She shakes her head, laughing at me as she starts prepping the veggies to go into whatever she is making. I go to the table where I study words with Rachel.
“Kay, set the table,” she calls out to me.
I walk over to see that she has done some pasta primavera and it looks delish, but I see the container of Parmesan cheese next to her. “I can’t eat that. You put cheese in it,” I complain to her.
“It’s okay,” she whispers to me. “I won’t turn you into the vegan police. We’ll pretend it never happened.” She serves up some pasta onto plates for the kids.
I open the freezer, squealing when I find a frozen meal. “Score. Look! Tofu ravioli! Saved!” I do a little dance on my way over to the microwave, raising my hands in the air and shaking my ass as I pop it in. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!” I continue dancing till the microwave beeps.
I pull it out, peeling off the filmy plastic cover, and wave it under Lauren’s nose. “Smells so good, right?”
She nods, but I know she is totally lying. Throughout the meal, the kids tell her about their day. Rachel tells me that today someone threw up in class because someone else farted. Apparently, this is hilarious to her, since she is in stitches about it as she retells the story.
As soon as everyone finishes eating I round up all the dirty dishes looking at my sister, seeing her tired eyes. “I’ll clean up. You go give the kid a bath and do homework.”
I rinse and put all the dishes in the dishwasher while I clean up the kitchen and it almost looks like I didn’t burn anything today. Well, almost. The smell is still lingering. When I see Lauren go upstairs I take out a couple of candles, lighting them around the room, then dim the lights and put on some light jazz music.
When Lauren comes back downstairs, a full glass of a crisp, perfectly chilled white wine is waiting for her. “Aww, if you weren’t my sister—and I were into chicks—I’d make you my woman.” She grabs her glass and curls up on the couch with her feet under her.
“So, tell me about this boss of yours?” I prompt her as I sip my own wine.
“Oh, where do I start?” She closes her eyes. It’s like she is in a trance.
“Good-looking?” I ask, curious as to what has my sister going tick-tock like a bomb.
She nods her head and finishes off her glass of wine in one long gulp. She picks up the bottle, pulling the cork out with a pop, and pours herself another glass. “Too good-looking.”
“Fit or chunky?” I ask. I usually start off with little questions till we tackle the big things like penis size, full package size, does he hang left or right? Can you see it or is it flat?
“Fit,” she answers, thinking, then taking another gulp till it’s half drained. “Very fit.” She looks around before leaning into me and whispering, “I think he has a six pack.” I try to not laugh out loud while she drains the rest of her glass.
“Hair color? Eye color?” I fill up her glass again. To most people it’s just wine, to my sister it’s like a truth serum.
“Brown and hazel-green with gold specks.” She drinks a little more.
“Facial hair? Would you get a burn from his beard or not?”
She looks up and blushes a bit. I don’t say anything. Instead, I hide my smile with my wine glass. “Depends on the time of the day. He was clean-shaven this morning, but he had a good five o’clock shadow going by three o’clock.” Her head falls back on the couch, while she closes her eyes like she is thinking of him.
Sitting up straight, I look at her and finally see something I haven’t seen since pencil dick fucked her over. “You like him?”
Her eyes snap open as she turns to me, denying it, but I know that look. “No! No, I don’t. Absolutely not. I don’t like him at all.”
She giggles as she takes another sip. “He hit my freaking car, Kay, and then the asshat asked me if I was drunk.” She tries to plead her case. “Drunk at fucking eight a.m.”
It’s that final sentence that I know she thinks of him more than she cares to admit, even to herself. “He’s gotten under your skin! There hasn’t been anyone who’s pushed you this far. Well, there was Pacey from Dawson’s Creek…” We all know how that turned out. She called the television station and tried to have the show cancelled and banned. We won’t even mention the petition she tried to start on Facebook.
“Hey!” She points at me. “Joey went sailing with him all summer! Just because Dawson is there and crying, she thinks she should be with Pacey. He was always her choice.” She now pours herself another glass, spilling it.
“Do you think he manscapes?” I ask while I put my glass down on the table.
“I have no idea, but I would guess it’s probably manscaped. I mean, who doesn’t manscape these days?” She looks over and wonders.
I am not here nor there. It’s a choice really. Just because I like to be well groomed doesn’t mean everyone feels the same. “Some like to be free and let things be natural; there is nothing wrong with that. Don’t judge. Well, unless you have to suck his dick, then by all means, you put your foot down. You don’t need to be choking on long pubic hair. In fact, if you think it isn’t, then just run. Run fast, like he’s waving a bomb in front of you.” I use my hands to mimic an explosion.
“Shoes?”
“Nice. Black ones.” She looks at me, my eyes opening wide. “And clean. Very nice.” Her pet peeve when your shoes are scuffed. She won’t even mow the fucking lawn in scuffed shoes.
“Teeth? Straight? Crooked? White? Stained? Stinky breath?”
“I don’t know.” She looks confused.
“Big hands?”
“Oh yeah, so big.” She opens her hands wide to make me see how big, but she shakes them a bit. “This big.” She motions with her hands, making big circles. So from what I got he has hands just like the toy green hulk hands that Gabe has.
“You think he has a big dick?”
She stops moving. “He would have to. You can’t be that good-looking and have a small penis. Actually, maybe that’s why he’s such an asshole! His penis is small. He has small penis syndrome.” She looks at me, waiting for my input. “I mean, why else would he be smoking hot and an asshole, unless”—she giggles—“unless it’s so big it hurts when he walks.” She puts her hand over her mouth and laughs out loud, as if she is keeping the biggest secret ever. “I can’t sleep with him. He’s my boss and besides, he doesn’t even like me.”
She rises from the couch, picking up her glass of wine and spilling whatever was left in it on the floor. “I need a dog, so if I spill something, he can lick it up.”
I watch her and silently laugh at her. Having a dog that drools and pees all over the floor would send her into the mental ward.
“You think we can get a dog and train him to bite my boss?”
“Yes, I think you just need to bring a picture and a sweater with you to training school so they can use his scent. They’ll train the dog to attack your boss as soon as he gets close.” I nod my head, agreeing with her.
Her mouth forms an O. “Oooh, we need to look into that.” The next thing I know she is walking toward the stairs, going upstairs, while I follow her. She stumbles over the last step and falls on the bed face first.
She opens her eyes, blinking at me, the tears forming at her lower lid. “You think he doesn’t like me because I’m old? Or ugly? Or is it because I’m fat?”
I lean over and stroke her cheek. “You are not old. You are the opposite of ugly, and you are definitely not fat. He acts like he doesn’t like you because he probably likes you too much. Remember Ricky in the third grade who chased you with a frog because he loved you? This is just the adult version.” I make a mental note to find this fucker and slice his tires. If he fucks with her, that is.
“No way would he go for someone like me. He did say I had a tight ass, though. That means he was looking at it, right?”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “He was definitely checking you out.” She closes her eyes while I continue talki
ng, “Why wouldn’t he check you out? You’re hot, smart, and you have a tight body and a great smile. Your whole face lights up when you smile. You don’t do that enough. Now if it makes you feel better, I think tomorrow we will make beef vegan soup, minus the beef obviously, but I wonder what we can use to make it brown. I should Google that.” I don’t say another word because her snoring fills the room. I stare at her, hoping that her boss just relaxes before she goes crazy.
Chapter Four
Kaleigh
I didn’t pray hard enough because for the next two weeks it was downhill, with her slipping him Dulcolax and him giving her a porn virus on her computer. She went fucking nuts on that one. No matter how many breathing techniques we tried to center her. But the more she thought about him, the more the vein in her neck started to tick. Till she did the unthinkable. She put itching powder in his pants, as a joke, of course. How was she supposed to know he would end up in the hospital? It was all too much for me, so finally on Saturday night I left her and went to let my hair loose. I had way too much fun, so much fun I snuck out at eight while he lay face down. His surfer lanky body was exactly that.
I unlock the door, hoping to sneak in so they don’t see me in last night’s outfit, but there she is in the middle of the kitchen enjoying a nice hot cup of java.
“Oh, the walk of shame. Nice. Very nice.”
I sit at the counter, hoping she takes pity on me, but of course she’s an evil bitch ever since she started with her boss.
“What’s a walk of shame?” Rachel asks, and she looks over at me with her eyes as big as saucers.
“It’s when you are still wearing last night’s clothes,” I disclose to her and then I whisper to Lauren, “After they were on the floor of the hot guy whose cock you rode all night.” And then I throw my fist, pumping.
Lauren smacks my arm and picks up Rachel. “You get to wear the pretty dress today. Are you excited?” she asks while I rub the sting away from my arm.
“So excited! We get to go get our hair fixed?” She throws up her hands, mimicking me.
I smile at Lauren, mouthing to her, “She’s going to be just like me.”
Lauren glares at me, probably adding me to her list of enemies. “Now when are people expected for the anniversary party?” I ask as the doorbell rings, and she lets in the caterers. We go upstairs to get dressed so we can leave the caterers to do their thing while we get pampered. I jump in the shower quickly and make it out just in time to slide on a summer tube dress. Closing my bedroom door behind me, I come face to face with Lauren.
“I hate you. How can you shower and be dressed in five minutes and still look like it took you an hour to get ready?”
“Good genes. Wait till you see my outfit for later.” I wink at her, bouncing down the stairs to the front door.
Even Gabe comes along for the fun that is all things hair and makeup. Well, not fun for him, but he pretends. Once we get home, we all rush upstairs to change with only twenty minutes to spare.
I hurry into my room and pull out my pink sundress that I bought for this occasion. I pull out the same color bra. My mother should be happy. It’s tight on top and flares up a bit at the waist, with pleats to my knees. It’s chiffon so every time I walk it swooshes around my knees. I pull out my cream heel shoes that tie around the ankle, going down to a T at the toes. I look out just as I see something in the backyard that shouldn’t be there. “Is that a penis balloon? “Umm, Lauren? I think you should see this,” I yell at the same time the doorbell rings. I walk to the back door and take in the scene before me. “Jesus.” I don’t have time to say anything before the door opens and my parents walk in followed by their friends and Lauren finally comes down the stairs. I try to signal her with my hand, but she is too busy being a good hostess. I grab a glass of champagne that is set up on the counter, downing it in one gulp and grabbing another glass right away. The caterer is smiling at me. “Not now.”
“Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.” Lauren greets them with a hug.
“Thank you, dear,” my mom says, hugging her in return.
“Please, everyone, come in. I had the backyard set up for our brunch.” She points the way to the backyard.
“I think you need to see outside before everyone else does,” I say with my teeth clenched, which confuses Lauren because she tilts her head to the side.
“What are you talking about?” she asks me and then the doorbell rings again. Lauren answers it before I do. Big mistake, because the person on the other side of the door makes Lauren catch flies by opening and closing her mouth. Standing there is a guy holding a huge chocolate bouquet.
She gasps in shock when she sees that all of the chocolates are made of penises and the pail holding them is adorned with a huge pink bow. “I have a delivery for Lauren,” he announces, looking at the clipboard in his hand.
“I…” she stutters while he pushes the pail into her hands. “I didn’t order these.” I look down and see that there are both white chocolate and milk chocolate ones, all on white sticks. She shakes her head, while he walks to his truck that is parked in the driveway and comes back with two more pails. “I don’t want this,” she finally says to him, but he’s just a delivery guy, so he just smiles and leaves.
“Oh my God,” I say from beside her. “Don’t freak out.” I look at her, seeing that she is starting to sweat, and her hands are starting to shake. Plus, I can hear her heart beating.
“Why would I freak out?” she asks right when my mother yells from outside. I try to stop her from walking in the back, but she
walks past the caterers, who are still preparing.
When she opens the door to the backyard, her eyes survey the scene as her mouth hangs open at what she sees.
She looks at the white tables she ordered that are all set up with the turquoise tablecloths that were also requested. The little glass vases are holding the white flowers in them just like she ordered in the center of each table. Except there are also bouquets of balloons—all white and turquoise, each one stamped with a penis.
Now, as if that isn’t bad enough, there are also approximately fifty two-foot tall pink, penis-shaped helium balloons. The penis has a smile on the head and a blue bow around the shaft. They are all floating around the yard.
“Oh my God, oh my God!” she cries, looking over to see that there are penis straws in all the glasses. The table in the corner that she had set up for the cake is now filled with cupcakes with little penis cake toppers.
“Dear, what is this?” my mother asks her with a forced smile on her face.
My father is holding a glass of scotch, which he is sipping, mind you, through a penis straw.
“I didn’t order this. They made a mistake.” She looks around, making sure everyone hears her.
One of the servers walks by with the chocolate penises. Of course, my mother grabs one before she even realizes what it is.
“Grammy, why are you eating a chocolate willy?” Rachel asks. “Look, Momma! It’s just like Gabe’s willy!” She grabs a balloon and runs over with it.
I look over at the guests, who are all snickering at this point. “Surprise!” I yell, trying to diffuse whatever fuck up this is. I also make a note to warn whoever did this, because it looks like I’ll be digging a grave tonight. “You guys are in for a treat!”
Mom’s best friend, Sarah, comes up to me. “I love it. It’s very liberating. And fun.” She giggles as she takes a sip of her drink through her own penis straw.
Lauren looks like she is about to have an epic meltdown, and we didn’t even serve the meal yet. We hear a knock on the side gate and in walk, or should I say saunter, two men I have never seen before in my life.
They both look like they just stepped off the pages of a GQ Magazine. One is dressed in blue jeans and a linen button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His silver Rolex is on his wrist, and his gold aviator glasses are on his face. A dusting of two days’ worth of stubble gives him an edge.
“Oh, I’m s
orry. I don’t mean to crash your party,” he says with a megawatt smile on his face.
The other guy who walked in with him has blond hair, long on top, but seems like he just brushed it back with his hands, so it falls on his forehead a bit. His blue eyes are the color of light blue with a darker blue around. A little scuff is on his chin, but nothing big. He’s dressed in a white button-down shirt that is covered by a navy sweater, the cuffs and tail of the white shirt sneaking out. He has one of those beaded bracelets on one hand and his own black Rolex. His jeans are darker blue color jeans. One of the knees is torn. Tight-fitting, with the cuffs rolled up. White shoes finish off his look. My eyes automatically go to his package, and what a package it is. Nice and full, rounded. You know his dick has to be huge. Either that or he’s stuffing that shit. The way he stands with his head high, shoulders square, it has to be all him. I don’t know who he is, but he is checking out all the penises, his eyes bulging out of his head. He turns and looks at the other guy and covers his mouth with his hand. It is in this moment that I know my sister has been played.
“You.” She points at the bearded one.
He walks up to Lauren, turning his smile at Mom. “You must be Lauren’s sister,” he says, kissing her hand.
She smiles and throws her head back and laughs.
“Oh, you silly boy. I’m Deidra, Lauren’s mother. You can call me Dede,” she invites while she smiles at him.
“You can call her nothing, because you’re leaving. Now. And”—she turns to him—“how did you know where I live?”
“Lauren, stop being rude to the guests,” my mother scolds while my father walks over and introduces himself.
“Hello, son, I’m Frank, Lauren’s father.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head furiously. “He isn’t a guest. This is my former boss.” She looks at him, while my mouth now hangs open. “I quit. Done. Finished. Finito. I’m out,” she snaps with her hands on her hips.
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