“Why not?” Her bottom lip sticks out almost comically. Even when I don’t have Adelaide with me, I still deal with a pouty toddler. “I know we agreed on no hookups coming home when Addy’s there, but news flash, Mom! She’s not home! And anyway, when’s the last time you got some?”
Well, crap.
And I thought the doctor talk was my least favorite topic.
I try to pull out of her freakishly strong grip, but it only makes her squeeze me harder. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to sleep with some rando.”
“Who said anything about sleeping?” She makes her eyebrows dance in the way that never fails to make me laugh. Honestly, I’m surprised they can still do it with the amount of coloring and shaping she does to them.
“You’re gross.” I shake my head, knowing the only way to get her off me is to flip it back on her. “But you can bring someone home. Who are you looking at?”
“I know when you’re deflecting. And you are so deflecting. How long has it been?”
Crap. This is why it’s not a good idea to be friends with someone for so long that they know all your defense mechanisms.
“It’s been a little while. Okay?”
She hugs me tighter and my lungs start to struggle to get oxygen. “How long is a little while?”
I guess alcohol makes her an expert interrogator. Something I will have to remember when Adelaide is a sneaky teen.
“Geez. Fine!” I whisper-shout, looking around to make sure nobody is streaming our conversation across the internet. “Since Ben.”
“BEN!” she shouts, and if there weren’t eyes on us before, they’re all on us now. “That’s, like, two years!”
“Closer to three,” I mumble beneath my breath. But by the way her eyebrows fade into her hairline and her eyes try to pop their way into my wineglass, she heard me.
“Three years! You haven’t had sex in three years?” Now she’s straight-up screaming and I’m positive that everyone within a five-block radius knows the details of my sex life . . . if you can call it that.
“Jude!” I cover her mouth with my hand and then look to all the rude gawkers who can’t even pretend to not be interested. “Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to stare? Look at the art. Shoo!”
What can I say? Once a mom, always a mom.
Jude peels my fingers from her mouth, and even though I’m mortified, I can’t help but notice she was right. Her lipstick hasn’t smudged in the slightest.
“Did you just tell people to shoo?” Her eyes are glassed over in drunk amusement.
“Did you just scream to the world about my dry spell?” I counter.
“Touché.” She shrugs but doesn’t apologize. Something I will one hundred percent bring up in the morning. “But three years? How? Yeah, you’re a mom, but you’re still hot.”
“I’m not sure that’s actually a compliment.”
Jude has always had a way with words. Whereas I measure everything that comes out of my mouth and think of the consequences of my every action (minus getting pregnant out of wedlock and dropping out of medical school), she’s fast and loose with everything—words and booze. She lives by the mantra “Act now, apologize later.” Which is probably why she’s so much better at saying sorry than I am.
She brushes off my comment. “Did giving birth break your vagina or something? I read some women have torn to their anus! If that happened, I’ll understand. If my vag ripped to my ass, I’d never have sex again.”
See! No filter!
“Seriously, Jude?” I feel the heat creep up my cheeks as I hear a few snickers from around us. I’m not sure if I’m more embarrassed or angry. “Can you please drop it?”
“Hudson!” she shouts across the room, waving her arms to summon the man I just got rid of. “Come here!”
Damn it. She’s not going to stop. She knows how much I hate this kind of thing, but when Jude wants something, nothing can stand in her way. Not even me.
“Hey, Jude,” Hudson sings to the Beatles tune. It’s so unoriginal and predictable that I have to fight to not roll my eyes.
“Don’t you think Lauren is hot?” She points at me and they both stare at me like I’m one of the pieces of art on display tonight. But not one that is outwardly pretty, one that confuses the masses and draws out everyone’s uninformed opinions.
“She’s stunning.” His tone is serious, not mocking. And I don’t know how to feel about it.
I shift beneath his gaze, hating the warmth that’s rising inside of me.
I’m raising a beautiful little girl. One who I tell every day that she is smart and powerful and magical. I don’t want her to focus on her outer when her inner is what will change the world.
But how can I teach her that? Authentically preach that her power comes from within, when I am practically basking in the praise that this man—one I literally just called an idiot—is showing me?
I feel the tears start to pull at the backs of my eyes, and the mortification that has been slowly rising over the course of the night skyrockets. And so does my temper.
“I think I was right, I shouldn’t have come tonight.” I look at Jude, who is blissfully unaware of just how uncomfortable she’s made me. I put my still-not-empty wineglass on the nearest table and adjust my purse, trying to gain some semblance of self-respect when all I want to do is run out the nearest door.
“Seriously? We were just giving you a compliment!” She’s still amused by all of this, and the fact that she can’t even seem to acknowledge how she’s made me feel, knowing what kind of day I had, is more than infuriating. It’s hurtful.
I had Adelaide young, but before that, I was so focused on school I skipped the entire partying scene. Of course Jude and I have gone out for drinks here and there, but I haven’t been around her drunk since freshman year of college. And I was drunk with her, so maybe I forgot this kind of behavior.
However, one thing is very clear: I’m not a fan of drunk Jude.
“I know. I’m supposed to be flattered, but I asked you to stop, and you kept going.” I maintain strict eye contact, just like I do when I am disciplining Adelaide. I guess parenting books come in handy with boozy friends too. “I’m not having fun, so now I’m leaving. I know you were counting on me to drive, so when you want to leave, text me and I’ll order you an Uber.”
Not that forty dollars on an Uber is something I’m thrilled about shelling out. But if that’s the cost of getting out of here, I’ll gladly pay it.