Page 11

“No more juice boxes tonight, Hazel. Drink water.”
She pouts and takes a big pull from the straw. When she swallows, she smiles. “I don’t like water. It tastes so plain.”
I take the container from her before she tosses it on the ground. My kids never pick up after themselves. I know, it’s awful. “But it’s good for you.”
Ashlynn approaches, her skin glowing under the pink California sunset. Hazel notices. “She has pretty skin.”
“She drinks water,” I whisper, smiling. “Lots of it. And never juice.”
Hazel glances up at me, pushing her curls from her face. Freckles mark her cute little nose and her bright blue eyes that look exactly like Noah’s. “You’re just saying that to get me to drink water, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Did it work?”
“Kinda.”
“Water is good for your skin, girlie. Drink up.”
Hazel sighs and reaches for her water bottle. You know, the one she insisted she have from Starbucks that costs twice as much as needed because it says the name on the side.
When I said I didn’t have a tribe besides my kids, that was somewhat of a lie. I do have a tribe if you call the girls in my neighborhood a tribe. I can’t say we’re BFFs, but I suppose if I had to bury a body, they’d totally help a girl out.
My crew here consists of Kate, the one who usually has a bottle of wine nearby, lives on Pinterest and thinks she has an unhealthy obsession with Harry Styles.
Then there’s Charlee. You’ll meet her in a minute. She’s yelling at her sixteen-year-old daughter in the middle of the street who’s getting on the back of a motorcycle. She spends a good amount of time on Yelp searching for restaurants to review. (She’s a food critic.) Her phone is usually at 4 percent battery and she lives off Dutch Bros.
And finally, Gretchen. She’s only about ten years older than me, but in Gretchen years that might as well be a century. She says to us constantly, “In my day,” like it was really that long ago. The kid with the motorcycle, that’s her rebel son who doesn’t understand the need for a helmet or speed laws. And then there’s this perfect chick, Ashlynn, who has pretty skin even after she’s been running.
Noah and I moved into the neighborhood about a month ago, Ashlynn and Bonner moved in two days later. I can honestly say I have no idea what they do for a living, but I’m thinking it might be illegal. We, as in me, Kate, and Charlee, we have our theories. Gretchen, she has her thoughts too, but they involve things I’d rather not discuss.
Charlee points in Gretchen’s face as the two of them walk toward me and the kids. Kate’s still trying to manhandle her dog, the closer Ashlynn gets. “Keep your son away from my daughter.”
Gretchen rolls her eyes and yanks on her leggings, pulling them up over her mom-badge, as she calls it. “He’s eighteen. I lost control of him back in January. Now I’m simply a place for him to crash.”
“If he knocks up my sixteen-year-old daughter, imma be controlling his bank account.”
“Good luck with that. He has ten dollars in his account right now.” Gretchen rolls her eyes and then looks over her shoulder at what Miley’s wagging her tail at. It’s certainly not Gretchen because last week she peed on her leg. “He’s not going to knock her up, Charlee. You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m sure.”
Kate lifts her wineglass and then pulls the bottle out of my stroller. “Anybody want some?”
“Is it water?” Hazel asks, peeking up at Kate, one hand stuck in a bag of chips she snatched from the pantry.
“It’s better than water, kiddo. It’s wine.”
Hazel points her tiny finger toward Ashlynn, careful not to dump over the bag in her lap. “She doesn’t drink wine.”
“No, she drinks—”
I slap my hand over Kate’s mouth. “Don’t you dare say that.”
Kate smiles and pulls my hand away. “She drinks…water.”
I mouth a thank you. Ashlynn approaches, smiling like someone who just walked off a whitening toothpaste commercial. I swear, her teeth were clinically engineered. I bet they’re veneers.
Ashlynn smiles, drawing in a deep breath that pushes out her tits. And then she bares her perfect white teeth. “Mind if I walk with you guys on my cooldown lap?”
“Of course,” Kate smiles politely. It looks like she’s holding onto a fart. She downs the remainder of her wine and eyes my stroller, where she stashed her bottle. “Make us feel bad about ourselves with your perfect body.”