Futures and Frosting (9 page)

“Wrong photo
album,” Drew states as he also comes around behind me so he can peer over my
other shoulder. “The photo album you want is the one titled,
'Missionary
Trip to Jerusalem.'
  And yes, I totally just said ‘missionary’ without
laughing.”

I am going
straight to hell.

At this point,
Carter moves his head to the side, right next to mine, so he too can look down
at the phone.

I click on the
correct album and sure enough, under every single photo from her trip to
Jerusalem with people from her CHURCH GROUP, I have posted the words, “Spitters
are quitters.”

“Oooh, oooh,
wait!  This is my favorite part!” Drew says excitedly as he snatches the phone
out of my hand and navigates to the last picture in the album.

He finds what he
was looking for and barks out a laugh before handing the phone back to me. I
grab it out of his hand roughly and shoot him a dirty look for his excitement
at my epic fail.

Not only does it
say “Spitters are quitters” under the last photo in the album, but below that
stellar use of the English language I have written, “Jesus is my homeboy.”

“Your cousin is
never going to forgive me,” I said with a sigh.

“Eh, she’s a
bitch anyway.  Someone needed to put her in her place.” Carter laughs as he
tightens his hold on me.

I reach my arm
out to hand the phone back to Liz and notice a funny look on her face.

“What?” I ask
with trepidation, my arm just hanging there since she hadn’t reached out to
take the phone from me.

“Oh fuck,
there’s more?” I question her as my shoulders drooped.

“You might want
to take a gander at the conversation we had on Carter’s mom’s page,” she says,
not even bothering to contain the laughter at this point.

I’m sure my eyes
are the size of dinner plates as I just stand there staring at her.

“Oh my God!  I
forgot about that!  I read it again this morning and almost pissed myself!”
Drew chuckles.  "Not on any furniture," he says to me in total
seriousness.

I regretfully
bring the phone back to me and pull Madelyn Ellis’ Facebook page up.

At exactly 12:28
a.m. I had posted the following on Madelyn’s page:

“You are a
gigantic, stinkotic, vaginastic, clitoral, liptistic whore dizzle.”

Three minutes
later Liz responds with: “
Dude, was this meant for me?  You just posted this
on Carter’s mom’s page. Ha!  You dumb ass!”

I stare at the
rest of the conversation, ON CARTER’S MOM’S PAGE, and I want to vomit.  His
MOM’S page, people!  I don’t think you understand the level of suck we’re at
right now.

Claire Morgan: 
You
are a furry nut sack on the giant dick of my life.

Elizabeth Gates:
You are the taco to my furry heart.

Claire Morgan:
Where
is your Dumbo-earred vagina?  I can hear it flapping from here.  Are you trying
to fly back to me?

Elizabeth Gates:
My vagina is way nicer than anything you own you drizzly, weighted down orca
of a woman.

Claire Morgan:
Your
vagina is like a burning clown car…this flaming taco with hundreds of screaming
people trying get the fuck out of it.

Elizabeth Gates:
Dumb shit whore.

Claire Morgan:
Dick
weed.

By the time I
got to the bottom of the thread, Carter has stepped away from me and is
practically convulsing with laughter.

Carter’s parents
choose that moment to walk Gavin back over to us, and  I am praying to God,
Allah, Buddha, and Ryan Seacrest that she had not logged into her Facebook
account yet today so I can get in there and delete everything.

Drew and Jim are
now huddled together behind me quoting those posts back and forth to each other
in loud whispers and laughing like hyenas.

“Claire, you
have raised quite the charming young man,” Madelyn says with a kind smile. 
“Gavin is just so precious, and Carter’s father and I just want to thank you
for taking such good care of our grandson”

Fuck, why
does she have to be so nice?  She's like a sweet, Disney princess and I'm Girls
Gone Wild on crack.

“Right,
Charles?”

When he doesn’t
answer her immediately, she elbows him in the side and he jerks his head back
around, no doubt from checking out the waitress.

“Oh, yes. 
Absolutely, Candy.  Wonderful job.”

Now it’s Candy? 
Do I look like a fucking stripper?

“Thank you, that means a lot to
me,” I tell her, pasting on a smile.

“You’re looking
a little tired today, Claire. Did my son keep you out late last night?” she
asks.

Carter tries to
cover up a snort from behind me, and my elbow meets his stomach, much in the
same way his mother’s just had with his father.

I’m pretty sure
his mom doesn’t want me to tell her my late night involved sex in public, back
door begging, sperm demanding, wine drinking debauchery.  Although with my
luck, those things could be somewhere on Facebook and she’ll find out soon
enough.

Someone calls
Madelyn’s name and while she looks away, I pull Liz’s phone out from behind my
back and furiously pull Facebook back up so I can begin the deletion process. 
Before I can even get to Madelyn’s page, the phone is seized from me.

“Ah-ah-ah!  This
is a no cell phone zone!  And we have a surprise for both of you,” Madelyn
exclaims with a huge smile as she drops Liz’s phone in the front pocket of her
dress pants and I try not to whimper.  “I’ll be right back with your surprise.”

She quickly
turns and walks away from us, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she exits
the party room.

“She’s probably
going to get her gun.  At least she’s giving you a head start,” my dad
whispers.

Carter’s father
stays with our group and attempts to start up a conversation with my dad while
I try to figure out a way to sneak my hand into Madelyn’s pants pocket when she
comes back without her thinking I'm trying to get to second base.

My dad looks
blankly at Charles while he yammers on and on about the stock market and their
last vacation to France.  The first time he had smacked my dad on the arm
trying to be all buddy-buddy with him, I feared for Charles’, life.  My dad
looks down at the spot where Charles’ hand connected and then back up at him
before walking away without another word.  Charles doesn’t seem phased by it
since Liz bends over the table to set her purse down right then and he has
something else to occupy his mind.

Drew and Jim are
in a deep discussion about having another bachelor party, this time with
strippers, when Liz suddenly latches tightly onto my arm and jerks me towards
her.

“Oh my God!  Who
is that?” she whispers in horror as Carter and I turn to see who she is
pointing at.

“That’s my
grandmother,” Carter replied with a huge smile as we watch his mom escort an
older version of herself into the room.  “This must be our surprise.  I had no
idea she was going to be in town.”

At that moment,
Drew turns around and spits out the mouthful of water he was drinking. 
Something about the woman is a little familiar, but I have never met Carter’s
grandmother.  He talks about her all the time and I know that Carter’s mother
does whatever she asks.  Thank God she doesn’t do Facebook, at least I don’t
have
that
to worry about.  She’d tell Madelyn to put a hit out on me.

By now, Drew is
bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees choking on the water he
managed to swallow, and I'm wondering what the fuck his problem is.  Jenny
smacks him on the back and is making weird head gestures at me and Carter’s
grandmother like she has some sort of neck tick.

What the hell is
going on with everyone?

I'm clearly
looking at her with annoyance and put my hands up in the air in a “what the
fuck?” gesture.  She opens her mouth but before she can say anything, Liz grabs
onto my arm with both hands now and is trying to drag me away from everyone. 
She’s alternating between giggles and repeatedly whispering, “Oh sweet Jesus.”
I'm starting to wonder if everyone around me has been roofied.

I yank my arm
out of her clutches and turn around, coming face-to-face with Carter’s
grandmother.  I put a big smile on my face and began to introduce myself when
she cuts me off.

“You,” is all
she says as she looks me up and down.

The look in her
eyes and the tilt of her head as she scrutinizes me suddenly forces a memory
from last night to surface from the depths of my subconscious.

“She’s going
to take our cab.  Are you kidding me with this shit?” Drew yells indignantly. 
“I’ve been standing here trying to hail a cab for like three years and this
skank just waltzes in and takes the one that stopped for us.”

“Dude, we
came in a limo bus.  It’s parked over there,” Jim tells him.

“I don’t care
if we came here on a magic carpet.  That was OUR cab!” I pipe up indignantly.

I stumble
over to the back door of the taxi that is still open while the old woman gets
situated and stick my head in.

“You’re a
dick.  Go fuck your face,” I yell drunkenly before I’m yanked back out by my
friends so my head doesn’t get mangled by the shutting of the door.

“Dude, you
just say that to a seventy-year-old woman!” Emmett yells while patting me on
the back.

And here that
seventy-year-old woman stands with a cocky smile on her face when she sees that
I have made the connection to who she is.

The entire room
is silent as they watch the exchange between us.  I look horrified and Carter’s
grandmother looks like she's going to throw her little arthritic fists of fury
in the air and beat my ass.

There will never
ever be another moment in my entire life that is more embarrassing than this
one right here.  Mark my words.

Madelyn
interrupts the stare-down Grandma is giving me, and I suddenly wish there was a
hole in the floor that would swallow me up when I see Liz’s cell phone in her
hand.

“What does
‘gigantic, stinkotic, vaginastic, clitoral, liptistic whore dizzle’ mean?”

“No, Drew, a
trip to the strip club will not make everything better,” I say for the third
time.  “Claire is completely mortified after brunch last weekend and thinks my
family hates her.  She’s also pissed at me because according to her, my number
one rule as her boyfriend is to stop her from doing anything remotely stupid
while she’s drunk.”

I let out a huge
sigh and lift my arms in a “T” so the store owner could measure the length of
my chest.  While the girls are over with Liz getting a last minute fitting for
their dresses, I meet the guys across the street at the mall with Gavin so we
can get measured for our tuxes.  This might come as a shock, but I’ve never
been measured for a tux or a suit before.  When I tell you this is the most awkward
moment you will ever have with another person, I’m not lying.  It’s right up
there with prostate exams.

Some strange man
named Steve who barely mutters a greeting when we walk in, immediately pushes
me in front of a set of mirrors and then gets down on his knees and sticks his
hands in the general vicinity of my balls.

Where exactly
are you supposed to look when there is a man between your legs cupping your nut
sack and he isn’t a doctor asking you to bend over and cough?  His head?  Deep
into his eyes when he glances up at you to yell at you for squirming?  I’m
sorry but I can’t stand still when there is all this unwelcome ball-handling
going on.

I really don’t
see why it’s necessary to take four measurements that go from where my balls
hang to my ankles.  My balls haven’t moved; you’re going to get the same number
each time so just write the fucking number down and move on - preferably to a
spot away from my nuggets.

Is a store owner
even qualified to do this shit?  Doesn’t he need some type of degree or
something before he can just go off wielding a measuring tape and sticking pins
in people?

I glance over at
Drew and he is looking up at the ceiling and whistling like it's no big deal, 
like he always has strange people with their hands all over him while they are
eye-level with his junk.  Wait, look who I’m talking about!  It probably had
just happened to him at the gas station a half hour before we got here.

“Claire needs to
chill.  If your parents don’t hate
me
by now, they don’t hate her.  I’ve
done much worse things to them over the years, believe me,” Drew says.

“Yeah.  I know. 
My mom still brings up what you did to her parakeet back in high school.”

Drew rolls his
eyes.

“That wasn’t
even my fault.”

“Uh, you opened
the cage and it flew straight into the glass door and died,” I remind him.

“Is it my fault
that thing was stupid?” he argues.  “I thought it would just fly around the
room, maybe shit on the carpet.  How was I supposed to know it was suicidal? 
It’s your mom’s fault really.  She should have known her bird was depressed. 
And frankly, what I did to her Mynah bird was way worse.”

Steve spends a
few minutes pinning the legs of my pants and gives me a reprieve from ball
cupping.

“That bird is
still
saying ‘Where my ho’s at, bitch?’ whenever my dad whistles.  My mom couldn’t
get the bird to stop so she put a ban on whistling in the house,” I tell him.

“I really
thought she’d be more pissed about the ‘Jesus loves me’ one.  It was just
boring every time your mom said that and it replied, ‘This I know.’  ‘Jesus
loves me,
fuck a ho’
is much more entertaining,” Drew explains.

The person
measuring him tells him to turn around so his back is to me.