Futures and Frosting (Chocolate Lovers #2)(39)

In just a few days, my best friend will be home from her honeymoon, and I’ll be able to get her advice about Carter. I am so worried about saying or doing something to scare him away that I might have taken it to the extreme. When he had asked me this morning if I wanted more cream for my coffee I replied, “Speaking of cream. Why do women wear cream to their wedding? Weddings are stupid. Married people are stupid. I think I broke my thumb.”

No, I don’t know why the f*ck I told him I thought I broke my thumb. I had panicked. And now I’m pretty sure he thinks my maybe-broken-thumb is due to the late night pornography habit I just can’t quit and it’s either from A) pressing the rewind and or pause buttons too quickly or B) pressing MY buttons too quickly. Either option is not something I care for him to be wondering about me every time he looks in my general direction.

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to think of ways to convince Carter I'm not going to pressure him into marriage while at the same time making sure I don’t look like I need thirty days in a Betty Ford Triple X Clinic. I’ve been trying to come up with new ideas for things I can cover in chocolate for the shop. The chocolate covered potato chips and crushed pretzels mixed together had been a huge hit and are one of the main attractions lately. I want something fun and new to talk about in the magazine interview the next morning, so I put all thoughts of doom aside and concentrate on what I do best. For once, I'm not dreading a visit from Drew. With his appetite, I'm sure we could come up with something spectacular.

~

“These snozzberries taste like SNOZZBERRIES!” I yell.

In the far recesses of my mind, I realize I was licking a scratch-n-sniff chocolate-covered strawberry sticker that Jenny had affixed to my shirt, but I don’t care.

It smells like it tasty smells. Like snozzberries in a mountain of sticker glue. Why don’t more people eat glue? It’s delicious. Snozzberries should be our national fruit.

“I should cover these stickers in chocolate and sell them,” I mumble as I continue swiping my tongue along the bottom hem of my shirt that I hold up by my mouth.

Drew laughs and I stop the manic sticker-licking to glance up at him. I blink really hard and try to get him to come into focus but it's not working. It's like I'm looking at him through a pair of binoculars backward. He's really small and really, really far away. I can feel my head swaying from side to side and I keep making my eyes open really wide in an effort to see more clearly. It's not working. Take your hand and make a fist then hold it up to one eye. Open your hand just enough to let some light in and that’s the view I have right now.

Maybe that’s what the problem is. There’s someone walking around next to me holding their fists in front of my eyes.

I start flailing my arms all around my head to smack the hidden fists away until I start running into things and knocking shit off of the counters. I’m seventy-four percent positive the noise I make while doing this scares those *s with their sneaky fists away.

“This chocolate is burning my hand! HOLY FUCK IT’S BURNING! WHY IS IT BURNING?!”

If I squint I can kind of see that Drew is holding his hand out from his body and it was dripping with hot, melted chocolate.

“Your hand looks delicious,” I tell him as I absently bring my shirt back up to my mouth and began chewing on it.

“This was the best idea EVER,” Jenny states as she helps Drew hold his chocolate hand over the sink so it won’t drip on the floor. “Everyone will love chocolate-covered Drew. Make sure you tell them during the interview that this was my idea. I want street cred for it.”

I feel my head bobbing up and down in agreement and watch the room go in and out of focus and wonder why the walls are moving closer to me all of a sudden. I look down and my feet aren’t moving. I look back up and scream because the wall is right against my nose.

HOW THE FUCK DID THE WALL GET ON MY NOSE?!

“Claire, stop sniffing the wall. It doesn’t have any flavor left,” Jenny tells me.

Stupid wall. It runs out of flavor too fast.

I step away from the wall and look up at the ceiling. There are marshmallows on my ceiling.

Marshmallows is a funny word.

“Mmmmmmaaaaaarrrrrssssshhhhhhmmmmaaaalllloooowwwwsssss. Who invented that word? It’s a great word. I wonder if they used to be called something else. Like shmashmoos. But people couldn’t say shmashmoos and babies were crying because they really wanted shmashmoos but couldn’t say the word and their mothers kept giving them cookies when all they really wanted were shmashmoos. Babies were crying, parents were crying, the streets were filled with people who just wanted shmashmoos. Total anarchy, dudes. I bet that was the real reason for World War II. It’s one big shmashmoo conspiracy the government doesn’t want us to know about.”

“Claire, you are so smart,” Jenny tells me seriously.

“I know, right?”

I should light a fire and make S’mores.

“Quick, someone get me a lighter, STAT!” I yell.

Drew jumps down off of the counter and with one hand, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started fiddling with the buttons while he holds his chocolate hand out from his body.

“Are you calling the cops? Oh shit! JENNY RUN! IT’S THE FUZZ!” I yell as I run in circles around the kitchen island.

Somewhere in the distance I hear Jenny crying. At least I think it' Jenny crying. It might have been me.