I put Mom and Leigh on mute.

“You said you don’t want to meet my mom.”

“It’s okay. I’m invested now, I want to hear the story about how they both got banned from Uber.”

I snorted.

I took my mom off mute. “Send me your location,” I said. “And stay put. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

I hung up and we went to collect our drunks.

When I pulled up to the bar fifteen minutes later, Mom and Leigh were sitting on the curb with their purses in their laps. Leigh’s mascara was running. Mom’s sandal was duct-taped and she had leaves in her hair for some reason. They waved and grinned when they saw us and climbed into the back.

Mom leaned in between the front seats. “Hi! I’m Christine!”

“Hi.” Emma twisted to shake her hand.

Leigh scooted in next to Mom. “Leigh.” She jutted out a hand full of gaudy rings.

“Are either of you going to throw up in this car?” I asked.

“We can hold our liquor,” Leigh said, offended.

“We cannot hold our liquor,” Mom whispered.

Emma pulled two Ziploc bags from her purse. They had Wheat Thins and celery in them. Probably her work snacks. “I trust this zipper seal with my life,” she said, turning to hand them to our passengers.

“Thanks,” Leigh said. “Can we eat these?” She started eating a cracker before Emma answered.

We made brief eye contact, Emma smiling and me looking exasperated.

“You two smell like you showered in Patrón,” I said. I dug in my center console for a water bottle. “Drink some water.”

“Water?” Leigh said. “That stuff that killed everyone on the Titanic?”

Mom burst into giggles.

“I’ll wait for Diet Coke,” Leigh said, taking the water and thrusting it into Mom’s hands. “Drink this. We don’t need you hungover your first day in the clink.”

“If you couldn’t get a rideshare home, what exactly was the plan?” I asked, pulling away from the curb. “And how’d you get here?”

“My date picked us up,” Leigh said. “Supposed to take us home too, but his wife showed up! That son of a bitch said he wasn’t married! He looked plenty married to me, getting hauled out by his collar. J-named men are the worst.”

Emma was laughing now.

“Hey—” I said.

“Not you, you don’t count,” Leigh said, loudly crunching a celery stick.

Emma leaned over and whispered, “I agree, you don’t count. So,” she said over her shoulder, “how’d you get banned from Uber?”

“Oh, this is good,” Leigh said. “Because it was your mom’s fault, Justin.”

“We had to do it,” Mom said. “They were too little, they would have died.”

“We found some baby raccoons,” Leigh said. “Real young, maybe five, six weeks old. Mama Coon was dead in the street and so Christine’s like, ‘I can’t leave them,’ so she gets on her hands and knees and pokes around the bushes until she catches ’em. I told her to put them in her purse and I’d take them to the wildlife rehabilitation center in the morning. So we get in this Uber, and we’re not a block from the place and one of ’em gets out and jumps right on the driver. He’s hooting and hollering, and he pulls over and kicks us out. So that’s how I got banned.”

Emma was laughing. “And how did Christine get banned?”

“Same thing, not fifteen minutes later, only this time on her account. We figured out how to keep ’em calm after that. They like sleeping in your shirt. See? Show ’em, Christine.”

“Wait, WHAT?” I started braking reflexively. “You have raccoons? In this car? Right now?”

“Well yes,” Leigh said, like I was being ridiculous. “All this happened tonight.”

Emma was dying.

I looked at my mother and her wasted best friend in the rearview. “You didn’t think to mention this? That you have wild animals in your bras?”

“Only three,” Leigh said, like that was better.

“What if they have fleas?” I asked.

“We washed ’em in the sink at the Circle K,” Leigh said. “A little Dawn soap, dried ’em with the hand dryer.”

Emma looked impressed. “That does work.”

“Emma, you want to hold one?” Mom asked.

She gasped. “Yes!”

A hand emerged from the back seat with a tiny chittering raccoon in it wrapped in a bar towel. “This is George Cooney.”

Emma took it and held it to her chest and looked at me with hearts in her eyes. “Look at his little hands!” she said.

“Oh my God…” I muttered.

“Justin, how can you be mad about this? They’re heroes,” Emma said, stroking the little gray head. “These sweet babies would have died.”

“Thank you,” Mom said. “I feel like a hero.”

Leigh leaned over the seat. “Now, you just tuck that little trash panda into your cleavage. Quiets him right down.”

Emma pulled her shirt open and put the swaddled raccoon inside.

“Are we even sure this is safe?” I asked, glancing at the lump under her shirt.

“If they’re not safe, why are they cute, Justin?” Emma said.