicate features look even daintier. She might make me absolutely crazy, but there’s a reason she was the soap queen during the golden era. She’s beautiful. And actually very talented when she tries.
Which isn’t often anymore.
“So, Mom”—I unwrap my silverware and place my napkin in my lap—“what’s going on? Why the summons to paparazzi land?”
I see the twitch in her jaw, and for some reason it gives me a massive amount of pleasure. At least I’m not the only one feeling irritated at this table. What’s the saying? Misery loves company? Well, yes, I do.
“Can’t a mother just want to have a nice brunch with her daughter?”
A mother? Yes.
My mother? Not a fucking chance.
“Sure, but this is pretty fancy.” I gesture to our surroundings. “I just figured it was for something.”
“Okay, there is something.” She leans forward and her smile changes to one of her real, beautiful smiles that have been so rare since Dad died.
Even with everything that’s happened between us, when she smiles like that, I smile too. It reminds me of the times I could rely on her, when she was my best friend. It reminds me that she’s hurting, too, and maybe if given time, she can heal and return to the person I grew up loving. No matter how much I try to protect myself from her, she’s the only person who can knock down all of my defenses with a single smile.
“Why all the suspense?” I lean forward, feeling like a little kid learning a secret. “Tell me!” I whisper-shout.
She pulls her lips between her teeth, like her face muscles need a break from using muscles that have gone so unused, and reaches across the table to grab my hands. “I got a call from the Hollywood Housewives producers,” she whispers, but I can still hear her excitement lacing through every syllable. “They asked me to be a full-time cast member! I’m back!”
As soon as she says it, I’m out of my seat, rounding the table and wrapping my arms around her.
“Congratulations, Mom,” I say into her ear. “I’m so, so happy for you.”
I know I wasn’t on board with this plan, and I honestly still have my doubts considering the rabbit hole she fell down when she was initially cast. But she seems happy, genuinely happy. And this is the first thing she’s really followed through with since Dad died. Her first real income.
As selfish as it is, I’m hoping this finally gives me the break I need too. I can build my savings again without having to worry about her bills. I can pay for the therapist I desperately need, because Dr. Vodka is really starting to fall down on the job.
I’ll be able to breathe again.
I let go of her and go back to my seat.
“Thank you, Ju-ju.” She lifts her floral napkin to her cheek and dabs away the few stray tears she let fall. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I hope you know how much I appreciate you.”
I didn’t.
But hearing her say it and actually feel like she means it helps heal something inside of me.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Just then, the waiter comes back. “Are you ready to order?”
“Are you?” my mom asks me.
“Sure, you go first though.” I figure by the time she orders her salad and tells him everything she wants them to leave off, I’ll know what I want.
“Okay . . .” She purses her pink lips and looks at the menu once more. “You know? What the heck.” She tosses the menu on the table. “I’ll have the crab Benedict.”
My jaw damn near falls to my lap. I haven’t seen my mom eat more than lettuce in public in years.
“Seriously?” I ask, thankful that my sunglasses are hiding the way my eyes are probably bulging out of my head right now.
“Yeah, why not?” she asks. “We’re celebrating today.”
“Okay then.” The smile on my face is starting to hurt. Maybe this really is the fresh start we need. “Then I’ll have what she’s having . . . and one more glass of champagne.”
Because while Dr. Vodka has been slacking, celebratory champagne has never let me down.
Once we thank our waiter and he walks away, my mom reaches for the champagne flute in front of her that’s almost gone, and raises it in the air. “The Andrews women,” she says, and her smile wobbles a bit. “And to George, for loving us.”
“To us and Dad.” I tap my glass against hers, fighting back the tears that always appear when my dad is mentioned. “Proud of you, Mom.”
“Love you,” she says.
And then she doesn’t say anything else. For the first time in what feels like forever, there are no strings attached to her love. The weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders for years starts to lighten.
Best. Brunch. Ever.
And it wasn’t even because of the complimentary champagne . . . even though that certainly didn’t hurt.
* * *
• • •
The best part of my mom getting this job and seeming to finally find her footing in this world again is that when I step back through the front door and see Lauren waiting to give me the third degree, I’m not dreading it. And I’m not even drunk! All of this is more than a small miracle.
“Good, you’re home,” Lauren says in greeting. “I have to leave to get Adelaide in two hours, so I’m not putting up with your attempts to misdirect me or get out of this. Got me?”
Wow. Hard-ass Lauren is pretty impressive. If only she’d do this to Ben.
“Got you.” I walk across the living room and sit down on the couch next to her.
Confusion mars her gorgeous face. “You’re not going to fight this?”
“Nope,” I say, even though I know I’d be singing a different tune had brunch not gone the way it had. “You opened up to me, I need to do the same. I don’t need you worried about me when Ben is acting like an ass.”
“Okay, yeah . . . good.” She was obviously expecting a fight and is trying to regroup. “What’s going on with you and your mom? You used to be so close, but now you shut down whenever I mention her.”
“You know I love my mom.” For some reason, I feel like I have to preface this story with loving her. “It’s just . . . she changed when Dad died.”
Lauren takes my hand in hers. “Your dad was the best.”
“He really was.” I don’t like talking about him. It makes me feel like I’m not in control. I don’t think I ever really came to grips with his death. I’ve been so busy taking care of my mom that I’ve had to push my grief to the back of my mind. Add that to the long list of shit my future therapist gets to help me work out. “And I didn’t realize how much he was holding together”—and hiding—“until after he died.”
Lauren’s eyebrows furrow together. “Like what?”
“My mom was just a mess. She was so preoccupied with keeping up with the other women on Hollywood Housewives that she was spending money they didn’t have. And my dad being my dad tried to hold everything together, but did that by not telling my mom she’d gotten out of control. So when he died, he did it in debt.”
I’ve never told anyone about this, but instead of the shame and embarrassment I thought I’d feel, it’s actually a relief to share it with someone. To share it with Lauren.
“My mom flew through the life insurance money, and for the last few years, it felt like the only time she ever wanted to see me was when she needed money.” I left brunch feeling better, but it still doesn’t take away the sting when I think back on the way our relationship has suffered. “It was really hard not to be resentful, you know?”
“I had no idea.” Lauren’s eyes gloss over. The last thing I want is for her to cry. Part of why I never told her is because I didn’t want to just be another burden to her. “I’m so sorry.”