“Mom . . .” Addy’s hesitant voice calls from the kitchen. “I think I might’ve put too much syrup on my pancake.”
“Crap,” Lauren whispers underneath her breath before calling into the other room, “it’s okay, accidents happen, here I come.”
And on that note . . .
“You have fun with that!” I run to the stairs, not missing Lauren flipping me off before I go.
I might be living with a small child, but at least I’m not responsible for keeping her alive. Because for real? I’m not doing the best job of it for myself.
But at least I look fucking fantastic doing it.
TWO
• • •
Lauren
I know syrup is practically a staple of breakfast food for children all across America. But after spending twenty solid minutes and two rolls of paper towel cleaning up what had to be the entire bottle of fifteen-dollar organic syrup off the floor, I’m pretty sure it will now be forever banned from my house.
Well, technically not my house.
Our house, Jude’s and mine.
When we were in high school, we always said we’d live together when we were adults. I just didn’t think we’d be doing it because we were both in terrible places in our lives.
“Adelaide, please, please, please just put on your shoes. Your dad is expecting you, and I do not want to be late.”
“But I don’t know where they are.” Adelaide pokes her bottom lip out and works her hardest to squeeze out a tear that never comes before plopping on the ground.
And most definitely not looking for her shoes.
I close my eyes and do the deep-breathing technique one of Jude’s yoga friends taught me to calm down. She is five and I’m the adult. I need to take charge of this situation.
One, two, three, four, five.
“Adelaide June Keane, get that butt off my floor right now and go find your shoes. Remember when I bought them? You promised to keep them in your closet. If you kept that promise, we wouldn’t be having this problem. I don’t make rules to be mean, I make them to avoid situations like this.”
My voice starts to rise at the end of my rant, but how many times do we have to have the shoe conversation before she just listens? I mean, make it easier on yourself, kid!
She swipes a stray curl that escaped from her headband out of her face, and my heart melts a little bit looking at her. She is the perfect mix of me and her dad, inheriting the best both of us had to offer. Her big brown eyes sparkle against her golden skin, and her pink lips with a deep cupid’s bow form the perfect pout. Remembering how many times we were late to preschool for this exact reason is the only thing preventing me from kissing that look off her face.
“I did put them away, Mommy.” She lies straight to my face. “I think Sparkle Glitter must have moved them.”
Oh dear lord.
“Sparkle Glitter did not move your shoes. She’s in the North Pole with Santa, she’s an elf, not a leprechaun.”
Sparkle Glitter is our Elf on the Shelf. Adelaide gets a kick out of her, but I think it also scares her a little bit. Which? Fair. It’s the creepiest concept, and I might hate whoever came up with it. As if the holidays aren’t taxing enough, now we have to add moving an elf around every night to the list? My mom always asking why I’m not teaching her about “Jesus on the cross” instead doesn’t help either.
I hope I never become that woman.
“What’s a leprechaun?” Adelaide asks. Now she’s just being deliberately obtuse.
“Oh for the love!” I throw my hands up in the air and spin on my heel to find her shoes. “I’ll do it. I do everything,” I mumble under my breath as I resist stomping up the stairs.
Be the adult. You’re in charge. Be the example she needs.
It takes me two minutes to find the freaking shoe.
“I thought you said you looked in your closet.” I dangle the rhinestone-encrusted tennis shoes in front of me.
“I did!” Adelaide jumps up, her pouty face and crocodile tears a distant memory. “Sparkle Glitter must have brought them back!” She snatches them out of my hand, but before I can lecture her about manners, the sound of Velcro fills the small foyer and the front door swings open, almost knocking Adelaide over.
“Auntie Jude!” Adelaide jumps up, one shoe on, one completely forgotten.
“Addy girl!” Jude drops into a deep squat and swoops my girl into her arms, peppering her face with kisses.
And it’s almost too much. The free, joyous, and contagious love that they have for each other.
It’s what I’ve always dreamt of for my daughter but was never able to give her.
To be fair, though, it’s kind of hard to create a loving, stable home when your fiancé is sleeping with another woman . . . or, as it turned out, multiple other women.
Jude might be a disaster, but honestly, so am I. And Jude loves Adelaide like she loves life. Fully and unapologetically. Which is something else I needed to show my daughter. After we left my ex’s house, we landed with my parents. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for them. I know many women in my situation do not have the support of family to lean on. But my mom—as well-meaning as she is—is quite possibly one of the coldest people on the entire planet. Living with her when I was already depressed took me to a low I didn’t know was possible. When Jude brought up the idea of living together, I latched on to it like the lifeline it was.
And now? We’ve created our own family.
How millennial is that?
“How was your meeting?” Addy asks when Jude finally sets her back down, sounding more twenty-five than five.
“You know.” Jude sits on the ground next to her, looking her straight in the eye. I love how she treats Adelaide as an equal. She respects her opinions and never trivializes her feelings, something my mom still doesn’t do for me . . . and I’m a freaking adult. “I think it actually went really well. The guy was a typical man and mansplained a lot to me, but overall, I think they liked me.”
“Ugh.” Adelaide rolls her eyes. “The patriarchy.”
I choke back my laughter. Maybe I should tone down my feminist rants a tiny bit.
“Tell me about it.” Jude keeps a straight face as she leans in and drops her voice to a whisper. “When you get home, we’ll discuss it further over juice boxes and fruit snacks.”
“You got a deal.” Adelaide stretches her little hand in front of her to shake with Jude. “We can talk about Ruth Better Ginser. I’ll bring the Goldfish.”