Futures and Frosting

by Tara Sivec

  “Well, it looks like the problem is solved thanks to me. Claire now has a new item to put on her menu and rave about tomorrow during her magazine interview,” Drew states proudly.

  “She’s not putting pot cookies on the menu,” I tell him with a shake of my head as we all amble out of the office. “It’s illegal.”

  “You’re a real buzz kill, you know that?” Drew complains.

  16. Son of a Face Turd

  “I eat my poop.”

  “Drew, I swear to God if you don’t stop playing with that fucking computer, I’m going to shove it up your ass,” I threaten as I finished chiseling the last bit of chocolate off of the walls of the shop kitchen.

  Drew has recently learned how to turn on text-to-speech in Microsoft Excel. Everything he types into a box on the spreadsheet is repeated back to him in a computerized voice. He had stopped by my shop first thing this morning under the guise of helping me clean but instead has spent the majority of his time making the computer say random, stupid shit.

  “I like to touch boobs,” the monotone, computerized voice announces.

  “Boobs, boobs, boobies, boobs. I like boobies.”

  Drew sticks his head out of my office a few seconds later and smiles.

  “Claire Bear, do you have a pot hangover?”

  I growl as I throw the dirty rag into the sink and turn on the tap to wash my hands of the sticky mess they’d become since I started cleaning up the mess we made of the kitchen the previous night.

  “After what you did to me last night, you’re lucky I’m not shoving a spatula in your eye.

  I turn off the water and dry my hands on the towel next to the sink. When I look back over my shoulder to throw another insult at Drew, he isn’t there.

  “Claire has an angry vagina.”

  I roll my eyes and take one last look around the kitchen to make sure I haven’t missed a spot. In hindsight, I should know better than to eat anything Drew gives me. He always looks guilty and says stupid shit though, so when he hands me the cookie and tells me to “Eat the entire thing or else,” I don’t think twice. All I had wanted was a nice, quiet evening of brainstorming and keeping my mind off of anything to do with weddings and marrying the man of my dreams.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  I had woken up this morning with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I did something stupid. I rolled over and found Carter sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me.

  “I was just getting ready to stick a mirror under your nose to make sure you were still breathing,” Carter said with a laugh as he stood up from the bed and walked over to the dresser to put on his watch and stick his wallet in his back pocket.

  “What the fuck did I do last night?” I groaned with a raspy, morning after voice.

  “Which part exactly are you referring to? Eating an entire pot cookie or redecorating the shop by painting the walls with chocolate?”

  “Okay, first of all, I didn’t KNOW it was a pot cookie until after I took the first bite and second…I don’t know. I have no excuse for the rest of it,” I trailed off.

  “If you knew it was a pot cookie after the first bite, why in the hell would you keep eating it?” Carter asked with a chuckle as I scooted up in bed until I could sit against the headboard.

  “Why wouldn’t I eat it? The damage was already done. And it was a delicious cookie.”

  Carter shook his head at me and sighed.

  “Claire, you are only supposed to eat a little bit of a pot cookie, never the entire thing at once.”

  He stared at me like I was an idiot and this was clearly something everyone knew.

  “How in the fuck am I supposed to know something like that? Do I look like the type of person who goes around eating pot cookies all the time?” I asked angrily.

  “Everyone knows this. I’ve never eaten a pot cookie, and I still know the rules.”

  “The rules? Is there a Pot Cookie 101 class I missed or something? It’s not like the fucking thing came with an owner’s manual. I was handed a cookie, and I ate a cookie. Who in their right mind only takes one bite of a cookie and then puts the rest back for later?” I demanded.

  “Someone who eats a pot cookie,” Carter deadpanned.

  After I had showered and dressed, I left the house with an obvious bug up my ass.

  And now my magazine interview is in an hour and the only things surrounding me are bad, hallucinogenic ideas – chocolate covered gummy bears, pickles, moon pies, M&M’s, every Little Debbie snack treat imaginable from Twinkies to Swiss Rolls, and a computer printed picture of Drew’s hand covered in chocolate. Trays of chocolate covered crap litter the counters, and I berate myself for all of those hours we spent NOT coming up with a good idea. At least Drew manages to frost all two-hundred cookies for the order that's being picked up today. It makes my hatred for him go down just a tiny bit.

  “The peanut butter on your cock is delicious.”

  “DREW!” I yell again in warning.

  “Sorry!” he yells back, trying to mask his giggles.

  “Cock, the other white meat.”

  I open my mouth to scream another threat at Drew, this one to his manhood, when an idea strikes.

  I glance at the clock and quickly rush around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients I need. While I wait for the chocolate to melt, I grab a small, white packaging box from under the counter. I prepare it by adding a sheet of pink tissue paper inside to line the box and affix a “Seduction and Snacks” sticker to the outside. I watch the clock out of the corner of my eye as I get down to business, crossing my fingers, toes, and even my legs that this idea would work.

  Thirty minutes later I finish placing the last of the new candy inside the box, seal the lid closed, tie a neat, pink and white ribbon around it, and grab my purse from under the counter.

  “Drew, I’m leaving. Don’t forget to go next door and wait for Liz’s delivery so you can sign for it,” I yell to him as I head to the front door to make sure the “Closed” sign is in place. I have about twenty minutes now to run home, pick up Gavin, and drive to the meeting spot. The magazine adamantly insists that I bring Gavin with me. This magazine interviewes people due to customer recommendations. Customers write into the magazine and suggest businesses they believe should be spotlighted for one reason or another.

  The magazine had done some research, made some calls, and for whatever reason decided “Seduction and Snacks” needed a write up. When the magazine called to set up the interview, they told Jenny that the customers raved not only about the sweets we sold but also about the owner’s mouthy little son that ran around the store and made everyone laugh. It had been a toss-up on whether or not I should be horrified by this or happy that Gavin’s penchant for swear words and constant talk about his wiener was finally doing something good in the world.

  It's still hard to wrap my head around the fact that our businesses had taken off so quickly. Never underestimate the need for sugar and sex in small-town-America. With one last look around the darkened store to make sure everything is in order, I step outside to the faint sound of the computer speaking one last Drew-initiated command.

  “Son of a face turd, you whore. Touch my taint and tickle my balls.”

  ~

  I walk into Playland McDonalds with butterflies flapping in my stomach and my hand clutched tightly around Gavin’s.

  I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’ve done a few phone interviews since we opened and those had been a piece of cake. Maybe it's the fact that I’ve never done something like this with my son right next to me - my lovely son who likes to talk to random strangers about his poop.

  This will be fine. No big deal. Just a couple of questions. Easy peasy.

  “Remember, best behavior,” I remind Gavin as we make our way through the crowded restaurant to a booth in the back. I can see the interviewer already seated with her laptop open on the table. We make eye contact and she gives me a wave.

  “I want to play in the
playland,” Gavin whines.

  “You will, as soon as the interview is over.”

  “That’s dumb,” he mutters.

  “Too bad. Be good and you can get a Happy Meal.”

  “Can I have pop too?” he asks.

  I pause, contemplating his request. Being a parent is tough, especially when it comes to negotiations. You don’t want your kids to think they can have whatever they ask for, but you also don’t want them to tell the interviewer of a national magazine that their nuts smell like cheese and it’s because she’s so ugly. Pick your battles, people.

  “Yes, you can have pop. If you’re good.”

  We arrive at the table and introductions are made. I direct Gavin in first so he can sit by the window and then slide in next to him.

  “Hi, Gavin, my name is Lisa. I love your shirt,” the interviewer from The Best of Baking says with a smile.

  Gavin looks down at the shirt Drew had bought him a few weeks ago. It's black and in white writing reads, “Parental Advisory: Lock up your daughters.”

  He just shrugs in response, and I resist the urge to shoot him the evil eye and remind him to be good.

  “This is just going to be an informal type of interview,” Lisa explains. “I just want to ask some questions and chit chat. Just pretend like I’m one of your girlfriends.”

  She has a huge smile on her face like I totally understand what she's talking about. She obviously has never met my girlfriends. We don’t sit around in dresses, sipping daintily from glasses of champagne while we politely discuss politics. We chug beers, do shots, and call each other thunder cunts.

  I slide the white box across the table towards her, figuring I might as well start right off the bat with the bribery.

  Lisa’s eyes light up when she sees the white box with our signature pink ribbon around it.

  “Oh my goddness, you brought me chocolate!” she exclaims.

  “It’s something new I’m trying out. I crumble up crispy bacon and mix it with white chocolate. The clusters are drizzled with caramel and butterscotch. They’re called Bacolate Bunches,” I tell her.

  She tears into the box and takes a bite out of one of the clusters. She moans and groans and sighs for so long it gets a little uncomfortable. I'm now privy to what Lisa sounds like when she has sex. Awkward. But at least she likes my spur of the moment candy invention.

  “So, Gavin, how are you doing today?” Lisa asks after she finishes the chocolate and finally gets down to business.

  “I wanna play, this is boring,” he complains while staring longingly at the other children who are running and screaming around the play area.

  “Gavin, be nice,” I warn under my breath with clenched teeth and a smile on my face for Lisa.

  “Oh, it’s fine!” she tells me cheerfully. “I’d like to play on those toys too,” she says to Gavin.

  “You’re too old to go on the slide. Your butt would get stuck ‘cuz you’re old.”

  With the evil eye in full force, I glare at Gavin. “If you don’t watch your mouth, you’re going home to take a nap,” I say quietly.

  “Naps can suck it,” Gavin whispers as he smacks his elbows on the table and puts his chin in his hands angrily.

  Obviously, he’s already forgotten the Happy Meal and pop he was promised. God, if you’re listening, just help me not kill him. At least until we’re home.

  “So, Claire, how’s business been going at the shop?”

  I stop glaring at Gavin and hope that by some super mom power he will still be able to feel my wrath floating around him and keep his mouth shut.

  “Business has been going very well. I still have to pinch myself every morning when I walk into that place. I am absolutely amazed that people actually want to buy things I make,” I tell her with a laugh.

  I can’t believe someone is interviewing me for a magazine. I’m nobody. How is this happening?

  “Are you finding it hard to juggle owning a business and spending time with your family?” Lisa asks as she typed away on her laptop.

  “That’s the beauty of owning a business. Basically, I can do whatever I want.”

  Lisa laughs and continued typing.

  This sort of IS like talking to one of my girlfriends. Liz never pays attention to anything I say and is always busy doing other shit when I’m pouring my heart out to her.

  “Can you elaborate on that just a little bit?” she asks.

  “Well, if I want Gavin to spend the day with me, he can. I don’t need to find a sitter or send him to daycare when he isn’t in preschool. And if I need to close up early to take him to a doctor’s appointment or to go to a function at his school, I can easily do it without having to get permission from someone else or have my pay docked for missing time,” I explain.

  “My doctor gives me cookies and stickers. His mean nurse is a wiener face and gives me shots,” Gavin adds.

  Lisa chuckles, her eyes never leaving her screen as she types furiously.

  Oh my God, please tell me she didn’t just type the words “wiener face” in my interview.

  “In just three short months of being open, Seduction and Snacks is already turning a profit. That’s almost unheard of for a new, small business. What do you think is the key to this success?”

  Do I look like Donald Trump?

  I don’t know anything about anything. I cover things in chocolate and bake cookies. The key to success is pretending like it’s not really happening so that you don’t freak the fuck out thinking about it.

  I answer her question as best I can without looking like a clueless moron. I tell her it's all about luck and how I honestly have no idea how this happened to me.

  Lisa finally takes a break from her typing to look up at me.

  “It doesn’t hurt to have such a famous son either, right?! Everyone I spoke with about Seduction and Snacks told me I absolutely HAD to meet the owner’s son.”

  Oh dear God. Here we go.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what else they said about him. He’s lucky he’s cute or I would have put him out on the curb with the garbage years ago,” I tell her as we shared a laugh.

  “You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me!” Gavin shouts.

  I quickly reach over and cover his mouth with my hand.

  I should have packed duct tape and a taser.

  “If you can believe it, I’ve actually been asked by several customers if they could take him home. If only they knew. A marine sergeant stopped in a few days ago on his way to work and joked that he should take Gavin with him to basic training. He figured Gavin could get the men to cry faster than he ever could,” I tell her.

  She types with a small smile on her face, and I wonder if this will be my first and last magazine interview ever.

  “As you know, we do a little research on the people we’re going to interview. Being from a small town, it’s no secret that you got pregnant and had to drop out of college. It’s a huge struggle to be a single mother. What advice do you have for other women who might be going through the same thing?” Lisa asks as she bends her head and goes back to clacking away at her keyboard.

  Lovely. I bang a guy at a frat party, get knocked up, and have to work at a bar to make ends meet. The only other option available to me at the time had been pregnant stripping. Is this really something the people of “The Best of Baking” want to know? They seem like a conservative group - ones who talk about petit fours and balsamic reductions, not beer pong and vagina pounding.

  “Um, yeah. I’m definitely not the best person to come to for advice in that area,” I tell her honestly. “I did everything wrong. Luckily, Gavin’s father is an amazing man and we were able to find our way back to one another. I honestly don’t know what I would do without him. I can’t imagine my life without him in it.”

  Shit! Can I retract that statement?! That sounds entirely too much like saying I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Which I do. But he can’t know that. He’ll freak out like a guy. Which he is. W
hen he reads this, his mind is immediately going to go to marriage and he’ll probably start screaming. CHANGE THE SUBJECT, CLAIRE!

  “Also, I like to watch a lot of porn.”

  NO, NO, NO! ABORT MISSION! What the fuck am I supposed to be talking about? Oh, right. Advice.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth or he’ll bite the hand that feeds you.”

  Oh sweet Jesus I just became my mother.

  Lisa doesn’t show any signs of thinking she's talking to a lunatic. She just keeps on typing. It's starting to freak me out.

  Is she seriously typing every single thing I say? I suddenly have the urge to scream the words “ANAL WARTS” just to see if she keeps right on clicking away without batting an eye.

  I want to ask her if she heard me say I was addicted to porn. Maybe the noise of kids playing around us or Gavin’s loud huffing and sighing block out what I said. Obviously, I can’t bring it up and ask if she heard me because if she hasn't, she’ll want me to repeat it. And knowing me, I will repeat it to be polite and that will just fuck up this entire freak out I'm currently having.

  I am hereby restricting the word “porn” from my vocabulary. It’s getting me into too much trouble.

  Lisa stops typing and gives me the universal one-finger, hold on a minute sign as she answers her ringing cell phone.

  “Son of a bitch,” I mutter.

  “You said a bad word,” Gavin informs me.

  “I’m allowed. I’m an adult.”

  “I wanna be a dolt!” he says excitedly.

  A few minutes later, Lisa ends her call and turns her attention to Gavin.

  “How about I ask you some questions now? Would that be okay?”

  “Sure,” he says with a shrug.

  “Do you have a nickname? Can I call you Gav?” Lisa asks.

  “Can I punch you in the face?” he asks.

  “Gavin!” I scold.

  “What’s your favorite color?” Lisa asks, both of them ignoring me.

  “I like green. Green is green. I fart green.”

  Oh wonderful. This is turning out to be a stellar interview.