Page 25 of Insta [FAM]

She growls, I’m sure it’s a growl. “You do know you should just let reality TV in here with their cameras and title it ‘the-shitshow’ and you’d be a millionaire right?”

“Fuck you.” I know I’m a mess, I own it. Before we can argue, the front door flies open and Charlotte comes in.

“Helloooo,” she calls, like she doesn’t know where we are. “Is it safe to come in?”

“Fuck you, too!” I call after her and decide it’s half-past-wine somewhere and we can switch from coffee now. I open the liquor cabinet and pull out three bottles of wine and a box of instant margarita that needs to go in the freezer so we can have mom-slushies later. Charlotte comes into the kitchen wearing sunnies and oversized sweatpants. “Rough night?” Amelia asks before I can comment.

“Not as rough as Dion’s, but I may have consumed my body-weight in tequila. We won a big case at work, and the youngin’s wanted to celebrate.” She takes my half-finished coffee and downs it. “Those fuckers.” Olivia and Kerry aren’t far behind her, and very soon my house is the usual weekend zoo I’m used to. The kids are all in and out like wild animals, and I text Zach to order UberEats for everyone. Because texting your teenage son is easier than trying to get him to come downstairs.

“I can-fucking-not with the noise. These kids are feral today,” Olivia says. She doesn’t have kids and it shows. “Could we go sit outside? They can have the house.” Grabbing the wine, and our glasses, the adults go sit outside in various states of morning-after shame. At least the noise is muffled by the walls.

“Okay. There’re no kids and everyone is here. Start talking, bitch,” Amelia says, unable to wait any longer.

I take a long gulp of my wine, because last night — how do I even put it?

“We had like three hundred years of foreplay, because he wanted to go for dinner then got all hands up my dress.” I fill up my glass, I need more wine to try and explain last night. “I don’t even know what I had for dinner.”

“You had sausage for dinner, we all know that,” Kerry snickers from her spot on the porch swing, and I choke on my wine.

“Is there a boner, I mean bone in that wine?” Charlotte jokes.

“It was a French baguette, I have never seen a sausage that big.” I snort out a laugh and put my feet up on the wooden coffee table. “But, he certainly knows what to do with it—”

Kerry sits forward now; she’s looking for more details than that. These bitches have no boundaries.

“Did he make you come? Because a big dick is useless if they don't know how to get you off,” Olivia adds, revealing her extensive research as a romance author.

“He knows what to do with his dick, fingers, and mouth. He’s a very talented man, and flexible. Who knew?” We laugh, and talk about men, good sex and bad sex, and dating and the minefield that is being single in your late thirties.

“You know, I was thinking. He left — no sleepovers because that’s not what this is — but this morning I sent him a sexy voice note saying how much I’d enjoyed him, and that ass didn’t even reply. I wish there was some guidebook to decipher the stupidity of men, because I do not understand? Did he not enjoy it? He really seemed to enjoy it. Fucking hell.” We have moved from wine to cold pizza and margaritas from the freezer, and are well on our way to tipsy-town by the late afternoon. Every so often one of the kids asks if they can do ‘xyz’ and we either all yell ‘no’ or we let them. If they don’t burn down the house, we’re not too worried. This is our time when we get to just be human, and not have to be ‘on’ all day. These girls have gotten me through my worst days and been there with me to celebrate the best ones. They are the family I chose. Except Amelia. I got fucking stuck with her. Sometimes, I love her too.

When the sun starts to set, my friends all help me tidy up before they go home. One after the other, my house empties out. Until there is the relative quiet of just me and my three kids. I sit on the porch and finish off my last glass of wine. Mulling over the lack of response from Mika, I can’t help but wonder if I did something wrong. Boys are fucking stupid. It rubs me the wrong way and I decide I might put it to the hive mind of internet experts to see if there’s an answer out there.

“So InstaFam, here’s a question for you all. Say you’re in a bit of a situation-ship with a guy. You know, you’re not dating-dating, but you bump uglies and spend time together when your schedule allows it. Because face it, most single moms do not have the capacity, nor the desire, to date. So, you’re in this situation-ship, you have a really good night of hot and heavy humpty-dumpty, the other person sneaks out, no doubt doing a 2 a.m walk of shame down your driveway hoping the neighbors don’t see. No goodbye, or thanks, just a disappearing act the minute you fall asleep (that’s code for coward by the way). Then when you wake up, you send him a nice message thanking him, because he really was good to tangle sheets with. Then — then ladies and gents of the Instafam! NOTHING!” I sing like the stupid TikToker song, “I’ve never heard silence quite this loud.”

“So you tell me, is this a boys-are-stupid thing? Because I’m so confused, like he definitely enjoyed it. But then ran away and ignored me the whole day after. WTF?! Am I missing something? Not asking for a friend, I’m totally asking for me.”

Right away I have hearts and laughing faces popping up like mad.

“Also, the bunny ate my car keys today, in case you wondered how she was after trying to kill us all. And come to think of it, that mother-fluffing bunny is the whole reason for this situation-ship, too, and now look at me.”

Huffing out a breath, I end my video, and the devil on my shoulder makes me tag Mika in a comment. Because fuck him and his radio silence all day. Asshat. I drag my drunker-than-I-thought self inside, make a quick dinner out of the nothing in my kitchen, and force my kids to bathe because who knows why they’re allergic to hygiene. We then squash our butts onto one couch and put on a family-friendly movie I will probably sleep through. But I love it when they all want to be near me.

* * *

“Granny’s here!” Holly-Anna yells, waking my hungover-ass up. “Granny’s here! It’s Sunday-Funday!” Oh no, it’s Sunday, shhhhh-the-f-up day.

“Ugh.” I roll out of bed, splash water on my face, and shove my hair into some sort of a mess on top of my head. Yoga pants, at least they’re pants, and a tank top will have to do. It’s only my parents, and it’s not like they don’t know I’m a hot mess.

“Hi, Mom,” I greet and kiss my dad on the cheek. “You guys are early.” They’re probably not. I was just in a coma.

“Nice to see you too,” my dad mocks. He picks Holly-Anna up, and they go off to the living room, chatting away about nonsense.

“Amelia said you could use a hand, so we came a bit early. Dad will watch the kiddo’s, and you and I can go do groceries. We’ll get something your father can barbecue for lunch.” Sounds like the last fucking thing I want to do, but she’s right, I need to do it. And having help today would be great.

“We will have to go in your car, the rabbit ate my key.” My mom laughs and shakes her head. “Let me go put on shoes, find my phone, and a purse that isn’t half-eaten.” I drag myself upstairs while my mom starts tidying up — she loves to clean, it’s like her favorite hobby.

I put on a bra, a t-shirt and run a brush through my hair because I will see everyone I know and the PTA moms at the store if I don’t. That’s how the universe rolls. My phone is still on silent next to my bed, and when I tap the screen, it comes to life with a lot of notifications. A LOT. It seems last night's video has set the ladies on the Instagram alight. They’re calling men out on their bullshit, and some of these comments are absolute comedy gold. I scroll through a few, giggling, until I see the one where I tagged Mika. Someone replied — and it’s not him.