Futures and Frosting (2 page)

Oh yes, young
grasshopper, you shall choke in your sleep.

Although the
more I think about it, David Carradine choked
himself
in some weird sex
thing, didn’t he?  I don’t think I can convince Carter to choke himself out no
matter how naked I get.

I’ve tried
everything to make my nights of sleep less irritating.  I've gently pushed his
arm so he would roll over because according to Google, a simple change of
position will put a halt to the snoring.

False.  And shut
up, everything on Google is true!  How else would I know that the world’s
oldest living goldfish is forty-one and his name is Fred?  Or that when you
type the word “askew” in Google search the page will tilt slightly clockwise? 
These are facts, people!

My dad had told
me to try buying a box of nasal strips for Carter to fasten across the bridge
of his nose every night before bed.

Didn’t work.  I
woke up the next morning with nasal strips stuck in places where nasal strips
should
never
be stuck.

It’s all fun and
games until you need to lock yourself in the bathroom with tweezers, a mirror,
and a flashlight.

I’ve kicked my
feet and smacked my hands against the mattress repeatedly in frustration while
whisper-screaming about cock-sucking snorers and their lack of respect for
people who sleep quietly, and I’ve jerked the covers off of him, hit him in the
face with his own pillow, that I yanked out from under his head, while plugging
his nose.

Hey, don’t judge
me.  I’m losing sleep here.

And I had only
plugged his nose long enough for him to start choking on his own spit.  As soon
as he could speak, he told me all about the dream he was having where he
thought he was suffocating and how he realized while he was dream-dying that he
forgot to tell me he loved me before he went to sleep.  Yes, I felt guilty.
Yes, I made it up to him by having sex with him at five in the morning, and no
I have never told him that it was me who actually tried to off him in his
sleep.

Sometimes
couples need a few secrets.

Carter thinks my
irritation with his snoring is cute.  Of course he does.  He's not the one with
his ears bleeding in the middle of the night, praying for his bed mate to
asphyxiate in his sleep.  Oh no, he is off in dreamland, wondering why the
soundtrack of his really good sex dream suddenly includes the melody of knives
being sharpened.

Last night, one
of my well placed kicks to his thigh, er, I mean gentle taps, finally got him
to shut up and roll over.  It was a thing of beauty.  The silent, peaceful
tranquility that flowed through the bedroom almost made me weep with joy. 
Sadly, as soon as I fell asleep and began happily frolicking through my own
dreamland, Carter was shaking me awake and asking if I said something.  Because
according to him, he had been sleeping like a rock but could have sworn he
heard me ask him if the green Jell-O should go in the trunk with the snapping
turtles.

A public service
announcement for men:  If you see that your significant other is fast asleep
and your initial whispered question doesn't get a response, don't be surprised
if we start spewing green vomit out of the mouths of our rapidly spinning heads
as you shake us awake to ask your stupid question fifty decibels louder than
the first time.

So here I am
again, wide awake at five in the morning, giving the love of my life the stink
eye in the dark and wondering if I will be able to keep a straight face when
looking at him if I go ahead and order that chin strap contraption I saw on the
Home Shopping Network the previous week. As I stare at the ceiling and wonder
why a snoring prevention mechanism has to look so much like a jock strap for
the face, I suddenly remember something
else
I read on Google not that
long ago that I haven’t tried yet (Fred, the forty-one-year-old goldfish – FRED
IS REAL, dammit!).  The article had stated that a short, loud yell of a random,
one-syllable word will break through the snoring person’s conscience just enough
to get them to stop snoring without fully waking them up.

I roll my head
to the side to stare at Carter’s profile.  Watching him sleep soundly while I
currently reside in insomnia-land, as a direct result of his deviated septum,
makes me feel stabby.  Since I can’t take my anger out on his septum without
making him bleed, I figure I might as well try one more thing.  Especially
since buying the chin/jock/anti-snoring strap will require that I address
Carter as Dick Face from now on.  Something I’m assuming he will frown upon.

I take a deep
breath and let out my one-syllable word. "F-U-U-U-U-U-U-C-K!”

In the blink of
an eye Carter jolts awake with a scream, flailing his arms and legs and
scrambling across the bed until he falls off the side and lands on the floor
with a loud thud.

"Son of a
bitch!  What the hell was that?" he mutters from the floor.

"I think
there’s green Jell-O in the trunk with the turtles," I state before
rolling over and snuggling under the covers.

“I just don’t
think it’s a good idea, Claire.”

I roll my eyes
at my dad as I shove a tray of fresh Butter Brickle Bars into the display case
under the front counter a little harder than necessary.  A few of the bars jump
out of their spots on the tray due to my irritation, and as I reach in to fix
them, I have to force myself not to eat another one.  As much as I love making
sweets, I normally don’t eat very many.  My tastes tend to lean more towards
salty snacks.  I don’t know what is wrong with me lately though.  If I keep
sampling the goods like this my ass is going to grow another cheek to make room
for all the fat.

“I really don’t
think you’ve thought this through,” my dad continues as he leans his hip
against the counter and folds his arms across his chest.

I take that
back.  I know exactly why I’ve been pigging out on chocolate and cookies
.

I reached into
the glass case and grab the Butter Brickle Bar closest to me and shovel the
whole thing in my mouth at once.  I take a moment to savor the taste of brown
sugar, vanilla, and toffee bits, letting the sugary sweetness do its trick of
removing some of my stress.  Since I can’t physically chuck the six-foot-two
tension problem I currently have out of the store without giving myself a
hernia, this will have to do. I swallow the mouthful of cookie bar and try not
to think about it forming little legs and sprinting straight to my ass, leaving
pats of butter behind on my hips as it goes.  I take a deep, fortifying breath
so I can deal with my father.

“Dad, Carter and
I have been living together for two months.  It’s a little late for this speech
now don’t you think?”

My dad has never
said one word for or against mine and Carter’s living arrangements ever since
we first announced it on the day of Seduction and Snacks’ grand opening.

He had grunted,
glared at Carter, and then walked away.  That was approval as far as I had been
concerned.

Now that it’s
been two months and I haven’t changed my mind like he probably thought I would,
suddenly he has an opinion.

“Everyone says,
‘why buy the bar when you can get the beer for free’.”

I stop with my
arm in midair as I reach for a towel to wipe down the counter.

“Dad, no one
says that.”

“
Everyone
says that,” he replies, pushing himself away from the counter and moving his
hands to his hips.

I roll my eyes
and began wiping crumbs off of the top of the display case.

“Really?  Who?”
I challenge as the bell above the door chimes and a customer walks in.

“People,” he
states firmly.

I sighed and
turn away from my dad to smile and greet the woman who is perusing the white
chocolate section at the opposite end of the case from where we are standing. 
After making sure she doesn’t have any questions, I glance back at him.

“Dad, it’s
two-thousand-and-twelve, not the nineteen-fifties.  People live together all
the time before they make any kind of huge commitment. We just need some time
to get used to each other and learn to live together as a family without
killing each other.  It’s not that big of a deal.”

My dad huffs and
it is his turn to stare at me in irritation.

“Really, Claire,
when have I ever given you any kind of indication that I’m old fashioned?  I
just don’t want this yahoo to think he can move you and Gavin into his place
and then never have to do anything to make it official.  At least if he married
you, I wouldn’t have to worry about your whiny ass showing up on my doorstep
anytime soon wanting your old room back.”

I wonder how
many Butter Brickle Bars I can fit in my mouth at one time.

“Did you really
just call Carter a
yahoo
?  How about we take a seat on the davenport so
we can discuss that little hooligan and how you aren’t old fashioned in the
least?” I state sarcastically.

“I should have
sold you to that traveling circus when you were four.  I could be out on the
lake fishing right now instead of having this conversation,” he mutters.

My dad had been
married twice before he married my mom, and he had his first wife Linda’s name
tattooed on his arm.  When I was younger I tried to change Linda to my mom’s
name, Rachel, with a sharpie marker when he was sleeping.  Unfortunately, he
woke up before I could finish.  It took him three days to wash Rinda off of his
arm.  When I told that story to Carter, he started singing like the Chinese men
in
“A Christmas Story”.
Deck da hars with boughs of horry,
fa-ra-ra-ra-ra, ra-ra-ra-ra
!  He tried joking with my dad once about it
saying, “You reary roved Rinda.”  My dad thought he was impersonating Scooby
Doo and didn’t find it funny.  Could be why he wasn’t one hundred percent sold
on the whole living together situation.  And all of it was a prime example of
why I wasn’t jumping on board the marriage band wagon just yet.  My dad had
struck out three times and my mom twice when she had finally decided marriage
wasn’t for her when I was twelve and packed up to get a condo in the city.

I don’t really
have shining examples of happily ever after in my life.

Anyway, the
point is everyone makes their own decisions about life, some good and some
bad.  They all teach us something about who we are and blah, blah, blah.  No
matter what my dad’s opinion is, I need to know if Carter’s snoring and his
inability to put a new roll of toilet paper back on the holder is going to be a
deal breaker before we do something legal that we can’t back out of.

So far, stupid
bad habits aside, we are doing quite well cohabiting.  Gavin has adjusted
nicely, and I haven’t smothered Cater in his sleep.  That’s total win right
there.

My dad can
finally tell by the look on my face that I am closing the conversation for
further discussion or arguments, and he has given up on the beer/sex/whatever
the fuck analogy.  He grabs the newspaper he set down on the counter when he
first walked in, tucks it under his arm, and walks over to one of the small
tables by the front window to drink his coffee.  Regardless of the mood he had
put me in, seeing the four black, round tables set up in front of the picture
window at the front of the store makes me smile.  They had just been delivered
the prior week and seeing someone sitting in them, even if it is my father,
made me giddy.  This is
my
store and those are
my
tables and
nothing can mar the elated feeling that gave me.

The chime above
the door sounds again, and I glanced over to see my friend Jenny storm in with
an angry scowl on her face.  Never in a million years have I ever picture
myself being friends with someone like her.  She is runway model beautiful and
the things that come out of her mouth rarely make sense, but she’s proven to be
a good friend in the few months since I've met her and would help anyone with
anything they asked without a second thought.  Much to everyone’s surprise,
Jenny had managed to grab onto Carter’s best friend, Drew, and wrap him around
her little finger.  Drew is the biggest man whore you will ever lay eyes on,
but for whatever reason, Jenny is able to tame him.  Somewhat.

“Hey, what’s
going on?” I ask Jenny as I round the counter to meet her halfway.  I glance
down at my watch and see it's only eleven in the morning.  “Why aren’t you at
work?”

Jenny works for
the same computer design company she has since her freshman year in college. 

She had started
off as an intern and quickly made her way up the ranks and was now one of the
most talented graphic designers they had on staff.  She helped me out in a
pinch when I was opening my store and made all of the flyers, brochures, and
business cards in her free time and refused to take any payment.  It had been
one of the main reasons I decided I liked her.

Anyone who
doesn’t charge me for services rendered is good people in my book.

Jenny laughs
manically at my question about work and crossed her arms in front of her. 
“That’s a great question, Claire.  And the answer would be, I got fired,” she
replies before bursting into tears, flinging her arms around me, and burying
her face in my shoulder.

Oh Jesus God
no.

I awkwardly bend
my elbow and pat my hand against her lower back.  She still has her arms
wrapped around me in a vice grip and that’s as high as I can reach.  I shove my
other hand into the pocket of my jeans and pull out my cell phone, sending a
quick “please help me, God” text to Liz next door.

Jenny continues
to cry, sniffle and every few minutes wail.  After subtly spitting out some of
her hair from my mouth as she burrows further into my neck and shoulder, I anxiously
glance down at my cell phone wondering how much longer I will need to pretend I
enjoy soothing people during breakdowns before Liz gets her ass over here and
rescues me.  It probably won’t be very friend-like of me if I start freaking
out that there might now be a pile of someone else’s snot pooling on the
shoulder of my tee-shirt.  My phone buzzes in my hand and I crane my neck over
Jenny’s shoulder to see the message.