Lauren lives a life of full responsibility and reality. She’s in charge of not only keeping another human alive, but also making sure she’s well adjusted and doesn’t turn into a serial killer. That’s a lot of pressure!
Fortunately for her, I can change that for a night.
It’s literally what I do for a living. There’s not much I can do for her to make this situation better. Because, let’s be honest, it fucking blows, but I can make her forget it for a while. Fake it till you make it.
For one night, I can make her remember what it feels like to be carefree, fun, and young. Maybe I can show her that being a mom doesn’t have to change her completely. That she’s still allowed to be something other than Addy’s mom.
I’m a good Pilates instructor, but I’m a kick-ass friend and drinking partner. And Lauren needs me now more than ever.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
FIVE
• • •
Lauren
From the second Jude found the one miniskirt I owned and forced it on me, I knew this was a bad idea.
I love Jude. She loves me. I know her heart is in the right place, but this is literally my version of hell on earth.
“So, what do you do?” Hudson, Jude’s friend who did the art for this event . . . or just hosted it because he likes art on Instagram or something, asks.
“I work at an ob-gyn’s office.” I don’t look at him as I answer, hoping my clear lack of interest is enough to ward him off.
Wrong.
“So you’re a doctor? That’s hot.”
Oh my god.
Please go away!
“No, not a doctor. I just work there.” I take a sip of the red wine I’ve been nursing for the last hour. “I’m an administrator.”
This is one of the topics that I hate the most.
I wanted to be a doctor. I had it planned from the time Jessica H.’s mom came to our school for career day and showed us all the pictures of the babies she delivered. I got straight A’s and joined student council and played varsity soccer all four years of high school. I aced my ACTs and SATs. I could’ve gone to any school I wanted. But of course, I had to go to my mom and dad’s alma mater. They were so proud. Their only child, doing exactly what she was supposed to do.
Everything was going to plan.
Until Ben.
And look at me now.
Another disappointment. My mom’s words from earlier, and really my entire life, bounce around in my head. Always disappointing someone, always proving my mom right.
“Oh, that’s cool though.” He glances over his shoulder and I think I might finally get some people reprieve. “So do you do Pilates too? Or what’s your Instagram brand?”
Who in the world asks that?
I love Jude.
But I think I hate her friends. What’s my brand? Right now, my brand is hating everyone almost as much as I hate myself.
“I don’t have an Instagram account.” At my words, Hudson’s entire face falls and it looks like someone just kicked his puppy or, worse, unfollowed him.
“Twitter?”
“No Twitter, I don’t do social media.” I already judge my life too harshly without comparing it to the seemingly perfect lives of millions of strangers online. Social media is a surefire way for me to fall in a shame spiral.
Hudson’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to comprehend someone who doesn’t have an online presence. “Oh, so what about Facebook?”
Oookay.
“I don’t have social media.” I repeat my earlier words . . . just slower.
“But, like . . .” He runs his hands through his scruffy blond hair and pulls on the ends. “How do you keep up with your friends?”
Friends? As in more than one?
“Well, I live with Jude, so we keep up pretty easily. Everyone else?” He doesn’t need all the details of my lonely life. “I call them? We text. In a pinch, I can email.” Holy shit. This is why people crap on millennials all the time. “We actually talk instead of me just clicking on a heart by their pictures.”
“Wow.” He shrugs his shoulders, and suddenly the look of confusion has cleared from his face and the interest is back. “That’s really cool of you.”
I scrunch my eyebrows and purse my lips. Not even Adelaide thinks I’m cool, and she’s five with pretty low standards. “Is it? Is it really?”
“Yeah.” His gaze drops down my body before leisurely making its way back to my face. “I love that you dedicate your focus and attention to the people you’re with.”
All right.
Enough of this.
“Yeah, my daughter is pretty demanding.” I pull out the one thing I know is guaranteed to scare a self-obsessed twentysomething away. Kids. “She wouldn’t deal well with me not giving her one hundred percent of my attention.”
“Oh! A daughter! Wow, that’s really . . . wow! Reproduction is dope.” His eyes widen to almost cartoon size as he takes a giant step back, giving me the space I’ve been craving since he first walked over. “Well, you have fun tonight. I hope you enjoy the art.”
He’s gone before I can even say goodbye. But, if nothing else, I can have the phrase reproduction is dope made into wall art from Etsy, so I guess the night isn’t a total wash.
“Idiot.”
“Who’s an idiot?” Jude wraps her arms around my waist and lays a wet kiss on my cheek.
“You better not’ve left lipstick on my face.” After the amount of time it took her to perfect the contour on my face, it better last for the rest of the month.
“Who wears lipstick that smudges anymore?” She leans in and I get a nice, strong whiff of vodka.
Whoever said vodka has no scent clearly just drank too much of it.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“Not enough.” She takes my hand and guides me to a corner of the gallery filled with sculptures made from recycled materials like straws and water bottles. It’s actually pretty cool, but mainly just reminds me to order a collapsible metal straw for my purse and new Tupperware for Adelaide’s lunch box. Hopefully she won’t throw this set away. “Now, no deflecting. Who’s an idiot, and what guy are you bringing home tonight?”
“Hudson is an idiot, and you must have been drinking even more than I thought if you think I’m bringing some random dude home.”