The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(28)

“Oh, that? Yeah, don’t worry about that. He’s had that thing since he drank his coffee this morning. I’m sure it will go away eventually,” she tells us with a smile.

Moving into the living room to stand in front of us, she hides the side of her mouth with her hand and whispers loudly, “I think I might have crushed up a bit too many Viagra in his coffee this morning.”

I completely forget I’m not wearing any clothes and step out from behind Sam, forcing my eyes up to the ceiling before the corneas burn and I’m blinded for life.

“You’ve had that thing for ten hours? Sweet Jesus, man,” Sam mutters.

“A horse is a horse, of course of course, unless his name is Mister Ed!” Scheva sings from the front door.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, enough with the horse,” my dad mutters.

“By the looks of it, I think Mister Ed might be getting cancelled tonight,” my mother says, giving Sam and I a wink. “Don’t worry, Noel, if your father still has this erection problem at the wedding, we can just use it as a coat rack!”

Giving both of us a kiss on the cheek, she walks back into the hallway and grabs Reggie’s arm, tugging him toward the stairs.

“Wait, I still have dicks to cut off! Our daughter’s milk was left out on the counter to spoil and now we’ll never be able to eat butter again!” my dad complains as my mother continues pulling him down the hall and up the stairs.

“Stop talking, Reginald, or I won’t help you with the problem going on in your pants. I’ve still got a couple of movies left I didn’t give Sam and Noel. How about we watch the one with the lesbians and the fists? You always liked that one.”

My mother’s voice fades as my parents disappear upstairs. Sam and I slowly turn to face each other, both of us holding our hands over our mouths to stop us from puking.

“You sure you don’t want to take back that whole thing about how my family didn’t cause your high blood pressure?” I ask in a muffled voice, my hand still firmly against my mouth.

Sam nods quickly, slowly dropping his hand and taking a couple of deep breaths before he speaks.

“One thing we forgot to talk about, what’s the deal with the whole Mister Ed thing? You guys must have really liked that show or something,” he states.

“DON’T LET MISTER ED NEAR THE BUTTER!” Scheva shouts from the hallway. “THE BUTTER IS FOR ME AND ALEX AND MISTER ED CAN’T USE IT FOR HIS ERECTILE DISFUNCTION!”





Chapter 12




Cumquats and Rice Krispy Treats

Noel


Taking the porch steps two at a time as I run the rest of the way from my car, I throw open my parents’ front door, slamming it closed behind me. Leaning against it, I take a few minutes to calm my breathing. This running in fear from that f*cking cat every time I come over here is getting old. He hasn’t shown his face to me, but every time Sam’s been here in the last couple of weeks, he’s raised holy hell, and now Sam sleeps with a small shovel under his pillow.

I smile to myself, thinking about the last few weeks. After our long-awaited talk, Sam and I have been perfect. Better than perfect. It might have taken us a while, but we’ve finally learned it’s better to talk about things as soon as they’re bothering us, than to let them fester and come up with all sorts of wrong reasons for any problems we might be having.

As much as we wanted to test out Sam’s confidence that going back to his old prescription would fix our sex problem, it took over a week for us to stop picturing Alex and Scheva licking butter off of each other and my mom and dad enjoying fisting porn. By that point, we only had a week to go until our wedding and we both decided to do at least one traditional thing—abstain from sex until our wedding night.

I’m not gonna lie, it’s been tough. No matter how exhausted Sam and I are when we get home from work, and after we’ve done whatever last minute things we needed to for the wedding, we’ve made it a point to set aside at least twenty minutes to talk about anything that’s bothering us.

While we’re lying in bed.

Pressed up against each other.

Only wearing our underwear.

The struggle is real. The struggle is so real that I’m currently standing in my parents’ hallway, staring at the banister to the stairs down the hall, wondering how good it would feel to rub my vagina all over it.

Thankfully, Aunt Bobbie comes running into the entryway from the living room before I can decide if humping my parents’ handrail is a good idea or a bad one.

“Houston, we have a problem.”

Before I can ask her what’s going on, she takes my hand and drags me into the living room. Scheva is sitting on the couch and lifts her hand in a wave. I start to greet her and then notice someone sitting next to her on the couch I don’t recognize.

“Oh, this is my friend from work, Jamie,” Scheva introduces when she sees the confused look on my face. “She’s the one who hooked us up tonight.”

“Aaaaand welcome to our problem,” Aunt Bobbie whispers in my ear.

“Yo,” Jamie says with a nod in my direction. “You’re the one getting married, right?”

I nod my head, still wondering what problem Aunt Bobbie is referring to.

“I hate romance. I hate weddings. All that hearts and flowers crap is boring. Why can’t we just beat the shit out of people in the street? Or live in a futuristic society with sectors and barbed-wire fences and wars with no time for gross lovey-dovey shit?” Jamie asks, kicking her feet up on the coffee table.