Otherhood

Everyone's heard of the city that never sleeps.

What about the mothers who never sleep

because their boys move to the city and never call?

This is a story about three such mothers and their three sons.

Oh! Stop the cab! Stop the cab!

Look where we are.

You guys are such profound assholes.

- It's time, Daniel. - I know. I'm still deciding.

- You decided. You got a ring. - Yes.

- You're getting engaged! - Yes.

Right now? Isn't that fantastic?

I'm not asking Erin to marry me tonight, drunk with girls in the car.

- No offense. - Come on! Go!

- We're going to Matt's. - D, I love you, but get out.

- Come on. Come on. - Bye.

Look...

you are happy with Erin.

Like, happier than I've seen you since...

sixth grade.

Dude! Remember when you said you'd have your first novel finished

by the end of the year, three ends-of-the-years ago?

- Horrible pep talk. - These are the facts.

She's hot. I'm gonna do it if you don't.

- That's actually a better pep talk. - Erin!

All right.

Baby! Erin!

- This is why we don't hang out anymore. - Listen to me, okay?

This would be romantic.

This is the story that she's gonna tell your kids.

She's gonna say, "That's the night that he stormed up the stairs

and got down on one knee..."

And you asked if she would marry you.

- That is novel material. - Novel material.

- It would be a pretty great story. - Ahhh!

We were there for every big life event

and now we're lucky if we hear about anything at all.

Erin?

Daniel?

What the fuck?

There's a lot you don't know as mothers.

In fact, that's what bonded us

when the boys' friendship launched our friendship

on a playground in Poughkeepsie.

We've been through so much together.

Graduations, proms, skinned knees,

emergency room visits, family vacations, bad days, bad jobs.

And at every scary and unfamiliar stage,

the answer was always "friends."

That's Gillian. She still has kids in the house,

they're just not hers.

Why are you teaching today?

It's just one lesson. He wants to play this later for his mother.

- He still likes her. - Daniel texted you already.

Nothing says "I don't wanna talk to you" like a text.

- He said he misses us. - That's nice.

Hmm. It's a lie.

But it's a nice lie.

And that's Helen.

She never ages. At least, not publicly.

Frank, I have to run a few errands before I go to Carol's.

Would you tell her that I could sell her house tomorrow

if she just gave me the listing?

Are you spray-painting the top of your head again?

I'm tall enough, so no one even sees it.

Unless you're sitting.

Carol talks a good game, Frank,

but she will never sell that house.

You'd have to sell it with her in it.

The three of us don't see each other as often as we used to.

The boys are gone.

Husbands have come and gone.

But one tradition remains.

- I'm so glad we're still doing this! - Happy Mother's Day!

Without husbands and kids, it might actually be fun.

- I brought donuts. - Oh!

I brought bourbon.

Like, I'm really going to drink a mimosa? It's Mother's Day.

I knew I should have Ubered.

Guys, I think the guy at the liquor store was flirting with me.

Oh, I can't remember the last time someone flirted with me.

I bet it happens all the time. You're just not flirting back.

Why do you flirt back? You're married.

Well, my marriage isn't as perfect as yours, Gillian.

Besides, flirting isn't cheating,

it's just a little pick-me-up for your ego.

It keeps your in shape, sexually speaking.

Ah, so it's sexercise.

Yes, women should sexercise daily.

Ooh! Terrific, another thing that I'm not doing.

Come on!

There's nothing you're not doing. Look at this spread.

And you're always volunteering...

Oh, please. I teach art in a retirement home two days a week.

I'm hardly Mother Teresa.

And look at your house, it's spotless.

The key to a clean house? Dead husband.

Oh, God. That came out much darker than I intended.

No, that's a great household tip.

What is with these flowers?

Come on, they get bigger every year. Did Matt send these?

Yes. Delivered this morning.

Matty is the perfect son. He never forgets.

- Is he dating anyone? - He doesn't have time.

And he's helping to launch some new sports magazine.

So, he just works, works out and sleeps, so he says.

No, Paul is the same way, he never mentions dating anyone.

God, I wish Daniel would date someone other than that Erin.

She's not good enough for him. I told him that.

Oh! And how did that go?

- He unfriended me. - See? Now, that's why I'm not on Facebook.

- Aww. - Oh!

- Remember how cute they were? - Remember how cute we were?

When did I turn 50?

Oh, several years after I did, so shut up and enjoy your youth.

I love that with us, we don't have to lie about our age.

I love with us, we don't have to lie about anything.

Hmm.

Look, I've just polished off a whole donut in front of you two.

I didn't even pretend to only want half. Come on, that's friendship.

Aww, you are so right.

I sent myself the flowers.

I've been doing it for a while now.

And each year it gets more and more depressing

so I get bigger and bigger flowers.

Well...

but you don't include a note, do you?

No! I would not write my own...

Yes.

What did the note say this year?

- You are the best mother ever. - Yes.

- Well, you are. - What son forgets Mother's Day?

What kind of son sends a Mother's Day text?

Pass the bourbon.

Come on, lazy!

Buy me some bath salts. Is that so difficult?

Hmm. A candle. A frame, something.

I should have sent myself flowers. It's brilliant.

Daniel can't call me from Long Island City?

God, I have a girl for him to meet.

The little jerk won't even call me back.

Paul stopped caring about me when I married Frank.

Matt hasn't been home since Finn's funeral.

And he barely came home for that, stayed 16 hours, and he wore sneakers.

They were nice ones. They were Gucci.

What did we do wrong?

We did everything right. That's what we did wrong.

And we raised our children to be free-thinking, independent beings

and now, they just don't need us anymore.

Well, they're gonna need us again when they have kids.

- When we're grandmothers. - I don't want to be a grandmother, but...

I would like one Mother's Day card.

Motherhood.

That sinking feeling that as your child's growing up

that you're being broken up with, on a gradual but daily basis.

It's inhumane emotional waterboarding.

That is the best description of motherhood I've ever heard.

Mm-hmm.

Well, at this stage, it doesn't feel like motherhood. It feels like "otherhood."

Oh, my God, you're so right.

I don't want to be an other.

Me neither. But what are we going to do?

Drive to Manhattan, storm their apartments?

No, we've got to respect their space,

let them individuate, blah, blah, blah.

Except...

it's fucking Mother's Day.

Come on, Carol! We're doing this!

I'm so excited!

Okay. All set.

Oh, my God. See ya!

- I need some grown-up luggage. - This is my good-luck bag from Guatemala.

Here we go! Yay!

- Go, go boots! - Hear us, boys?!

We should go on America's Got Talent.

What was wrong with the old bridge?

She was sagging...

a little.

I think the bourbon just wore off. Have we really thought this through?

What if the boys don't want to see us?

Mother isn't just a noun, it's a verb. It requires action.

I read that some place.

- Well, I teach on Tuesdays. - Just call in sick.

That's what I did for the first time in... ever.

I brought five clean pairs of underwear.

Hey, I might be sick all week.

All week? Well, how long are we staying?

Until we feel like mothers again.

Why can't we feel like mothers from a hotel room?

Now, that is a valid question.

Because we're not on vacation, we are on a mission.

And they can deal with having us in their homes for a few days.

- They were in ours for 18 years. - Hmm.

You got this, champ! Go in and call us when you're in!

Gillian, I can't do this!

Oh, you can! You're gonna do really great.

No, no. Let's stop this.

Yeah, you are!

Don't take no for an answer. Make him love you!

Helen, Gillian! Wait!

- Yeah. - Hi, I just happen to be in the neighbor...