Futures and Frosting (Chocolate Lovers #2)(57)

For the first time in my twenty-five years, my mother actually says something that made sense and gave me pause. And not the “What the f*ck is she saying?” pause.

I had put up a wall all my life to protect myself. If I pretended like I didn’t really want the American dream of a husband and kids, then eventually I would believe it and no one would be able to hurt me. Until Liz and Jim’s wedding, I didn’t realize just how much I wanted that wall to crack. Now that it had though, I was right where I never wanted to be - scared, confused and upset. I knew I needed to get my emotions under control and stop acting like a crazy person. I needed to man up and talk to Carter. I could feel the distance between us growing every day that I continued to lie to him and explained away my detachment and rocky emotions by saying they were all just because of the pregnancy. I had acted like a big baby all these months when all of it might have been fixed by one little conversation.

After Gavin’s party, I will make sure that we sat down and talked.

“What about Carter’s family? Are his parents still trying to recover from ceiling fan baseball?” my mom asks with a laugh, changing the subject to something a little less depressing.

“They’ve been okay. His mom actually sent me a big box of brand new baby clothes and a few blankets. His grandmother is the one I’m most surprised about. She really should want to kill me but she sent me something too, and I found out she actually has a sense of humor.”

“Oh? What was it?” my mom asks.

“A onesie that said ‘Too cute to play with your ugly ass kid’.”

~

“Why the hell are those bitches over there giving me a dirty look?” Liz asks as she stares down five mothers who have accompanied their sons to Gavin’s party.

“I’m guessing it’s because the woman who brought her husband just noticed that he’s been staring at your boobs that are spilling out of your shirt,” I tell her as I finish cutting the cake and placing it on paper plates.

“Oh give me a break. One look at that guy and you can tell he’s wound up so tight that if I blew him a kiss he’d probably bust a nut. None of those women look like they ever have sex unless it’s to procreate,” she complains.

“They probably only do it in the missionary position with the lights off,” I add.

“I bet they think doggy style is a type of line dance,” Liz says with a laugh, blowing the husband a kiss.

I smack her hand and give her the evil eye.

“Will you cut it out? I have to be around these mothers all the time at Gavin’s school. Play nice,” I warn her.

“Look!” she says excitedly. “That poor guy just adjusted his junk. He totally came in his pants.”

So far the party has been a success. The kids are yelling and running all over the shop now that they are hopped up on sugar. I had thought having them frost their own cookies would be fun until they forgot about the cookies and started shoveling frosting into their mouths by the handful. Having Drew wrap up a bag of Pixy Stix and a twenty ounce can of Mountain Dew as Gavin’s present doesn’t help matters either. He tears into the present and has half the candy and all the Mountain Dew gone before I even notice. By the time I get a hold of him, he looks like he’s been snorting coke off of hookers. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is a mess, and he has white powder all around his mouth. When I see Drew whisper in his ear right before Gavin runs up to me and yells, “I have tiger blood running through my veins!” I know it's time to take the kid-crack away from him

And of course I get nothing but dirty looks from the world’s most perfect mothers. They can’t just drop their kids off and come back like normal parents who foam at the mouth when they find out they’ll get a few hours of peace and quiet and make their kids jump out of the moving vehicle at the curb before peeling off to get a massage or go to the bar. Oh no, they have to stand in the corner in their perfect little clique, judging me with their pastel sweater sets, linen pants, and string of pearls. Drew has already told one of them he has a much better pearl necklace he can give her later that night, hence the huddling in the corner. I think they really thought he was going to whip his dick out at a children’s party and jerk off on one of their necks. Actually, this is Drew I’m talking about. There's a distinct possibility he might do it.

They spend the whole day looking put-out that they had to be here. They turn their noses up at my store-bought decorations and one even says, “Oh, so you didn’t do centerpieces and table favors? And I heard you say this wasn’t catered? That’s a shame.” Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but this is a party for a FIVE YEAR OLD. Not a f*cking Bar Mitzvah. I'm not decoupaging anything, using a glue gun, or whittling an ice sculpture, and I sure as hell am not serving lobster and filet. I feed them pizza and hot dogs and fill goodie bags with Play Doh and bubbles. Where I come from, that’s how you celebrate a toddler’s birthday. I hold my tongue, though, because I don’t want to be that woman who got into a cat fight at her kid's birthday party.

I'm tired, cranky, and on edge as it is because I haven’t talked to Carter yet. He had worked last night and we drove separately to the party so he could sleep. If another one of those uppity bitches says anything else to me, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions.

Liz grabs two plates of cake and leaves to take one over to Jim and antagonize the lone father whose wife probably threatened his manhood if he didn’t come with her to the party.