by Tara Sivec
“I’m pretty sure my dad just said he would whore me out if you didn’t go with him,” Noel states in shock as we get to the side door and she holds it open for me.
“Yep, pretty sure that just happened. It’s fine. I’ll go with him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, and we’ll talk when I get home. I doubt it will take very long,” I tell her as she leads me into the kitchen and starts running warm water.
Noel takes her time cleaning off my zombie cat wounds, pausing every few minutes to kiss me and tell me she loves me. At least one good thing came from the Turd Ferguson attack. She’s stopped obsessing about making sure I’m calm, she’s calm, and everyone around us is calm. After what just happened, I think she realizes all hope is lost where that shit is concerned. I’ll get this nonsense with Reggie over with as fast as I can, then take Noel home and finally tell her why I’ve been having problems in the bedroom.
Thankfully, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I know without a doubt that this medication will kick back in at any moment. At least that will be one less thing for her to worry about and we’ll have nothing left to do but look forward to our backyard, all-American, wedding, where hopefully Turd Ferguson doesn’t try to drag anyone back to hell with him.
Chapter 9
Drunk in Love
Noel
The last week flew by faster than I thought it would, each day becoming more and more hectic and not allowing any free time for Sam and I to talk. We’ve both been so busy that we barely have more than a few minutes alone together at the end of the day to kiss each other goodnight and pass out from exhaustion.
Sam’s been working a bunch of overtime so he’ll be able to take two weeks off for our honeymoon, and I’ve been doing my best to let my mother, Aunt Bobbie, and Scheva finish organizing everything for the wedding so Sam doesn’t worry about me freaking out. I’ve also been working a lot of long hours at my greeting card job, making sure I have plenty of new card samples available for when I’m out of the office at the wedding. After being unemployed from Christmas to Valentine’s Day, and that being one of the main reasons why I wouldn’t initially move in with Sam when he asked because I didn’t want to live with him if I couldn’t contribute, being offered a job at a place called Seduction and Snacks was like a dream come true. When the owners of the sex toy store, slash bakery read a few card samples I’d designed that my mother sent to them, they hired me on the spot and I’d never been happier. I got paid to design cards for the seduction side of the store, with insults and sarcastic comments I’ve used my entire life.
Sadly, the current designs I’ve been working on revolve around everything that’s been happening lately and they all suck. Since Sam won’t be home tonight because the guys decided to take him out for a small bachelor party celebration, I stopped by my parents’ house after I got out of work to help my mother put the wedding invitations together. While she gets everything set up on a picnic table outside, I’ve spent the last hour trying to squeeze in a few more greeting card ideas.
“Even if your penis is broken, I’ll still love you forever…because you protected me from a zombie cat,” Scheva reads out loud as she looks over my shoulder at my laptop screen.
“I’m sorry you’ll always hate Mister Ed…because Mister Ed actually means your dick is defunct.”
“Please don’t hate me because my family gave you high blood pressure…you should hate me because my coochie can’t bring you to completion.”
“I really want to have sex with you, but it always ends with one of us crying, because…elbow fisting.”
“Everything sucks, nothing is good, blah, blah, blah…fuck you, fuck your mother, and fuck off.”
I sigh loudly when Scheva finishes.
“Well, that last one is certainly direct and to the point, but I have to say, the elbow fisting one might be your personal best.”
Slamming my head down on the dining room table, I thump it against the surface a few times before Scheva grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back up.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she scolds.
“How am I supposed to do that? Sam and I still haven’t had time to talk, and now I’m probably going to get fired because I can’t come up with a good card idea to save my life,” I complain.
“First of all, you’ve designed hundreds of cards since you started working there and they’re all amazing. As soon as you get your shit together, you’ll get your mojo back,” she tells me, pulling out the chair next to me and flopping down in it. “And second, you can’t get your shit together until you admit that you and Sam haven’t talked because neither one of you is making an effort, not because you haven’t had time.”
I open my mouth to argue and she holds up her hand to cut me off.
“Don’t even try to deny it. If you really wanted to talk to him and get to the bottom of everything, you’d make the time. The good news is, you both seem to be equally dysfunctional and are obviously a perfect match.” She smiles. “Just admit it that you’ve been too afraid to talk to him. You’re scared he’s going to confirm your stupid worries that he doesn’t want you anymore, your family is too insane for him, and that he’s been avoiding talking to you because he wants to call off the wedding.”
“I’ll admit to all of that if you admit that the reason you broke up with Alex is because you were scared,” I tell her, turning the focus on her so I don’t have to think about how stupid I’ve been acting and say out loud that she’s right.
“Fine. I admit it,” she replies easily, which makes my mouth drop open in shock.
“I can’t believe you said that so fast. You didn’t even call me Adolf Titler or Fuckass Shitlord. Should I be worried?”
Scheva laughs. “See? Look at you with the insults just flying off your tongue. You’ve still got what it takes.”
We stare at each other in silence for a few minutes before I finally speak.
“I’m really scared,” I whisper.
“So am I,” she mutters back. “Everything happened so fast with Alex. He acts like a toddler ninety-percent of the time and it’s so annoying.”
“But?” I prompt her.
She lets out a huge sigh. “But, the other ten percent? He’s hot, and sweet, and funny, and he really loves me even though I’m a raging bitch.”
“Everything happened with me and Sam so fast too, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, aside from the whole my family might kill him and now he needs to be heavily medicated because of them, thing.
“So, are you going to talk to Alex, tell him you still love him and that you’re sorry you freaked out?” I ask.
“Aunt Bobbie sent me a text photo of him dressed up in drag that said ‘Please, for the love of God, take him back. This is what you’ve done to him. I can never un-see this.’,” she tells me, in her best Aunt Bobbie voice.
“That bad, huh?” I laugh.
“It was hideous. He’s a very, very ugly woman. If I don’t take him back, the drag queens of the world will burn me at the stake. It’s the least I can do for your aunt and her people,” she shrugs, making light of a situation that I know is anything but easy for her to talk about. Scheva doesn’t do very well admitting she made a mistake. Which is probably why she’s my best friend.
“So, I guess that means I have to make time to talk to Sam as soon as possible. Tell him I found his pills and completely freaked out and acted like a lunatic because I’ve been afraid he won’t want to marry me. Apologize for going overboard on the whole Keep Calm and Don’t Die thing, while also making sure he knows I still want to marry him even if his penis never works again, and promise that my vagina will never hate him,” I ramble.
“That’s true love right there,” Scheva nods. “You might want to also warn him that if this problem persists for the rest of your lives, you’ll turn your vagina into a mood ring so he can be properly warned ahead of time. It will be pink when it’s happy, and black as death when it’s hangry for cock.”
“Did we jus
t have a moment, Fuck Knuckle?” I ask with a laugh.
“Pretty sure we did, Dick Cheese. Can we stop now? All of these feelings and shit are starting to give me hives,” she complains, scratching her arms.
We both get up from the table to head outside and see if my mom is ready for us to start putting together the wedding invitations, when Scheva suddenly grabs my arm before we get to the side door in the kitchen.
“Wait! I almost forgot something. Don’t move.”
She leaves me standing in the kitchen and runs out of the room. Coming back a few seconds later with two tank tops in her hand, she tosses one at me and smiles.
“I know you’ve been a complete pain in the ass and don’t want to do any of the normal wedding bullshit, but since Sam is having a mini bachelor party tonight, I figured we could do the same while we’re here. I brought enough vodka to kill an elephant,” she informs me.
It’s been driving my mother insane that I’ve vetoed all of the traditional wedding things, like a bachelorette party and a bridal shower. Bar hopping and making asses of ourselves where I would inevitably be forced to wear a tiara and a sash held no appeal whatsoever, and I didn’t see the need for a bridal shower since Sam and I live together and already have everything we need for our home and life together. Even though I didn’t necessarily want to have a typical bachelorette party, I still love that Scheva totally gets me and decided we should just get drunk and make bad choices in the comfort of my parents’ home.
Unfolding the white tank top, I smile when I see what’s printed on the front of it in sparkly, gold lettering.
“Awwwww, ‘Drunk in love,’” I read.
Scheva turns her own black tank top with the same sparkly gold lettering around and I laugh when I see what it says.
“Just drunk,” I recite. “These are perfect.”
We both quickly change out of the shirts we’re wearing into the tank tops, in the middle of my parents’ kitchen, not giving a fuck if anyone sees us. Scheva goes to my parents’ freezer and grabs a bottle of vodka, and we link our arms together as we head outside into the backyard to help my mother.
* * *
“You’re so pretty, I think I’m gonna cry,” Scheva tells me with a sniffle, taking a swig from the almost-empty vodka bottle as I twirl in the middle of my parents’ living room.
“I’m going to cry too. But mostly because you’re a horrible, ungrateful child who bought her wedding dress without me,” my mother says petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “You’re so pretty, but you’re still horrible. And did I mention ungrateful?”
I stop twirling to look down at my wedding dress. I also stop twirling because my twirling, and the room twirling, is a bit too much twirling for one person, and I don’t want to throw up on my pretty dress.
“I already told you, mom, I saw it in the window of the vintage dress shop by our house and I had to get it before someone else did,” I explain for probably the tenth time since I bought it a month ago, showed it to my mother, and she flopped her body on the floor, throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which I’d never seen before.
It’s an off-white, floor length lace dress, with one-inch lace straps, a sweetheart neckline and a red silk sash that ties around the waist. The material is thin and drapes straight down my body, without any poufy, heavy layers that will make me melt into a puddle of sweat at an outdoor wedding in July.
“Fine, I guess I can forgive you for denying me the experience of watching my only daughter try on a hundred wedding dresses, realizing when she gets to the last one that the first one she tried on is the one she wanted, wasting hours, days and weeks of my life that I will never get back,” she complains.
Scheva leans forward on the couch and hands me the bottle of vodka. I bring it up to my lips and take a huge swallow to block out mom-guilt, wondering if I should be concerned the alcohol no longer burns going down my throat.
“However, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you for lighting a hundred wedding invitations on fire. Do you know how long it took me to hot glue gun those little red bows on all of them? You’re a horrible child, and Nicholas is now my favorite,” she informs me.
“I HAVE MADE FIRE!” Scheva shouts, pumping her fists in the air, yelling the line again from Cast Away that she kept screaming out in the back yard when we scooped up those invitations, outran my mother and tossed them into the fire pit.
I stumble over to the couch, clumsily handing the bottle of vodka back to Scheva as I flop down on the cushions in between the two of them, throwing my arm over my mom’s shoulder.
“Let me ’splain somefin to you,” I slur. “Sam, I really really love him.”
I pause, trying to remember what else I was going to say. It takes me a minute and then I snap my fingers.
“Sam has nobody,” I continue, my body swaying back and forth. “NO-BODY. Zilch, zero, zip, cinco.”
“I think cinco means five in Spanish,” Scheva informs me. “Or it means rooster. My Spanish is a little rusty.”
I wave my hand at her and lean closer to my mother’s face.
“Whatever. Sam is alllllllllllll alone, except for us. I don’t want him to be sad when our side of the ceremony has like, fifty-million people, a cashier from Macy’s and an Amish man churning butter, and his side has nooooooooooooobody,” I tell her. “He doesn’t even have an Amish butter churner because he’s never met the Yoder’s. How sad is that? He really likes butter, too.”
“Butter is delicious,” Scheva mumbles.
“Butter really is delicious. Sam doesn’t have any butter. I don’t want him to be sad that he doesn’t have any butter. Do you understand now, mom?” I ask, wondering why she has two heads and they both look like they might burst into tears.
I hear Scheva let out a small sob from behind me and I turn around to see her furiously texting on her phone.
“What are you doing? Are you ordering more vodka? I don’t think we need any more vodka. I have to pee,” I complain.
“I’m texting Alex. What you said was so beautiful, Noel. I just told him I love him and I miss him and I’m sorry,” she says with a sniffle. “I don’t want him to turn into an ugly drag queen because of me. It’s not right. It’s just not right.”
My mother reaches around me and takes the phone from Scheva’s hand, looking down at the screen for a few seconds before shaking her head and typing something herself.
“Are you texting Mr. Yoder?” I ask, leaning down and putting my face right by the phone screen, but everything is blurry and words are weird. “Tell him he can still come to the wedding if he sits on Sam’s side and brings butter.”
My mother sighs, setting the phone on the end table next to her, far out of Scheva’s reach. “The Yoder’s are Amish, Noel. They don’t have cell phones. I sent Alex another text so the poor boy doesn’t think Scheva is crazy.”
“They don’t have cell phones?!” I shout in confusion. “How do they post pictures of their feet in cool socks next to a cup of coffee on Instagram and Tweet all their thoughts and emotions in 140 characters or less?”
“I once Tweeted that I ate an entire pound of bacon for dinner and I wasn’t even ashamed. Hashtag, meat sweats,” Scheva admits.
“Dude, that’s really deep.”
“I know, man,” Scheva agrees with a nod. “Hey, Bev. Let’s go back to the text I sent Alex. It was good, right? It felt good. My heart feels full and alive.”
My mother gets up from the couch and takes the now-empty bottle of vodka from Scheva’s hands and then pats her on the head like a puppy.
“Honey, you sent him a text that said, ‘I want to butter your penis like a slice of toast, and then take a bite. But not an ACTUAL bite, because that would hurt. And possibly result in you needing a tetanus shot. I HAVE MADE FIRE! We’re gonna burn this motha’ fuckin’ house to the ground,’” my mother tells her, reciting the text Scheva sent in a monotone voice.
“Wow, that wasn’t at all like what I heard
in my head when I was typing it,” Scheva muses.
“I told him you were drunk and to disregard the previous message. I also told him you would be passing out on the couch soon and he should come over in the morning with lots of coffee and Tylenol,” my mother finishes. “Don’t throw up on any of my furniture and don’t send any more drunk texts. I’m going to bed.”
With that, she kisses each of us on the cheek and heads upstairs.
“I think what she meant to say is that you should totally drunk text Sam,” Scheva tells me, climbing over my lap and elbowing me in the face as she reaches for her cell phone on the end table. “I think I might have accidentally thrown your phone in the fire outside. I’m starting to think I might have a problem with burning things when I’m drunk.”
She climbs back off me and hands me her phone. “Here, send him a text from my phone. I’ll help you tell him what to say. It should probably have something to do with talking and shit, but maybe add something about butter so he can see you’re totally cool and have good taste in food.”
Chapter 10
SheWee
Sam
“I knew it!” Alex shouts loudly over the noise in the bar. “The drag thing totally worked and Scheva wants me back.”
He turns his phone around and I squint to read the text he’s pointing to.
“Um, I’m pretty sure that is not at ALL what that means. I think she’s saying she wants to bite off your dick while lighting things on fire,” I inform him.
“Whatever, dude. She loves me and she wants me back. We didn’t even have to go full-on gay to make it happen. This is the best night ever. SHOTS FOR EVERYONE, ON ME!”
All the people in the crowded bar cheer when Alex shouts.
“Are you planning on handing out sexual favors to pay for those shots?” Aunt Bobbie asks. “You left your wallet at home and we’ve all been paying for your drinks tonight.”
“SHOTS FOR EVERYONE, ON THESE GUYS!” Alex shouts, pointing at Aunt Bobbie, Reggie, and myself.
