Jenny uses the age old finger gesture of a penis going into a vagina by making a circle with her index finger and thumb and using the index finger of her other hand to move in and out of it.
“Eeeew, what? That’s disgusting,” I whisper, smacking her hands to get her to stop making that motion with her fingers as I hand the customer her chocolate.
“It’s not disgusting,” Jenny says. “It’s romantic. Drew wants a replica of my…” she glances at the customer and then lowers her voice “…love tunnel so he can be with me whenever we’re apart.”
I step away from her to ring up the customer, trying not to picture Drew holding on to some little floppy, silicone vagina-looking thing, talking to it in a baby voice like it's Jenny. “Oooooh, I wuv my wittle fake Jenny-vagina! Yes I do!”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just get him a blow-up doll and tape your picture over its face?” I ask as I watch the customer leave the store with her purchase and hope she didn’t hear enough of this conversation to prevent her from ever stepping foot in here again.
Jenny shakes her head at me in pity. “You have absolutely no sense of romance, Claire.”
I huff in indignation as I get busy filling a box with chocolate covered strawberries for an order that's being picked up after lunch. I am plenty romantic.
Just this morning while he slept, I had left Carter a box of his favorite candy next to his pillow–Globs: piles of white chocolate covered, crushed potato chips and pretzels drizzled with caramel. I figured it would soften him up to the note I placed next to the box telling him if he left the toilet seat up one more time and my ass got an involuntary bath at six in the morning, I would put super glue on the head of his penis while he slept. I had even signed the note with a couple of Xs and Os.
Who says romance is dead?
I close up the box of strawberries and finish it off with my signature pink bow and a sticker with the name and address of the store. Setting it aside, I turn to face Jenny and find her inhaling an entire pan of white chocolate covered Nutter Butter cookies that I had been experimenting with that morning.
“Jenny, put the chocolate down and step away from the tray slowly.” I speak to her in my best hostage negotiator voice. “I wanted to ask you if you’d be able to help out with a few things for me, but I knew you were busy with work,” I explain as I reach around her and take the tray from her hands before she harms herself or others with her unemployment gluttony.
“Work!” Jenny says with a whimper as her lip starts to quiver. She reaches out with both hands and grabs back onto the tray of half-empty chocolates.
“Oh Jesus, will you let me finish?!” I scold as I smack her hands.
She sighs and finally lets go of the tray of chocolates, spitting out a half-eaten Nutter Butter into the middle of the pile before she turns to face me.
“Those are delicious, but I feel kind of pukey right now,” she mumbles, putting a hand to her stomach.
I move the tray far out of her reach and my line of sight before I myself become pukey.
“As I was saying, I have a bunch of things you could do for me here. I need a website created and maintained, advertising managed, and everything that goes along with marketing this place that I know nothing about. I got a call just the other day from a magazine wanting to set up an interview, and I have no idea what I’m doing. I know it’s not your ideal job, and I probably can’t pay you anywhere near as much as you’re used to making, but in the interim, until you find something else, would you like to work for me?”
The squeal that erupts from Jenny breaks the sound barrier and makes small dogs throughout the land howl in terror. She throws her arms around me and bounces up and down, making me feel uncomfortable once again at the displays of affection people feel the need to give.
“Thank you so much, Claire! I promise you won’t be disappointed. I will do such a good job you’ll want to bang the shit out of me!”
I glance up to see my dad standing behind Jenny looking like he’d rather eat the regurgitated chocolate covered Nutter Butter at that moment than inadvertently hear our conversation.
“I just…I’m gonna…my dog has the hungry,” he mumbles before turning and walking away.
Jenny lets go of me and watches as he quickly exits the shop. “You’re dad has a dog?”
I shook my head and let out a deep sigh. “Nope.”
3. He Went to Jared
“Hey, Carter, when I drunk dialed you last night, did I by any chance mention where I put my keys?” Drew asks as I walk into the living room.
He rummages through the couch cushions, cursing and pulling out loose change, McDonald Happy Meal toys, and other goodies he finds in the cracks and crevices. I grab my baseball cap off of one of the end tables and stick it on my head before turning to watch him.
Drew and I haven’t shared a living space in months, yet somehow, even now that Claire and I are living together, I still manage to find him passed out on my couch every once in a while.
“How did you even get home last night if you didn’t have your keys? And I hope you know that I use the term “home” loosely. As much as I enjoy your company and watching you stumble drunkenly around my home at four in the morning when Jenny won’t answer her door because she thinks you’re an axe murderer, this is not where you live. Even though you might think so since I always seem to answer the door and let you in.”
A cell phone sails out of the couch as Drew continues to dig to China in search of his keys. I walk over and scoop it up, putting it in my back pocket. Now I remember why I let Drew in the door. He isn’t afraid to stick his hand down into the bottom of a couch. I had known exactly where I lost my cell phone; I was just too afraid to go in search of it. There are scary, scary things living in the bottom of those cushions. Something I had quickly found out was a direct result of living with a child.