“'Cuz I like it. 'Cuz I’m a man.”
“I’ve heard you like to talk about your wiener a lot. Why do you do that?”
‘Cuz it’s stupid. I crapped my pants.”
Gavin laughs out loud at himself.
“Excuse me? You know you aren’t supposed to say that word,” I scold.
“I can’t say the s-h-p word either. What the heck am I ‘sposed to say?” Gavin asks with a roll of his eyes.
This is what I have to deal with. Am I supposed to correct him when he spells “shit” wrong? Why the fuck hasn’t anyone printed a parenting handbook yet?
“What’s your favorite thing to do?”
“Fart in everyone’s face,” Gavin says in between giggles. “FART!”
“You sure like to say ‘fart’ a lot,” Lisa says with a laugh.
“’Cuz I like saying it forever, punk!”
I put my elbow on the table and my head in my hand. There is no point in even trying to put a stop to this train wreck.
“What do you like better, cookies or girls?” Lisa questions.
“My mommy makes yummy cookies. Girls are stupid. Except for Mommy ‘cuz she has boobs,” Gavin replies earnestly.
“Gee, thanks, sweetie,” I mumble as I lift my head and glance at Lisa to see if she looks as horrified as I feel.
“When you grow up, who do you want to marry?”
Obviously, the fact that any chance at a Pulitzer for this interview is long gone doesn’t matter one iota to this woman.
Gavin gets up on his knees on the bench seat and places a loud, wet kiss to my cheek.
“I want to marry Mommy. We’ll kiss and we’ll marry and I’ll take her on dates and we’ll be best friends forever and make lots of phone calls with each other.”
No, no, no, no. Just...no.
“Phone calls? Do you mean you’ll call your mommy a lot when you’re older?” Lisa questions.
Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t do it.
“No, we’ll make phone calls like Mommy and Daddy do when they go into their bedroom and lock the door and yell and make weird noises,” Gavin replies.
17. Midget and Donkey Shows
“When asked if he enjoyed preschool, the precocious four-year-old asked me if I was the police. When I told him that no, I was not the police, he informed me that I should go to jail and called me a ‘dicky punk’.”
Carter laughs as he reads the magazine interview aloud. Lisa had sent me an email copy of the interview right after she finished it so I could look it over, but seeing it in print in one of my absolute favorite magazines that I have read cover to cover for years and only dreamed about one day being in makes me feel a little sick to my stomach.
“How can you laugh about this? This isn’t funny.”
“Gavin is quite obviously fond of both of his parents. When asked what his favorite thing about his father was he replied, ‘He tucks me in at night and tells me that if I eat my green beans my wiener will grow big and strong just like his,’” Carter reads with a laugh.
“I’m buying that kid a Porsche. He just told all of America that I have a big, strong penis.”
I shake my head at him and get up to dump the rest of my now cold coffee into the sink and rinse out my cup. My morning coffee, which usually brings me close to orgasm and gives me the strength to make it through the day, leaves me feeling queasy. I’ve only been able to stomach two sips of it. I'm guessing that the combination of seeing my name in print in my most beloved food magazine and listening to Carter read back to me the embarrassment of that day three weeks ago is the culprit for my upset stomach.
“Claire, this interview is awesome. She raves about how amazing you are by making your dreams come true and how absolutely delicious everything you make is. This is going to drum up so much business for the store. You should be proud,” Carter tells me. “Although, I really think we need to sit down and talk about this porn comment. I get that you’re uncomfortable about it, but you don’t need to be with me. I like porn. I like to watch porn. I would especially like to watch porn with you,” he states as he set the magazine down on the kitchen table, stands up, and walks over to me.
He rests his hands on the counter on either side of me, caging me in. He presses his body up against my back and places a kiss to my shoulder. I sigh, memories of the last time we stood like this in the kitchen flooding my mind. Even having my mother walk in on us doesn’t diminish the hotness that is kitchen sex.
“What’s really going on in that head of yours?” Carter asks as he rests his chin on my shoulder and we stare out of the little window above the sink. I watch Gavin in the front yard, sitting on the walkway right in front of the porch drawing with sidewalk chalk. “I can tell something has been on your mind, so what gives?”