“No, he didn’t come right out and say it, but I could tell. And I don’t know, there’s been a bunch of other little things here and there. He was all weird at your rehearsal dinner, smacking the champagne out of my hand and he’s made these comments about how he won’t be dragging me to the altar and how he’s glad he’ll never have to worry about asking my dad for permission because my dad still scares the shit out of him,” I tell her.
“Um, not to butt in here or anything, but do you think maybe he’s saying stuff like that because he knows how you feel about the whole subject? Maybe he really does want to marry you but he doesn’t want to freak you out about the whole thing since you’ve made it clear your parents left a lasting impression on you in that area,” Jenny says from the back seat with a surprising amount of insight.
“Shockingly, I agree with Jenny. Until you sit down and talk to him about this, you’re just going to keep jumping to conclusions and making yourself miserable. I love you, Claire, but you’re acting like an asshole,” Liz says as she pulled into the Adult Mart parking lot. “You know what happens when you assume things.”
I let out a sigh. “You make an ass out of you and me.”
She maneuvers the car into a spot right next to the guys and shuts off the car but makes no move to get out.
“No, you just make an ass out of you. Me, I would never be this assy,” she replies. “You love Carter and it is obvious how much he adores you. Stop being a dick, man up, and talk to him. Sit him down and tell him that you don’t really have a late night porn addiction but you’ve been secretly watching wedding shows and sneaking into the magazine aisle at the grocery store in sweats, slippers, sunglasses, and a trench coat to scan the bridal magazines like some deprived housewife needing a Playgirl fix,” Liz tells me firmly.
“Ooooh, I love Playgirl!” Jenny said. “I have a prescription to it. I learned how to deep throat while hanging my head off of the end of the bed last month. You know how in the movie ‘The 40-Year-Old Virgin’ Steve Carell screams out Kelly Clarkson’s name when he’s getting waxed? Drew screamed out Willie Nelson’s name when he came. It was so hot.”
“Oh my God, Jenny. Too much information,” I tell her with a grimace as I cover my mouth with my hand and swallow back a little bit of vomit I burped up at the thought of that moment in time in Jenny and Drew’s bedroom.
“Hey, are you feeling okay? You look a little green,” Liz states as we opened our car doors and step out into the night air.
I take a few deep breaths and will my stomach to calm and not bring up dinner.
“And what the hell was wrong with you tonight drinking pop at Lorenzo’s? That’s like blasphemy,” Liz tells me as she clicks the automatic door lock on her keys and the car horn beeps once. “You’re not pregnant are you?!”
She and Jenny start cackling with laughter as they walk ahead of me to meet up with the guys who stand holding the door to the store open for us.
I trail behind them a few steps, the smile dying from my lips as I start doing calculations in my head. I stop in my tracks a few feet from the front door and stare in horror at Carter.
He gives me a heart-stopping smile and in response, I throw my hand over my mouth and run to the bushes on the edge of the sidewalk, depositing two slices of pizza, two glasses of pop, and my dignity onto the front lawn.
18. Benjamin’s Balls
As we walk up and down the aisles of Adult Mart, I keep a close eye on Claire. She looks better after throwing up her dinner, but I'm still worried. I’ve never seen her sick before, unless you counted hangovers, and it puts me on edge. I hate that she's coming down with the flu and there is nothing I can do to make her feel better.
“This has burnt nut sac written all over it,” Drew yells from the end of the aisle, interrupting me from my thoughts as he holds up a candle that doubles as massage oil when it's melted.
I reach for Claire’s hand and give it a squeeze as we make our way down one aisle, glancing at things as we walk. I watch her carefully out of the corner of my eye, looking for warning signs on her face in case I need to rush her out of the store to defile more shrubbery.
“I’m fine, stop staring at me,” she says without looking at me.
“Sorry, I’m just making sure you aren’t going to throw up on the carpet. Out of all the fluids that are stained on this floor, I’m guessing vomit isn’t one of them.”
“Oh that’s disgusting,” she says with a laugh.
Seeing her smile puts me at ease a little bit. If she can still laugh, she isn’t dying from some horrible, unnamed disease.
Claire suddenly stops and moves in front of me with a serious look on her face.