Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(6)

Audre hated it when her mom put her on the spot. But the fans loved their mommy-daughter moments—which translated into book sales.

“Hi! I’ve grown up listening to Mom’s stories about the powerful, inspiring sheroes in our family. As she always tells me, Mercy girls do what can’t be done! Preorder at link in bio!”

Just then, Baby Alice sunk her two tiny, hard tooth nubs into her finger. Yelping, Audre stopped recording and dropped her phone onto the couch.

“Ow! Mom, take this Goblin… I mean, Baby Alice,” she said, handing her over. “I hate it when you throw me in your videos like that, with no warning. I’m not even wearing lipstick! And I’ve had the worst day.”

“But you’re such a natural.” Eva lifted her sweatshirt and resumed nursing. Back to business. “Don’t be mad, okay? Just trying to sell books here. Tell me about your day.”

“Well, it was the last day of school.”

Eva gasped. “That’s right, I forgot! Sorry, it’s New Mom Brain.”

Audre wanted to remind her that she wasn’t a new mom. She’d been one for sixteen years. “And we got our yearbooks.”

“I love yearbooks. Can I see? I never got one, thanks to my misspent youth.” Just then, Shane, her stepdad, emerged from the bedroom. He was wearing gray joggers and a T-shirt that read FLIP IT AND REVERSE IT.

Shane Hall was a hotshot, award-winning novelist. Book reviewers had named him “the voice of a generation.” But to Audre, he was like a fun uncle. The guy who, on her thirteenth birthday, had gotten them kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream for eating the displays.

Shane fist-bumped Audre and then picked up Baby Alice, smothering her cheeks with kisses as she gurgled with glee. Eva looked at the two of them with a lovestruck gaze.

“Hi, honey,” she cooed as if she hadn’t been home with him all day.

“Hey, honey.” He smiled, plopping down next to her.

Gross, thought Audre, handing Shane the yearbook.

“Your head’s getting bad, isn’t it? I watched a YouTube video saying that bone broth helps migraines,” said Shane, jiggling Baby Alice on his knee. “Last night, after I fed Baby Alice around three AM, I deboned an entire chicken, per the tutorial. I’m gonna broth you, baby.”

“You know you can buy bone broth,” said Audre. “Like, at Whole Foods.”

“Food tastes different when Shane cooks for me,” sighed Eva. “It tastes like love.”

They smiled at each other happily over their Goblin’s head. Audre wanted to vomit.

“I’m sorry,” she started, “don’t y’all have a wedding to plan? And a house to finish? Why are you deliberately trying to make your lives harder?”

“Don’t worry about adult things,” said Eva. “Anyway, back to your day.”

“Fine. So, after school I went to a party at Reshma’s house.…”

“Her parents were there, right?”

“Yep.” She saw no reason to tell her that Reshma’s parents (aka Mr. and Mrs. Wells, aka the Well Well Wells, the Britpop duo responsible for some of the sappiest ballads of the ’80s and ’90s) were in London, recording an album. For all of Eva’s “no-filter mom” energy, she was weirdly overprotective. Audre had a babysitter until eighth grade! So embarrassing.

Shane turned a page in the yearbook. “I’m sorry, but these aren’t real teenagers. They look like adults who play teenagers on TV,” he pointed out. “How was the party?”

“I had to talk Sparrow off the ledge.” Sometimes, it was easier to talk to Shane than her mom. Less emotional baggage. “She falls for f-boys, and they become her entire identity.”

“No one you date in high school should be that important in your life,” said Shane.

“You literally dated Mom in twelfth grade.”

“We dated briefly,” he said.

“It took remeeting him fifteen years later for it to stick,” said Eva, who had gingerly lain herself down on the rug and was reattaching the ice pack to her forehead. She pulled two pills out of her pocket and dry-swallowed them.

“Audre, promise me you won’t get hung up on an idiot,” said Shane, looking disturbed.

Eva opened one eye. “This is Audre we’re talking about. When has she ever made an irrational decision? Look at her prom date, Ellison. National Honor Society. Varsity basketball and wrestling. A little conceited, maybe, but nice manners.”

Audre felt her chest tighten. We erased the video. No one saw it.

“I just don’t like to picture my stepdaughter letting some clown throw her off course.”

“No one’s throwing me quote, unquote off course,” said Audre, “let alone a clown.”

Shane gave her a pound. “My girl.”

“Whose trophies are those?” asked Eva.

“Mine. Who else’s would they be?” Audre shrugged, annoyed. “The awards ceremony was today. I’m surprised you forgot, seeing how much you love accolades.”

Audre gestured toward Eva and Shane’s Shelf of Braggotry, which held all the awards, framed New York Times bestseller lists, and NAACP trophies between the two of them.

No pressure, thought Audre.

“Godddd,” Eva groaned. “I’m failing you, I really am.”