Futures and Frosting (19 page)

“If you knew it
was a pot cookie after the first bite, why in the hell would you keep eating
it?” Carter asked with a chuckle as I scooted up in bed until I could sit
against the headboard.

“Why wouldn’t I
eat it?  The damage was already done.  And it was a delicious cookie.”

Carter shook his
head at me and sighed.

“Claire, you are
only supposed to eat a little bit of a pot cookie, never the entire thing at
once.”

He stared at me
like I was an idiot and this was clearly something everyone knew.

“How in the fuck
am I supposed to know something like that?  Do I look like the type of person
who goes around eating pot cookies all the time?” I asked angrily.

“Everyone knows
this.  I’ve never eaten a pot cookie, and I still know the rules.”

“The rules?  Is
there a Pot Cookie 101 class I missed or something?  It’s not like the fucking
thing came with an owner’s manual.  I was handed a cookie, and I ate a cookie. 
Who in their right mind only takes one bite of a cookie and then puts the rest
back for later?” I demanded.

“Someone who
eats a pot cookie,” Carter deadpanned.

After I had
showered and dressed, I left the house with an obvious bug up my ass. 

And now my
magazine interview is in an hour and the only things surrounding me are bad,
hallucinogenic ideas – chocolate covered gummy bears, pickles, moon pies,
M&M’s, every Little Debbie snack treat imaginable from Twinkies to Swiss
Rolls, and a computer printed picture of Drew’s hand covered in chocolate. 
Trays of chocolate covered crap litter the counters, and I berate myself for
all of those hours we spent NOT coming up with a good idea.  At least Drew
manages to frost all two-hundred cookies for the order that's being picked up
today.  It makes my hatred for him go down just a tiny bit.

“The peanut
butter on your cock is delicious.”

“DREW!” I yell
again in warning.

“Sorry!” he
yells back, trying to mask his giggles.

“Cock, the
other white meat.”

I open my mouth
to scream another threat at Drew, this one to his manhood, when an idea
strikes.

I glance at the
clock and quickly rush around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients I need. 
While I wait for the chocolate to melt, I grab a small, white packaging box
from under the counter.  I prepare it by adding a sheet of pink tissue paper
inside to line the box and affix a “Seduction and Snacks” sticker to the
outside.  I watch the clock out of the corner of my eye as I get down to
business, crossing my fingers, toes, and even my legs that this idea would
work.

Thirty minutes
later I finish placing the last of the new candy inside the box, seal the lid
closed, tie a neat, pink and white ribbon around it, and grab my purse from
under the counter.

“Drew, I’m
leaving.  Don’t forget to go next door and wait for Liz’s delivery so you can
sign for it,” I yell to him as I head to the front door to make sure the
“Closed” sign is in place. I have about twenty minutes now to run home, pick up
Gavin, and drive to the meeting spot.  The magazine adamantly insists that I
bring Gavin with me.  This magazine interviewes people due to customer
recommendations.  Customers write into the magazine and suggest businesses they
believe should be spotlighted for one reason or another.

The magazine had
done some research, made some calls, and for whatever reason decided “Seduction
and Snacks” needed a write up.  When the magazine called to set up the
interview, they told Jenny that the customers raved not only about the sweets
we sold but also about the owner’s mouthy little son that ran around the store
and made everyone laugh.  It had been a toss-up on whether or not I should be
horrified by this or happy that Gavin’s penchant for swear words and constant
talk about his wiener was finally doing something good in the world.

It's still hard
to wrap my head around the fact that our businesses had taken off so quickly. 
Never underestimate the need for sugar and sex in small-town-America.  With one
last look around the darkened store to make sure everything is in order, I step
outside to the faint sound of the computer speaking one last Drew-initiated
command.

“Son of a
face turd, you whore.  Touch my taint and tickle my balls.”

~

I walk into
Playland McDonalds with butterflies flapping in my stomach and my hand clutched
tightly around Gavin’s.

I don’t know why
I’m so nervous.  I’ve done a few phone interviews since we opened and those had
been a piece of cake.  Maybe it's the fact that I’ve never done something like
this with my son right next to me - my lovely son who likes to talk to random
strangers about his poop.

This will be
fine.  No big deal.  Just a couple of questions.  Easy peasy.

“Remember, best
behavior,” I remind Gavin as we make our way through the crowded restaurant to
a booth in the back.  I can see the interviewer already seated with her laptop
open on the table.  We make eye contact and she gives me a wave.

“I want to play
in the playland,” Gavin whines.

“You will, as
soon as the interview is over.”

“That’s dumb,”
he mutters.

“Too bad.  Be
good and you can get a Happy Meal.”

“Can I have pop
too?” he asks.

I pause,
contemplating his request.  Being a parent is tough, especially when it comes
to negotiations.  You don’t want your kids to think they can have whatever they
ask for, but you also don’t want them to tell the interviewer of a national
magazine that their nuts smell like cheese and it’s because she’s so ugly. 
Pick your battles, people.

“Yes, you can
have pop.  If you’re good.”

We arrive at the
table and introductions are made.  I direct Gavin in first so he can sit by the
window and then slide in next to him.

“Hi, Gavin, my
name is Lisa.  I love your shirt,” the interviewer from
The Best of Baking
says with a smile.

Gavin looks down
at the shirt Drew had bought him a few weeks ago.  It's black and in white
writing reads, “Parental Advisory: Lock up your daughters.”

He just shrugs
in response, and I resist the urge to shoot him the evil eye and remind him to
be good.

“This is just
going to be an informal type of interview,” Lisa explains.  “I just want to ask
some questions and chit chat.  Just pretend like I’m one of your girlfriends.”

She has a huge
smile on her face like I totally understand what she's talking about.  She
obviously has never met my girlfriends.  We don’t sit around in dresses,
sipping daintily from glasses of champagne while we politely discuss politics. 
We chug beers, do shots, and call each other thunder cunts.

I slide the
white box across the table towards her, figuring I might as well start right
off the bat with the bribery.

Lisa’s eyes
light up when she sees the white box with our signature pink ribbon around it.

“Oh my goddness,
you brought me chocolate!” she exclaims.

“It’s something
new I’m trying out.  I crumble up crispy bacon and mix it with white
chocolate.  The clusters are drizzled with caramel and butterscotch.  They’re
called Bacolate Bunches,” I tell her.

She tears into
the box and takes a bite out of one of the clusters.  She moans and groans and
sighs for so long it gets a little uncomfortable.  I'm now privy to what Lisa
sounds like when she has sex.  Awkward.  But at least she likes my spur of the
moment candy invention.

“So, Gavin, how
are you doing today?” Lisa asks after she finishes the chocolate and finally
gets down to business.

“I wanna play,
this is boring,” he complains while staring longingly at the other children who
are running and screaming around the play area.

“Gavin, be
nice,” I warn under my breath with clenched teeth and a smile on my face for
Lisa.

“Oh, it’s fine!”
she tells me cheerfully.  “I’d like to play on those toys too,” she says to
Gavin.

“You’re too old
to go on the slide.  Your butt would get stuck ‘cuz you’re old.”

With the evil
eye in full force, I glare at Gavin. “If you don’t watch your mouth, you’re
going home to take a nap,” I say quietly.

“Naps can suck
it,” Gavin whispers as he smacks his elbows on the table and puts his chin in
his hands angrily.

Obviously, he’s
already forgotten the Happy Meal and pop he was promised.
 God, if you’re
listening, just help me not kill him.  At least until we’re home.

“So, Claire,
how’s business been going at the shop?”

I stop glaring
at Gavin and hope that by some super mom power he will still be able to feel my
wrath floating around him and keep his mouth shut.

“Business has
been going very well.  I still have to pinch myself every morning when I walk
into that place.  I am absolutely amazed that people actually want to buy
things I make,” I tell her with a laugh.

I can’t
believe someone is interviewing me for a magazine.  I’m nobody.  How is this
happening?

“Are you finding
it hard to juggle owning a business and spending time with your family?” Lisa
asks as she typed away on her laptop.

“That’s the
beauty of owning a business.  Basically, I can do whatever I want.”

Lisa laughs and
continued typing.

This sort of IS
like talking to one of my girlfriends.  Liz never pays attention to anything I
say and is always busy doing other shit when I’m pouring my heart out to her.

“Can you
elaborate on that just a little bit?” she asks.

“Well, if I want
Gavin to spend the day with me, he can.  I don’t need to find a sitter or send
him to daycare when he isn’t in preschool.  And if I need to close up early to
take him to a doctor’s appointment or to go to a function at his school, I can
easily do it without having to get permission from someone else or have my pay
docked for missing time,” I explain.

“My doctor gives
me cookies and stickers.  His mean nurse is a wiener face and gives me shots,”
Gavin adds.

Lisa chuckles,
her eyes never leaving her screen as she types furiously.

Oh my God, please
tell me she didn’t just type the words “wiener face” in my interview.

“In just three
short months of being open, Seduction and Snacks is already turning a profit. 
That’s almost unheard of for a new, small business.  What do you think is the
key to this success?”

Do I look
like Donald Trump?

I don’t know
anything about anything.  I cover things in chocolate and bake cookies.  The
key to success is pretending like it’s not really happening so that you don’t
freak the fuck out thinking about it.

I answer her
question as best I can without looking like a clueless moron.  I tell her it's
all about luck and how I honestly have no idea how this happened to me.

Lisa finally
takes a break from her typing to look up at me.

“It doesn’t hurt
to have such a famous son either, right?!  Everyone I spoke with about
Seduction and Snacks told me I absolutely HAD to meet the owner’s son.”

Oh dear God. 
Here we go.

“I’m almost
afraid to ask what else they said about him.  He’s lucky he’s cute or I would
have put him out on the curb with the garbage years ago,” I tell her as we
shared a laugh.

“You shut your
mouth when you’re talking to me!” Gavin shouts.

I quickly reach
over and cover his mouth with my hand.

I should have
packed duct tape and a taser.

“If you can
believe it, I’ve actually been asked by several customers if they could take
him home.  If only they knew.  A marine sergeant stopped in a few days ago on
his way to work and joked that he should take Gavin with him to basic
training.  He figured Gavin could get the men to cry faster than he ever
could,” I tell her.

She types with a
small smile on her face, and I wonder if this will be my first and last
magazine interview ever.

“As you know, we
do a little research on the people we’re going to interview.  Being from a
small town, it’s no secret that you got pregnant and had to drop out of
college.  It’s a huge struggle to be a single mother.  What advice do you have
for other women who might be going through the same thing?” Lisa asks as she
bends her head and goes back to clacking away at her keyboard.

Lovely.  I bang
a guy at a frat party, get knocked up, and have to work at a bar to make ends
meet.  The only other option available to me at the time had been pregnant
stripping.  Is this really something the people of
“The Best of Baking”
want to know?  They seem like a conservative group - ones who talk about petit
fours and balsamic reductions, not beer pong and vagina pounding.

“Um, yeah.  I’m
definitely not the best person to come to for advice in that area,” I tell her
honestly.  “I did everything wrong.  Luckily, Gavin’s father is an amazing man
and we were able to find our way back to one another.  I honestly don’t know
what I would do without him.  I can’t imagine my life without him in it.”

Shit!  Can I
retract that statement?!  That sounds entirely too much like saying I want to
spend the rest of my life with him.  Which I do.  But he can’t know that. 
He’ll freak out like a guy.  Which he is.  When he reads this, his mind is
immediately going to go to marriage and he’ll probably start screaming. 
CHANGE
THE SUBJECT, CLAIRE!

“Also, I like to
watch a lot of porn.”

NO, NO, NO! 
ABORT MISSION! 
What the fuck am I supposed to be talking about?  Oh,
right.  Advice.

“Don’t look a
gift horse in the mouth or he’ll bite the hand that feeds you.”

Oh sweet
Jesus I just became my mother.

Lisa doesn’t
show any signs of thinking she's talking to a lunatic. She just keeps on
typing.  It's starting to freak me out.