Puck Aholic: A Bad Motherpuckers Novel

by Lili Valente

Diana

  Inside the store, sticky-pink pop music bubbles from hidden speakers overhead and the conditioned air smells of Turkish delight, cherry candy, and wild roses, a sickeningly sweet combination that makes me suspect preteen girls are the store’s target demographic. The walls covered in pink, purple, and retina-punching red confirm my hunch.

  “You know one of the most traumatizing parts of being short?” I ask, following Tanner as he gives the mannequins a wide berth and moves deeper into the store.

  “What?” He threads his way through racks of bubblegum-colored shirts, leggings, and mini-skirts.

  “Being forced to wear clothes like this after I was old enough to drive a car because nothing in the women’s section fit me. This is why pink and I got a divorce as soon as size zero became a thing at adult retail establishments.”

  Tanner hums beneath his breath. “That’s a shame. You’d be pretty in pink.”

  I motion toward the display now twenty feet away. I’m uncomfortable with the compliment, the way I am with all compliments, especially from this person I’m trying hard not to think of as more than a fuck buddy. “So which one scares you more—the big daddy mannequin or the cute toddler mannequin wearing the bucket hat?” I wrinkle my nose at the pungent sparkle-sugar smell of the place. “I’m thinking the perfume display is the most terrifying thing in this joint, but I’m easily offended by bad smells.”

  “We can leave. My sister gets headaches in places like this. Wouldn’t want to give you another migraine.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine,” I say, not missing the disappointment that flickers across his features. “And I have an idea. To help with the mannequins.”

  “Help how? Help destroy them before they destroy us?”

  I grin. “Actually, I was thinking that you should show them who’s dominant. Like with Wanda.”

  He hums dubiously. “Move the mannequin?”

  “Exactly! Show them that you’re the boss in this relationship and you’re not going to take any more of their bullshit.”

  “You do realize that mannequins aren’t alive, right?” He lowers his voice. “At least, not as far as they’re willing to let on…”

  “They don’t have to be. It could still work. I didn’t feel confident moving Wanda, either. I just made myself do it. I faked it until I maked it.” I scrunch my nose and try again, forcing my fuzzy-feeling lips to enunciate. “Faked it until I made it. Sorry. I’ve had two beers, but I know what I mean. And you do, too, right?” I tap his furry forearm with eager fingers. “This could work. It’s at least worth a shot.”

  “If I don’t get arrested for messing with store property.” He swivels to scope out the store over one shoulder and then the other. “Though it doesn’t seem like anyone’s interested in us, does it?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. And they won’t be. We’re both too old and too large for their key demographic. You’ll have the mannequins moved and be out the door before anyone gets around to asking us if we need a dressing room.”

  Tanner’s lips press together, forming a white seam at the bottom of his paler-than-usual face.

  “Think how good it would feel,” I wheedle. “To know no one will ever be able to prank you with fiberglass humanoids ever again…”

  His breath rushes out in a grunting huff. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Yes!” I pump my fist. “This is totally going to work! This is the day everything changes, Tanner. This is the day you kick this phobia’s ass.”

  He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Maybe. But don’t get your hopes up. The only thing I’ve had longer than a fear of mannequins is a hatred for pancakes.”

  I feel my eyes bulge comically wide. “What! How can you hate pancakes?”

  “They’re disgusting.”

  “What? No!” I shake my head and hold up my hands, fingers spread, needing to stop this madness before it goes any further. “They’re amazing! And there are so many different flavors. You can’t possibly hate them all. And maple syrup! Who hates maple syrup?”

  He shrugs. “Not a fan. The more syrup you put on the pancake, the soggier and more disgusting it gets.”

  I brace a hand on the rack of glittery silver leggings next to me. “I may need to sit down. What other dark secrets are you hiding?”

  He grins. “I’m trying to tell you.”

  Sighing in disappointment, I gesture for him to continue, though I’m not done with this pancake thing, not by a long shot. Pancakes are one of the world’s most perfect foods, proof that even in the darkest night of the soul, the morning will come and it will be light and fluffy and drenched in syrup.

  “So, I told you that sometimes I have trouble staying focused.”

  I nod, brow furrowing as I cross my arms.

  “Well, it was even worse when I was a kid,” he continues. “I spent most of elementary school bouncing off the walls or in the counselor’s office playing with Legos while she gave me my tests aloud because I could only figure out the answers if I was doing something with my hands at the same time.” He shakes his head. “Even back then, I was tight on the ice—hockey was so fast-paced I never had trouble focusing—but the rest of my life was pretty much chaos.”

  “I’m familiar with this chaos of which you speak,” I say. “I have four siblings.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, well, I was crazy enough to make up for how calm my sisters were. I ripped through our house like a tornado, and if I didn’t have someone riding my ass, staying on task was impossible. I wasn’t a bad kid—I tried to follow the rules, but it was hard to exercise self-discipline when I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to be doing from one minute to the next.”

  I bite my bottom lip, wincing in sympathy. “I can imagine. I’m sorry, Tanner. When we were talking the other day, I didn’t realize…” I wave a hand vaguely toward the door and the house somewhere beyond. “I thought you were making an excuse for being addicted to your phone. I didn’t realize this was something serious.”

  He shrugs as he slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “No worries. I didn’t give you much to go on. I’ve made a habit of not talking about it. I don’t want it getting back to the guys on the team. Justin was already fucking with me about having untreated ADHD last year. I don’t want the side-eye to get any worse.”

  “What?” My jaw drops. “That’s awful! And not like him. I mean, he’s a joker, but I’ve never known him to be mean.”

  “He wasn’t,” Tanner says. “He was fucking with the rookie. He doesn’t know I actually have ADHD, or that I’ve been off my meds for three years. No one does except my family and my doctor, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Oh…” I blink in surprise. “Of course. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Thanks. I don’t want to get pressured to go back on drugs that make me feel dizzy and sick to my stomach.”

  “No pressure, but I’ve heard certain kinds of marijuana can help ADHD,” I offer. “I could ask my pot doctor about it the next time I go in for a refill if you want.”

  “Maybe,” he says, seeming more open to the suggestion than I expect him to be. “But I’ve really been doing okay. I had some trouble adjusting to the Badger system when I first joined the team—it’s hard for me to establish new patterns—but eventually I hit on a way to keep the new strategies at the front of my mind. It’s proven solid so far.”

  “What is it?” I ask, hurrying to add, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I’m just curious. I find things like this fascinating.”

  “Things like my misbehaving brain?” he asks, arching a brow.

  “No!” I pause, lips pursing before I admit, “Well, yes, I guess. But not just you. All of us. It’s wild, the ways we have to learn to work with our minds, to convince them to cooperate and keep us healthy and productive. Other animals don’t have issues like that. They’re born ready to do what it takes to stay alive. But humans…” I hold my thumbs up to show the divide between our lizard brain and our higher cons
ciousness. “We’re born divided and we have to figure out how to coax this stubborn, alien part of ourselves into being a friend instead of an enemy.”

  He studies me thoughtfully. “So normal people feel like that, too?”

  I lean in, offering in a confidential whisper, “I hate to shatter your illusions, but I’m not normal. Not even close.”

  “You’re normal enough.” His fingers skim down my forearm until he captures my hand in his larger one, making my chest feel tighter and my breathing easier at the same time. “Anyway, you know what I mean.”

  I curl my fingers around his. “Yes, I think normal people feel like that, too. At least the ones I know. It’s one of the universal truths about being human, and probably why we’re our own worst enemies.”

  Tanner’s lips curve mysteriously as he dips his head to my ear to ask in a husky voice, “Is this the right time to suggest that swearing off relationships—something humans need to survive, let alone thrive—could be an example of brain misbehavior?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, but my glare doesn’t reach its usual heat index. “No. This is the time to tell me why mannequins make you wet your pants.”

  His dimples pop. “It’s more a be-sick-on-my-shoes feeling, but point taken.” He nods toward the display. “So, I was a spacier than the average kid, and I wore my mother and sisters out trying to keep track of me. They would turn around for a second, and I’d be gone, off exploring, forgetting that I wasn’t supposed to run off by myself.”

  He moves closer to the display with measured steps, as if sneaking up on a skittish and dangerous wild animal. “One day we were at the mall, just before Christmas. The place was packed, and Cheyenne was getting her ears pierced. I don’t remember this part, but allegedly, Chey started freaking out, and Mom let go of my hand to keep Chey from slugging the teenage girl doing the piercings. When she turned back, I was gone.”

  “How old were you?” I follow him across the slick white tiles toward the mannequins as “Radioactive” begins to play over the sound system, lending an eerie vibe to our approach.

  “Six.” Tanner smiles at my soft gasp. “You would think a kid alone in the mall would be easy to find, but the security people looked for hours without any sign of me. I don’t remember what I was doing that whole time, but I remember hearing the announcement that the store I was in was closing and suddenly realizing I was lost.”

  He pauses, his fingers clenching at his sides. “Sorry, I need a second.”

  I glance at the fiberglass statues a few feet away and back at Tanner, whose chest is rising and falling faster than it was before. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not going to think any less of you if you want to bail.”

  “No.” He stretches his neck to one side. “I’ve got this. Just need a second.” He blows a breath out through pursed lips. “So I heard the announcement and decided I should leave the store and try to find my mom in the parking lot.”

  He points toward the ceiling, where bright fluorescents blast white light down onto the store. “I saw what I thought were streetlights through these two big doors at the back of the furniture department where I’d been playing, and I made a run for it. But it turned out to be a stock room. There were boxes stacked to the ceiling and all these shadowy corridors to creep down pretending to be a ninja turtle…” He grins, his dimples doing that dimple thing they do so well. “Needless to say, I lost track of time again.”

  “Who wouldn’t? Did you avoid the evil Splinter and save your turtle brothers from certain doom?”

  “I did. But by then, the lights were flicking off. I ran up and down the aisles, looking for someone to ask for help, and saw a group of people on the far side of the room. They were just silhouettes in the gray at that point, and by the time I made it over there, it was so dark I could barely see. It wasn’t until I was on top of them that I realized they weren’t people at all.”

  “They were mannequins,” I supply, a chill shivering up my spine, lifting the hairs at the back of my neck.

  “They were. Terrifying, faceless, creepy monsters. But I was too scared to keep wandering around in the dark. So I curled up in a ball and eventually cried myself to sleep.” He cuts a glance to his left, where the dad mannequin is nearly close enough to touch. “An older man who worked in the stock room found me the next morning, but he only spoke Spanish, so it took a while for me to communicate how much I needed to get away from the mannequins.”

  I lay a hand on his arm, but he doesn’t flex, proving he’s truly in deep distress. “You poor thing.”

  “My poor mom. She spent the night at the police station with my sisters. The cops thought some child molester had snatched me out of the mall.”

  I hook my elbow through his. “Want to get out of here? Maybe this isn’t worth it, after all.”

  He stands his ground. “Huh-uh. I’m not going to be that guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “The punch line in a joke you tell your girlfriends guy.”

  I step away, my arm sliding free as I turn to face him. “You’re my friend, not a punch line, and you’re clearly upset, which isn’t the kind of thing I find amusing. People getting hurt or feeling scared doesn’t hit me in the funny bone. I’m not an asshole.”

  “I know you’re not.” He glances up. “But you’re stubborn. You know why I have to do this.”

  “I do.” I cant my head to the side with a sigh. “Well, is there anything I can do to help? Hold your hand maybe?”

  “Just be here. And give me a countdown?” His fingers flutter at his sides, like an Olympic swimmer waiting for the gun to send him diving into the water.

  “All right. On the count of three. One…” I take a deep breath, willing peace his way. “Two…” I cross my fingers, both sets. “Three!”

  Moving stiffly, but steadily, Tanner reaches out, grabbing the dad mannequin around the waist and lifting him into the air. A moment later, he’s crossed to the other side of the platform and set Dad down by the plastic dog, before fetching the tween mannequin, who he arranges beside her toddler brother. A few minutes later and he’s reinvented the display, and the shiny plastic people look like they’re having more fun on the beach than they were before.

  “I love it!” I exclaim in a whisper, clapping my hands. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay.” Tanner exhales sharply. “Good actually. Maybe I should move them some more? Really break through the crazy once and for all?”

  I glance over my shoulder, on the lookout for store employees coming to chastise us, but there still isn’t anyone in sight.

  “I think there’s another way.” I take his hand and pull him over to where the mom mannequin is leaning against the surfboard at the edge of the display. “Give her a hug.”

  He snorts. “What?”

  “Give her a hug.” I lay my hands on his upper arms from behind. “Go for it. I’ll be right here.”

  “You want me to hug this mannequin?”

  “Yes.” I step in, pressing my front to his back. “Just concentrate on my boobs pressing against you and you’ll be just fine.”

  He laughs. “You’re a mind reader, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little.” I go up on tiptoe, letting my lips brush against his neck as I whisper, “Come on, Tanner. Do it. And walk out of this store a free man.”

  “You’re very committed to fixing me, Daniels.”

  “You don’t need fixing,” I say, because it’s the truth. “You’re good just the way you are.”

  Tanner tenses, and for a second I think he’s going to pull away. But instead, he reaches out, wraps his arms around Mom Mannequin, and draws her close.

  For several long moments, we stand in silence, with Tanner’s arms around the mannequin and my arms around him. And I’m sure anyone watching would think we’re out of our minds or high on reality-altering drugs, but it’s one of the sweeter moments I’ve shared with another human being. Helping someone face their fears is special. It doesn’t matter if it’s the fe
ar of terrorists, or a nuke hitting the west coast, or a childhood-trauma-inspired fear of mannequins—fear is fear.

  And fear is the opposite of love, I realize as Tanner whispers, “It’s good. For real. I’m not freaked out anymore,” and a cozy, wonderful, warm feeling fills my chest.

  By the time it becomes clear that I’ve waded into deeper emotional waters than I expected to encounter during a move-the-mannequin mission, Tanner turns, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me with enough heat to melt every scented candle in this stinky store.

  My blood ignites, and my head swims, and I suddenly feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff watching the ocean prove that there are some things in the world that never get old or jaded or tired. Some things that are strong enough and grownup enough to say they’re up for forever and understand exactly what they’re promising.

  Before I can process this information—or achieve the level of terror such epically romantic thoughts should inspire—a nasal voice sounds from a few feet away. “Hey! You two! You can’t do that in here. This is a family store!”

  Tanner and I separate, breath rushing out in surprise. I turn to see a girl in a hot-pink tube dress and black cat-eye glasses glaring at us from the T-shirt table. She meets my gaze for an irritated second before glancing past me, her eyes widening. “What happened to the display?” she asks, pink lips parting in dismay. “Did you do that?”

  “Run,” Tanner murmurs, taking my hand. “Now.”

  “Hey, come back!” the sales associate shouts after us as we dash for the exit, hurrying out into the warm summer air, accompanied by the intro music from “Under Pressure” blasting from the speakers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  From the Skype Log of Tanner Nowicki

  and Cheyenne Nowicki

  *

  Cheyenne: Hey doofus, where’s my pig? You promised me Wanda in a cute outfit. Everyone in the shop is jonesing for new pig pics. We’re making a pet collage on the back of the office door.

  *

  Tanner: Strapped for entertainment over there, huh?

  *