Futures and Frosting

by Tara Sivec

  He got me earplugs. He really DOES love me.

  I take the bag from his hand and tear open the plastic with my teeth so I can pull the squishy orange plugs out and look them over. I roll one between my finger and thumb to shrink it, and then I push it into my ear.

  I repeat the process with the other one and lie perfectly still as the foam slowly expanded until I can’t hear a single sound except for the whoosh of my breathing.

  “THANK YOU SO MUCH, THESE ARE PERFECT!” I tell him.

  At least I assume that’s what I said. To me it had sounded more like the teacher in a Charlie Brown cartoon.

  Carter smiles and I see his mouth move.

  “WHAT?”

  His mouth moves again.

  Does he not understand the concept of earplugs? The word itself is pretty self-explanatory. Ear. Plug. From the Latin root, “I can’t hear a fucking thing that is coming out of your mouth.”

  I stick my finger in my ear and yank one of the plugs out.

  “As I was saying, you’re welcome. I have to go to work now. Does this ensure that I can go to sleep from now on knowing all of my appendages will still be attached when I wake up?”

  He pushes himself up off of the bed, and I pull the other ear plug out and toss them both on my nightstand so I can follow him out of the room.

  “I do solemnly swear not to Lorena Bobbet your penis,” I tell him as we make our way down the hall and out into the living room.

  Carter says a quick good-bye to Gavin who is sitting on the couch watching cartoons and then grabs his work bag off of the floor beside the front door.

  “Don’t forget Liz and Jim’s co-ed pre-wedding party, that we are never to refer to as a bachelor-slash-bachelorette party, is this weekend,” I remind Carter as I plant a kiss on his cheek.

  “I know. Drew already sent me three texts since lunch trying to get me to admit that I was joking when I told him there wouldn’t be strippers. I got a call from his phone after the last text I sent but he never spoke. I think he was just silently weeping in the background.”

  Carter opens the door and then turns back to me before walking out.

  “Oh and don’t you forget that my parents are coming in this weekend from Columbus. I can’t wait for you to finally meet them!”

  I close the door behind him and lean my back against it.

  “Yay. Meeting the in-laws,” I cheer to myself in a completely non-cheery way.

  5. Suck for a Buck

  Friday night is finally here and the work week is over. Not that I really have anything to complain about in that regard. I own my own business (someone pinch me!), and every moment I spend in the shop makes me happy. But even when you love what you do, it’s still nice to forget about it for a few hours.

  The minor freak-outs about Carter are pushed to the back of my mind since everything has been so perfect between us the last couple of days. He doesn’t jump when I walk into the room anymore, and he isn’t whispering on the phone when I get out of the shower. A normal woman would probably suspect cheating, but not me. I had already followed him a few times and checked his text messages.

  Seriously. Don’t judge me.

  Gavin is spending the night at my dad’s house, so as soon as I get home from work, I pack his overnight bag and then got ready for the party. I still haven’t stopped thanking Liz after she informed me that she didn’t want a traditional bachelorette party where a group of girls get in a limo and go to a strip club.

  Thank God.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for getting liquored up and heading to a female strip club, but a male one? That’s just gross. Have you been to an all male strip club before? These oily, long-haired, jacked up on steroid men come prancing out in banana hammocks, thrust their hips in your face, and dry hump your leg. It’s disgusting. Have you ever had a sweaty man you don’t know rub his penis on your knee? It makes me throw up in my mouth a little just thinking about it. And let’s be honest here, the penis – not the prettiest thing in the world to look at. If it’s some guy who calls himself the Italian Stallion, wearing a Speedo with the Italian flag on it, dancing to the theme song from 'The Jersey Shore', while he has one foot up on your knee and hip thrusts his dangling... Okay, I’m just going to stop myself right there before Carter finds me curled up in the fetal position in the corner mumbling about Italian penis, and he thinks I’m saying “penne” and doesn’t understand why pasta is making me cry.

  As I was saying, Liz doesn’t want any of that. She wants to rent a nice limo bus and go to a few local wineries. I’m pretty sure the evening will still include inappropriate behavior, but at least it won’t also include ruining a man’s self esteem by pointing and laughing at his junk. Unless of course Drew decides to get naked for some reason. I can’t be responsible for my actions at that point and it won’t be my fault of he cries.

  Once Carter and I are dressed and ready to go, we placed Gavin in the car and head over to my dad’s to drop him off.

  When we stop at a red light, Carter takes one hand off of the wheel and places it on the inside of my bare thigh.

  “You wore that short skirt just to torture me, didn’t you?” Carter asks softly so Gavin won’t hear him from the backseat.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say with a smirk as I cross my legs. The movement forced his warm hand higher up my thigh and his fingers graze just under the hem of the tattered jean skirt material.

  I'm not lying when I say I kind of enjoy the fact that Carter and I work opposite shifts. I like the peace and quiet during the week and spending alone time with Gavin. It makes the adjustment from being a single mother to living with the father of my child not so bad. I had spent so many years on my own and having my son all to myself, it was nice we weren’t thrust right into something that was a complete one-eighty from what we were used to. Even so, it doesn’t stop me from missing Carter during the week.

  Or more specifically, missing having sex with Carter during the week.

  When you have sex once, get pregnant, and then go years before you ever have it again and when you do have it again, it’s mind-blowing and delicious and better than finding a pot of gold, a unicorn, and a leprechaun who shits diamonds at the end of a rainbow, having to wait a whole week in between having this wonderful sex is torture. Just having Carter’s hand on my leg puts all sorts of dirty thoughts in my head - thoughts that have no business being there when our son was in the backseat.

  “I think you and I are going to need to make an important phone call tonight,” Carter says with a wag of his eyebrows.

  I laugh, remembering the first time we had sex again after the night he took my virginity at the frat party.

  When Gavin had knocked on the bedroom door right at the tail end of our reunion (emphasis on union) and then asked us what we were up to, in a panic I told him we were making phone calls. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

  I place my hand on top of Carter’s and slide it just a little bit further under the edge of my skirt.

  “You missed a lot of phone calls this week while you were at work. I had to take care of them on my own. My phone has a dead battery now,” I tease him.

  “Did you record these phone calls? That’s something I’d like to listen to,” he says with a wink before turning his focus back to the road as the light turns green.

  “Sorry, the answering machine doesn’t have a battery either,” I joke.

  “Probably because you took the batteries out of every single major appliance in a five-mile-radius and put them in your phone,” Carter replies with a sneer.

  “Don’t be jealous because the phone gets more time with me during the week than you do,” I console him with a pat on his hand.

  “I’m not jealous. I just used my Palm PDA.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “Your Palm PDA is no match for my…Vtech Cordless,” I stammer.

  What are we even talking about anymore? Is there a point when innuendos jump the s
hark?

  “I know what you guys are doin’ when you make a phone call,” Gavin pipes up nonchalantly from the backseat.

  You know how when you’ve told a lie and someone catches you in it your face gets all hot and you get butterflies in your stomach? It’s ten times worse when it’s your own freaking toddler calling you out and looking at you like, “Are you kidding me with this shit?”

  “Heh, heh! What do you mean, buddy?” Carter asks, laughing nervously.

  He looks at me and I look at him, and we both look in the backseat at Gavin. Thank God we are stopped at another red light. I don’t think Carter can be trusted to keep the car in our lane at this moment. Frankly, I don’t think I can be trusted not to open up the door and jump out. TUCK AND ROLL!

  I’m going to have to tell my son about the birds and the bees in the car on the way to my father’s house. I don’t even get the term, “the birds and the bees”. How does that properly teach a kid about sex? You never see a pigeon railing a dove or a honey bee sticking it to a bumble bee. They really need to call it, “the cows and the horses”. Just the other day we drove by a farm and one cow was mounted up on another cow and Gavin said, “Awww look, Mommy. That cow is giving the other cow a hug!” I could have explained it easily then. I could have used correct terminology like penis and sperm and fertilization. It was a farm for fuck’s sake. That sort of stuff can be seen every two feet between goats and pigs and roosters and chickens. I could have given him plenty of examples. But then I would have to answer the age old question about which came first, the chicken or the egg and that question still boggles MY mind. Now I’m going to have to make up some type of analogy that has to do with phones. “First, you pull the antenna out so it’s nice and long, then you push the right buttons so the other phone is in the mood to make a call…”

  I can’t do this. I’m not ready for this. He’s too young to know about long distance phone calls and roaming charges!

  “M-o-o-o-o-m! Did you hear me? I said I know what you guys are doin’ when you make phone calls,” Gavin repeats.

  Sure, go ahead and repeat it. Obviously you need to make sure we are sufficiently freaked out. CHILDREN ARE THE DEVIL.

  Maybe if I just completely ignore the situation, he’ll forget about it. I turned on the radio, frantically searching for a song he knows that he can butcher the lyrics to.

  Why is there so much fucking talk radio at five o’clock in the evening?

  “Ooooh, this is a good song, Gavin! Do you know this song?” I ask overenthusiastically.

  Carter looks at me like I'm insane as Kenny G notes filled the car.

  Fucking Kenny G. Couldn’t you record ONE song with some lyrics? Michael Bolton taught you nothing. Epic fail, Kenny. Epic fail.

  “You guys always lock your door when you make phone calls,” Gavin says.

  Son of a bitch, Kenny G! You put everyone to sleep but my son. The ONE thing you had going for you and now it’s gone to shit.

  “You guys kiss in there, don’t you?” Gavin asks.

  I stop swaying to beat of Kenny G and shut off the BIC Lighter App on my phone, noticing that Carter is still looking at me funny. It’s like he’s never met me. I'm trying to get Gavin’s mind off of fertilization and bees fucking pigeons!

  “YES!” Carter shouts. “That’s exactly what we do. We kiss. That’s all we do. Just kiss. Sometimes Mommy and Daddy need to lock the door so we can kiss. And…just kiss. What else would we do in there besides kiss? Ha ha! Mommy and Daddy sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-”

  I reach over and squeeze his arm to get him to stop talking as we pull into my dad’s driveway. Gavin unbuckles his seatbelt and scrambles out of the car to race to my dad, his attention already diverted. My dad scoops him up into his arms and meets us at the car as Carter gets Gavin’s overnight bag out of the backseat, and I stand by my open door, breathing a sigh of relief that Sex Ed with our four-year-old is finally over.

  “Hey, Papa! Mommy and Daddy lock their door so they can kiss!” Gavin tells him excitedly.

  My dad looks a little grossed out and quickly changes the subject.

  “I got that movie 'Gnomeo and Juliet' for us to watch tonight,” he tells Gavin.

  Sadly, Gavin isn’t going to be deterred even for garden gnomes that come to life and ass rape a small community while they sleep. I’m sure that’s not what really happens in a children’s movie, but in my mind it is. Garden gnomes are creepy. I firmly believe they come to life after you go to bed at night and violate you.

  “Mommy and Daddy make a lot of noise when they kiss. Mommy talks to God a lot. I talk to God sometimes too. I asked him for a puppy and a new monster truck but I was nice and didn’t yell at him like Mommy does. He still hasn’t gotten me the puppy though.”

  And on that note, we kiss Gavin good-bye, jump into the car, and take off. My dad can deal with the birds and the bees and cows and the chickens and the kissing horses while visions of his daughter screaming for Jesus dance in his head.

  We pull up to Liz and Jim’s house fifteen minutes later and park in the street behind the biggest limo bus I’ve ever seen. Liz had told me she rented something small and modest to drive us around so we wouldn’t have to worry about ruining someone’s night and forcing them to be our designated driver. Obviously her version of small and modest differ greatly from mine. This thing could house an entire football team with room to spare.

  “It’s about time you two fuckers got here!” Drew yells as he meets us at the end of the driveway, tossing a beer through the air towards Carter.

  In honor of the wine tours that evening, Drew dons a shirt with a picture of a corkscrew on the front that reads, “I pull out.”

  We walk up the bus steps to join everyone else, noticing they are all well on their way toward getting drunk, everyone except Liz. She is all alone at the very back of the bus with her arms folded and a scowl on her face.

  I take one look at her and know I had made it there just in time.

  How could this have happened? Why wasn’t anyone helping my poor friend?

  Leaving Carter at the front of the bus with Drew, Jim, and Jenny, I hurry down the aisle and sit down next to Liz.

  “Who did this to you?” I ask angrily as I wrap my arm around her shoulder.

  She looks at me and I swear I see her lip quiver.

  “It’s okay. You can tell me. We’ll fix it,” I reassure her as I rub soothing circles on her back.

  I see hope flare in her eyes, and I know she's going to be fine. I will make this better for her if it’s the last thing I do.

  “My mother! It was her. It was all her!” she wails in anguish.

  I quickly glance to the front of the bus, fearing that just thinking about Mrs. Gates will suddenly make her appear. Forget bridezilla! Mrs. Gates is mother-of-the-bridezilla. She is the biggest wedding Nazi in the world. Every single wedding tradition, old wives tale, ritual, and custom, Mary Gates believes in it, practices it, and forces everyone around her to participate in it.

  Right now, my poor best friend is wearing a rhinestone tiara with a veil attached, a sash across the front of her that reads, “Bride to Be”, and underneath that sash, a tee-shirt with individually wrapped suckers strategically attached directly on top of her boobs. In bright pink glitter puff paint are the words, “Suck for a Buck”.

  “I’m in bachelorette party hell!” Liz screeches.

  I reach over and started plucking suckers off of her boobs.

  “It’s okay; I’m going to get you out of this,” I tell her.

  “Claire Donna Morgan, I hope you’re giving my daughter a dollar for every one of those suckers you are removing from her shirt!”

  It's like something out of a movie. The music that pumps out of the limo’s speakers screeches to a halt and all of the laughter from our friends immediately dies.

  “Run! Save yourself!” Liz whispers loudly as she tries to shove me away from her.

  I slowly stand up and put on a brave face, letting my friend
know that I will take one for the team. I will stand in between her and sudden bachelorette party death. I turn around just in time to be bum rushed in the aisle.

  “Can you believe my baby is getting married?!” Mrs. Gates squeals as she throws a sash over my head that reads, “Maid-of-Honor” before I can blink.

  She pulls me into a tight hug, bouncing me up and down like we're long lost sorority sisters, the cloying scent of White Diamonds perfume surrounding me and threatening to make my eyes water.

  Where my family is more along the lines of the Connor family from the show Roseanne, Alice’s family leans more toward The Brady Bunch.

  On crack.

  Or maybe acid.

  Which is the one that makes you see fuzzy bunnies singing about lollypops and kittens and puppies frolicking on a rainbow?

  “Claire, I am entrusting you to make sure my baby has a great time tonight,” Mrs. Gates says sternly as she pulls away from me and thrusts a piece of paper in my hand. “This is a treasure hunt for Liz. You have to make sure she does every single thing on the list before the night is out. I’ve been told this is all the rage with you young people.”

  Don’t look down at the list; don’t look down at the list.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, Claire. Look at the list!” Mrs. Gates demands excitedly.

  “Get a stranger to give you his underwear,” I mutter, reading the first line.

  Mrs. Gates squeals like little girl. “Oh my gosh this is going to be a hoot! Keep reading!”

  I take a deep breath, forcing the vomit that had lodged itself in my throat to remain where it is and not splatter all over the piece of paper in my hand.

  On second thought…no list equals no scavenger hunt.

  “And don’t worry, I made enough copies for everyone!” Liz’s mom says enthusiastically as she pulls a handful of papers out of her purse and starts passing them out.

  I cover my hand over my mouth as I scan the list. No point in puking now. I’ll never be able to projectile vomit far enough to reach all the copies.