Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(5)
Maybe it’s because they were high school sweethearts who broke up as teens and reunited as adults, thought Audre. Maybe together, they slip back into adolescent behavior. Interesting theory. I’ll research this on mentalhealth.org later.
For the moment, Audre turned her attention to her mom, who was sitting on the living room rug. She was surrounded by toys, books, and bottles. Baby Alice was perched on her lap, taking turns nursing and shrieking.
(Their part-time nanny had just quit to become a nun. But that was a whole other story.)
“Oh, thank GOD you’re home,” wailed Eva. Baby Alice looked at Audre and shrieked.
“Same, kid,” muttered Audre, flopping down on the couch. Aka, her bed.
Baby Alice had Shane’s honey-brown eyes. And, like Audre, she’d inherited Eva’s knuckle-deep dimples. Yes, she was cute. But she was irritating. Like a paper cut between your fingers that also smells like sour breastmilk.
“Shhh, sweetie. It’s okay. You’re fine,” cooed Eva, rocking Baby Alice in her arms. After a moment, she settled down and Eva popped a paci in her mouth. As The Goblin lay wide-awake on Eva’s chest, she glared at Audre with a side-eye so dramatic, it was almost funny.
“I know, the crying sucks,” said Eva through a yawn. She was fully made-up, her coily curls swept into a half-up, half-down style. She was wearing chunky gold hoops, a Wu-Tang sweatshirt, cutoff shorts—and had an ice pack tied to her forehead.
Audre knew what that meant. “It’s bad today?”
“Ehh. It’s a four.” Level four on the 1–10 pain scale. “Sorry Baby Alice is so intense today. She’s stressed out from teething.”
“I’m stressed out, too. But I have an inside voice.”
Eva turned her way, her ice pack tilting to one side. “You’re stressed? What about?”
Audre wanted to scream. Did her mom not realize that she, Shane, and Baby Alice had turned her life upside down—during the year when grades mattered most to colleges? It’s not like she could explain her stressful family to Stanford. What would she even say?
Dear Stanford Admissions Board,
Hi, I’m Audre. My mom was my best friend. She was only twenty when she had me, so we sort of grew up together. When I was a baby, my parents divorced and Dad moved to Cali. It’s weird, cause most moms are annoying, but mine was different. She never judged me or dismissed me. We lived in our happy little world, with its own rules and customs. Speaking in a French accent on Wednesday nights. Watching horror movies on Saturday nights. Attending drag-queen brunch every Easter.
When I had a bad day at school, she just knew and would order my favorite pizza without saying a word. And I could sense when her head was getting bad, the way old people know that it’s going to rain. Codependent? I mean, yeah. But we were best friends. And then came Shane. Look, I’m not a hater. But you know when couples are so giddy it’s like all self-awareness evaporates and they frolic around like they invented being in love? They do that. Imagine living with the gooiest couple in the cafeteria. It’s so obnoxious. Hello? Some of us are single.
And I could handle it if my mom still noticed me. But little by little, we’ve grown apart. It’s been a slow, painful untangling, but it’s final. I’ve been replaced.
And now Mom, Shane, and Baby Alice live in their own happy little world. It’s like the sun shines only on them. I’m fading away, Stanford. It’s a classic case of Oldest Daughter Erasure, which is a term I invented. I’ve already registered the trademark.
Anyway, please accept me to your prestigious institution.
Love,
Audre Zora Maya Toni Mercy-Moore
For the zillionth time that day, she thanked the universe for Dadifornia. Two more weeks, just two more weeks.
For her sanity, Audre changed the subject. “Why are you wearing makeup?”
Baby Alice spit out her pacifier and blew a raspberry at her sister.
“I really can’t take her negativity,” muttered Audre.
“She’s a baby,” said Eva. “Is my makeup too much?”
“No, you look pretty.”
“But do I look relatable? Like you’ll want to be my best friend and buy my next book?”
“I guess? Why?”
“So, my next book comes out in September, right? Back to Belle Fleur.”
Eva was famous for her fifteen-book Cursed series (about a nineteen-year-old witch in passionate love with a vampire). But she’d just finished writing a different book—a memoir about her Black Creole roots. For four years, she’d been researching the Louisiana bayou town of Belle Fleur, where her mom was born. Back to Belle Fleur would be a love letter to her maternal ancestors, all of whom were badass superheroes.
“I need to tell my IG followers about the release date. So I’m doing a reel. From the chest up, of course.” She wiggled a fuzzy Christmas slipper–clad foot in Audre’s direction and then grimaced. Today’s migraine was clearly getting worse. “Can you help?”
Didn’t she always? Audre popped the paci back in Baby Alice’s mouth and then hoisted her up onto her hip. Then she set up Eva’s ring light on a side table and aimed her phone at her mom.
Quickly, Eva slid off her ice pack and fluffed up her curls. “Hi, readers! It’s Eva Mercy, here to introduce my upcoming book, Back to Belle Fleur! It traces the colorful lives of my Creole mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother in Belle Fleur, Louisiana. I’m uncovering all the secrets and lore that have shaped my identity.” She beamed, her dimples popping. No one would know she was in pain. “But it’s not just about my identity. Hellooo, Audreeee?”