Love and Lists (Chocoholics) (3 page)

There’s an awful, screeching feedback from the speakers as they stand facing one another, screaming into the microphones, and I wince as my mom greets me with a kiss on the cheek.

“Save me. Please, with all that is holy, save me. Get up there and sing something in tune.” Her face is contorted in pain as Aunt Jenny continues to screech.

I used to sing in a band in high school. I’m not going to brag or anything, but I was pretty good. The band, not so much. I only joined the band to impress Charlotte because she made a comment once about how guys in a band are “so hot.” Our one and only gig, was at Keystone Point Senior Center’s annual Christmas party—I know, contain your excitement—and after we finished our set that consisted of a death metal version of “Silent Night” and a moving rendition of “Head Like a Hole” from Nine Inch Nails, I realized quickly that the whole band thing worked. Just not for me. Charlotte came running up on stage, flew right past me, and into the arms of the base player. It turns out guys that are in a band
who play the guitar
are “so hot.” And that was our only gig because we were asked not so nicely to never play in public ever again.

Standing in the middle of the stage clutching my microphone, I tried not to throw it right at DJ’s head as he lifted Charlotte up in the air and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“You looked so hot playing that guitar!” Charlotte gushed as she peppered DJ’s cheeks with kisses.

DJ looks over Charlotte’s shoulder and smirks at me. Before I knew what was happening, the microphone sailed through the air, slamming against the back wall and barely missing DJ’s face.

“Dude, what the fuck?” DJ shouted as he set Charlotte down on her feet and looked behind him at the dent that was now in the wall and the microphone rolling to a stop on the ground.

“Uh, it slipped.” I shrugged.

Charlotte looked back and forth between us before calmly walking over to the back wall and scooping up the microphone. She turned and brought it over to me.

“Are you mad about something?”

I’m mad that you don’t think singers are totally hot!

I took the microphone from her hand, trying not to look like an idiot when I felt her fingers brush against mine. “Nope. Not mad at all. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Is this part of the show? Can I throw something? I want to throw a speaker,” one of the old people in the front row said to a nurse.

“I don’t want to eat peas for dinner anymore!” an old guy piped up from the back row, getting up from his wheelchair and kicking one of the tires.

Uh-oh.

“Sorry, folks! That wasn’t part of the show. How about we play some Jingle Bells next?” I asked the crowd hopefully.

“SCREW JINGLE BELLS! AND SCREW BINGO! BINGO IS A SHITTY GAME!” a lady in front of the stage screamed.

Before I knew what was happening, thirty old people were getting up out of their chairs and wheelchairs and chanting “BINGO SUCKS,” advancing on the nursing staff.

DJ came up next to me and whispered in my ear while we watched the chaos unfold in front of us. “Dude, I think we should make a run for it.”

“It will be fine. Let’s just play something low-key to settle them down.”

DJ quickly started strumming the first few bars to Silent Night and suddenly thirty pairs of cataract eyes turned in our direction. “NO! WE WANNA HEAR METALLICA!”

DJ immediately stopped playing and clutched on to Charlotte’s arm as the group of blue hairs started advancing toward the stage.

“Oh Jesus. Forget the equipment. RUN!” I screamed.

“Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll sing a song or two later,” I say with a sympathetic smile as Aunt Jenny butchers the words some more. I haven’t sang on stage since that dark day at Keystone Point, but I’m all for doing whatever I can to help my mom out.

“I guess that’s Joe, we don’t have pot, but at least I’m sure of allllllll the snot.”

“Hey there, Claire. You’re looking especially lovely today,” Tyler says as he leans in with his lips puckered for a kiss.

My mom holds her hand up in front of her, and Tyler’s face is smooshed against her palm. She’s only five foot four and a hundred and five pounds soaking wet. Tyler towers over her at around six foot, but she will kick anyone’s ass if they piss her off.

“Stop calling me Claire or I will neuter you.”

Tyler pulls back with a huge smile on his face and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I look forward to our time together, honey.”

“Make him stop,” mom deadpans.

“Tyler, stop.”

Tyler sighs happily and continues to smile at my mom until she finally shakes her head in annoyance and walks away.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tyler shrugs. “I can’t help it. Every time I look at her, all I can think about is sex.”

“I’m very uncomfortable with this conversation right now,” I complain.

“It’s your fault for marketing a dildo called
The Claire
.”

I shudder and grab him by the arm, dragging him over to a table where my dad and Uncle Jim are sitting. “That thing was invented when I was six. You can’t hold me responsible for that.”

It’s true. My company manufactures sex toys named after each female member of my family:
The Claire
,
The Liz
, and
The Jenny
. Do you have any idea how disturbing it is that the highest grossing product for the last eighteen years is one named after my mom? I have to read daily emails from customers that say things like, “
Claire
is the only one that can get me off,” and “I was able to have multiple orgasms with
Claire
!” and “My wife screams
Claire
when she orgasms, and I’m perfectly fine with that!”

I want to puke just thinking about it.

“Hey, Uncle Jim, Dad, what’s going on?” I ask as we walk up to the picnic table where they’re sitting.

My dad and Uncle Drew met Uncle Jim ages ago when their job transferred them to another city. Uncle Jim had worked for the same company for a few years and was in charge of showing my dad and Uncle Drew the ropes on their first day. Uncle Jim invited them over for dinner that first night and they’ve been friends ever since. My dad and Uncle Jim are a lot alike. They have the same sense of humor and are great family men. They used to look similar when they were younger, but my dad has definitely aged more gracefully. Or should I say not aged at all. He’s like Dick Clark. You know, before the whole dying thing.

My dad still works out regularly and stays in great shape. There isn’t one gray hair on his head. Uncle Jim is tall and lean, and I’m pretty sure has never worked out a day in his life. The guys like to tease him about how he should dye his brown hair since it’s started graying at the temples, but Aunt Liz always puts her foot down. She says it makes him look sophisticated. I think she just tells him that so he doesn’t cry himself to sleep at night.

“Your Aunt Liz said you guys had a great production meeting the other day. Something about a contest you decided to do to name the new sex toy?” Uncle Jim asks.

“You should name it
The Beaver Banger
. Or
The Tyler Tickler
,” Tyler says with a laugh.

“Tyler, you get more and more annoying every time I see you,” Dad says with a shake of his head.

“Thank you, sir! How’s your cholesterol? Can I get you something fried and dipped in butter?” Tyler asks as he takes a seat across from him.

“Stop trying to kill me off Tyler or I’m going to shove my foot up your ass.”

“Very good, sir!” Tyler nods.

I hear a commotion over by the deck and all the breath leaves my lungs when I turn and see the sliding glass door open and Charlotte step outside.

She’s wearing a pale yellow strapless dress, and with her hair up in a ponytail, I can see so much of her sun kissed skin that I unconsciously lick my lips.

We should have put “lick her skin” on the list. It wouldn’t be weird at all if I just walked up to her and ran my tongue across her shoulder, would it? I could tell her she had a piece of food there or something. Totally normal.

Our eyes meet across the yard and a huge smile lights up her face. She squeals and comes running down the stairs of the deck in my direction. I can’t keep the excitement from my face as I start walking to meet her halfway.

When she’s a few feet away, I start to lift my arms to grab her in a hug.

“Hey, Gavin,” she says as an afterthought, running right past me and throwing herself into Rocco’s arms.

Rocco, who’s standing right behind me and I hadn’t even noticed.

Dejected, I stand there and watch as he swings her around in his arms and peppers her face with kisses.

Fucking Rocco.

I walk back over to the table and stand behind my dad and Uncle Jim. While I’m busy trying not to throw up in my mouth from the PDA going on right in front of me, let me tell you a little bit about Rocco. Charlotte met Rocco three months ago at her sorority mixer. Rocco is a year younger than her and had just pledged the brother house of her sorority. Rocco has blonde hair that he regularly gets highlighted. Rocco always wears khakis and pastel-colored polo shirts with the collar popped and loafers without socks. No, I’m not kidding. I met Rocco once and I wasn’t impressed. This is the first boyfriend Charlotte has had that lasted longer than a few weeks and therefore, I want to kill Rocco. Today is the first time the family is meeting Rocco, so I’m hoping everyone else will see that there is something wrong with this guy. He probably seems okay to you right now: nice hair, swanky dresser, and member of a fraternity. But just wait. You’ll see what I’m talking about.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s been too long! We should never spend this much time apart ever again. I had to watch the last two new episodes of
The Kardashians
all by myself,” Rocco complains with a pout as he sets Charlotte back down on her feet.

Charlotte laughs a little uncomfortably and I watch as she pinches him in the arm and he shoots her a dirty look. I doubt anyone else notices that little exchange, but I do because I’m obsessed with everything she does.

“Did I say
The Kardashians
? I totally meant … football. I had to watch FOOTBALL all by myself.”

She grabs Rocco’s hand, turning him to face Uncle Jim.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Rocco. Rocco, this is my dad, Jim Gilmore.”

Uncle Jim stands up and extends his hand out to Rocco. Rocco ignores the hand and throws both of his arms around Uncle Jim and squeezes him in a hug that lasts entirely too long by the uncomfortable look on Uncle Jim’s face.

“Charlie has told me so much about you! Can I call you
Dad
? It’s okay if I call you
Dad
, right?” Rocco asks excitedly as he finally lets go of Uncle Jim and steps back to Charlotte’s side.

“If you call me
Dad
I will chop off your dick and leave you for dead on the side of the road,” Uncle Jim states before sitting back down.

“Oh, Charlie, you were right! Your dad is quite the character! I already feel like part of the family. Dad, you have a lovely home,” Rocco gushes as he wraps his arm around Charlotte’s waist.

“Someone get me my shotgun,” Uncle Jim mutters to himself.

“What’s up, fuckers?” Uncle Drew asks as he walks up to the table. “What song should Jenny and I sing next, any requests?”

Rocco raises his hand excitedly. “Oooooh, I’ve got one! Do you know the words to ‘Don’t Rain on my Parade?’ I love me some Barbara-OUCH!”

Rocco’s hand flies to his ribs after Charlotte elbows him.

“I’m like, totally kidding, dudes. It would be some epic shit if you could sing Megadeth,” Rocco adds in a weird, deep voice.

“Who is this tool?” Drew whispers in my ear.

“He’s Charlotte’s boyfriend. She met him at school,” I whisper back as Rocco starts banging his head and attempting to sing death metal.

“What school did he go to, Closet State?” Drew mutters.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Charlotte asks Rocco, interrupting his singing.

“I would KILL for a white wine spritzer, sweetie. I’m so parched,” Rocco informs her as they walk away, hand-in-hand toward the row of coolers back by the deck.