Odd Mom Out by Jane Porter Page B

amazing.”
    “I still hated it.”
    “Let Eva model and she’ll be very popular.”
    “Now I hate you.” I make a hideous face at her. “That’s such a sellout, and I will not sell out.”
    “That’s right. Take the hard, high road. That’s so much more satisfying,” Shey mocks me, her eyebrows arched, eyes lit with mischief.
    I lift my wineglass, salute her. “Life’s about the journey, not the destination.”
    “That’s because you haven’t picked a very fun destination.”
    “Feck off.”
    She just laughs her throaty laugh.
    I love Shey. I love her humor, her spirit, her feistiness. And I love most of all that she refuses to let me take myself too seriously. Every time I get up on my soapbox, she just cheerfully knocks me off.
    Damn Gaelic fairy.
    Drinks like a fish, eats like a linebacker, and is as tall and delicate as a prima ballerina.
    I’d have to hate her if she weren’t so wonderful.
    Wineglass in hand, I join her in the living room. “You took the only good place to sit, you know.”
    She pats the saggy cushion next to her. “Come sit next to me, baby.”
    “Don’t try anything.”
    “You wish.”
    I laugh and sink into the saggy cushions. It feels good to just sit and relax.
    I sip my wine and tilt my head back, and the wine’s warm and feels so good in my mouth, throat, going down. It’s a big robust red and perfect for a night like this. “You’ve always had excellent taste in wine.”
    “John educated me,” she says, referring to her husband of thirteen years. Shey and John met on a shoot and they’ve been together ever since. “He said I can’t skate through life on my good looks alone.”
    “Thank God for that. Otherwise you’d be useless. Over five feet eleven and bonier than hell.”
    Shey’s laugh is low and husky. It’s one of my favorite sounds in the world, and I open my mouth to tell her how damn glad I am to see her, how much I needed this time together, but that lump is back, the one that makes me doubt myself.
    It’s been tough moving back to Seattle.
    Leaving New York, leaving her, leaving everything that was good and comfortable, has really thrown a curveball into my confidence.
    I’ve begun to feel more like Loser Mom instead of Super Mom.
    I’d planned on being a single parent, but there are times—days—when I’m just so bewildered by all that isn’t what I thought, knew, dreamed, expected.
    I knew I’d love Eva, and I’d hoped Eva would love me, but I didn’t realize that Eva would have problems I wouldn’t be able to help her with.
    “I saw him,” Shey says quietly, laughter gone. “For a minute I wasn’t sure it was him, but it was.” She turns to look at me. “He’s still with her. They were together. The kids were there, too.”
    I would like to pretend that I don’t know who or what she’s talking about, but Shey and I don’t have that kind of friendship. Our relationship is quick, sharp, honest, real. “How does he look?” I ask, my insides tangling, emotions suddenly chaotic.
    “Good.” Shey presses her lips, tries to smile, but her expression is tender, protective. “You did the right thing, Ta. You did.”
    I nod once, bite the inside of my lip, and will the stinging sensation out of my eyes. This is so many years ago, so long ago, it’s not even news of this century.
    Shey reaches out, touches one long, dark strand of my hair, and then tugs it gently. “You’d be over him if you had someone else in your life.”
    “I am over him.”
    “You need someone else—”
    “No. I’m not—” I stop myself, shake my head, my jaw beginning to ache. “No. Not like that. Never again.”
    “Marta, it’s been ten years.”
    “I’m happier now than I’ve ever been.”
    “Ten years and no sex, no men?”
    “I have great toys, sweetheart, and they give tremendous satisfaction for a very small investment.”
    “They’re plastic dildos.”
    “Yeah, and the only tenderness they need is a battery change now and