“I think this practically perfect moment deserves a toast,” I said.
“Hear, hear,” said Parker.
Rachel topped everyone off.
“To friends,” I said before turning to my mother as I lifted my glass. “And to moms.”
“To wine and Cheez-Its,” said Rachel, leaning forward with her glass.
“And to women who build each other up instead of tearing each other down,” Mom added.
Abi lifted her glass. “To the Mom Scouts!”
Because sometimes you really did deserve a glass of wine. Or a badge. Or a badge and a glass of wine.
And if you were really, really lucky, you knew some Mom Scouts who’d have your back.
Epilogue
Not quite a year later
Mom and Connie—short for Consuelo, I’d discovered—had not only relocated to Atlanta, but they had moved in with me. I’d gladly given them the primary bedroom with all its fraught memories, and they paid me rent to stay while Mom got the lay of the real estate land in metro Atlanta. It was a win-win situation all around.
Or it should have been.
I had a therapist, and my Target employee discount was paying off. My divorce had been final for almost two weeks. Tabitha had had her baby back in May, and little Gabriella was precious despite having Mitch for a father. Sometimes I babysat her, which had to be one of the weirdest ex-wife duties in the world—or it would be if I didn’t make him pay me for it.
The Mom Scouts channel was going steady, if not strong, and business was picking up again thanks to the TikTok videos Dylan had shown me how to make. Both Busy Mom Cosmetics and Vine Friends had ghosted me, but I was actually relieved because that left me free to do whatever I wanted to do and to promote whoever I wanted to promote, like Lit Wines.
But something was still amiss. I’d been baking again and was wiping down the already clean counter, lost in my thoughts.
“Okay, Vivian, what’s got you sighing so much on your day off?” Mom asked from where she and Connie sat at the breakfast room table, working on a crossword puzzle. Together. Like the lovable weirdos they were.
“It’s nothing.” I felt the sigh coming that time and held it in.
“Oh, it’s something. You’ve had that scrunched-up look on your face for weeks. Ever since the divorce came through.” She made a choking sound. “Tell me you’re not regretting the divorce.”
“No, it’s—”
“A little sadness is to be understood, even if you’re relieved for the most part.”
“That’s not it. Maybe—”
“Well, something is bothering you, because you’ve been baking nonstop for a week.”
“Mi cielo, let her talk,” Connie said in a soothing voice.
Both women looked at me expectantly, double the maternal interrogation.
“It’s Parker. I don’t know what to do now.”
“What do you mean? Go next door and knock. When he answers the door, ask him if he’d like to come over for some hot monkey sex. Connie and I can clear out for a while.”
What started as a blush morphed into a hot flash. Now I knew how Dylan had felt when I’d so glibly lectured him on condoms. “As a wise young man once said to me, ‘Mom. Please don’t talk about sex ever again.’”
“I wouldn’t have to talk about it if you would just do it.”
“Mom!”
