Love and Lists (Chocoholics) (7 page)

Charlotte’s thumb starts tracing small circles on top of my hand, and I’m pretty sure the clanging of the table is about to commence in two seconds.

“Brooklyn is really pretty. A little crazy, but pretty. Does she make you happy?”

She makes me happy when she’s passed out cold.

“Totally happy. She’s great.”

When she’s not speaking. Or breathing.

“That’s good. I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you as happy as Rocco makes me.”

Why can’t Rocco just die already in a fiery crash?

“Are you guys ready to order or do you need a few minutes?” Our waitress interrupts as she stands next to the table with her pen and notepad.

Charlotte takes her hand off of mine and moves it into her lap. I want her hand touching me again. It’s such a casual thing for her to do, but it has me all tied up in knots. Now my penis has switched from a majestic, mythical bird to a fire-breathing dragon that wants to destroy the town. It’s time for me to attempt the next item on the list, though, so I need to chill the fuck out.

“I’ll have the Steak Diane and she’ll have the Shrimp Scampi,” I tell the waitress with a confident smile.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” Charlotte replies, giving me a funny look.

Shit! How could I forget that! Okay, be cool. Try again.

“I know, I was just making sure you remembered. Actually, she’ll have the petite filet.”

The waitress crosses it out and writes down the new order.

“I’m not really in the mood for steak,” Charlotte states.

“Okaaaaay, she’ll have the grilled chicken and avocado club.”

Why is this so much cooler when guys do it in the movies?

“I don’t like avocado. It’s mushy and gross.”

Son of a bitch!

At this point the waitress has crossed off and scribbled so much on the first page that she has to flip it over and start on a second page.

“Southwest chicken sandwich?”

Charlotte makes a face and shakes her head.

“Four cheese pasta?”

She shakes her head again and I start to panic. I already closed the menu and handed it to the waitress so I could look cool and smart. Now I look like a tool because I can’t remember anything else on the menu. At this point it would probably be best if I could smack my penis into the table. It’d be more entertaining than this train wreck.

“What would you suggest?” I ask the waitress, trying to give her a look with my eyes that says “Help me the fuck out with this!”

“I would suggest you let her order for herself,” the waitress replies in a bored voice.

She is so not getting a twenty percent tip.

“You can order anything on the menu!” I tell Charlotte with my best air of authority.

“Yeah, thanks. I was planning on doing that anyway. Are you okay?”

No! I’m not okay because I love you and you won’t love me back if I don’t even know what the fuck you want to eat!

“I’m great! Money is no object.”

Now Charlotte and the waitress are both looking at me like I’m a douchebag, but I can’t shut up.

“She’ll have the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“Seriously, I’m fine with just soup and salad,” Charlotte states.

Soup and salad only costs ten dollars. That does not make me look cooler than Rocco.

“And she’ll have a bottle of wine. I’ll have a bottle too. As a matter of fact, buy those people a bottle of wine as well,” I tell the waitress, pointing at two women sitting at the table next to us.

“You want to order wine for people you don’t know?” the waitress asks.

Don’t question me. The customer is always right, God dammit!

“We’ll also have a cheesecake. A whole cheesecake. And so will those ladies over there.”

“I’m pretty sure those ladies are already eating cheesecake,” the waitress tells me.

Can you just help me the fuck out already?!

“Really, I don’t need a whole bottle of wine. Or an entire cheesecake.”

“We’ll just have one of everything on the menu.”

Take THAT, Rocco!

“I think I’ll give you guys a few minutes,” the waitress mumbles.

“No, no, it’s fine. He’ll have the Steak Diane, medium-well, I’ll have the French onion soup with a side salad and Italian dressing, and we’ll each have a glass of Moscato,” Charlotte explains with a smile as she hands the waitress her own menu.

And just like that, the next item on the list dies a slow, painful, emasculating death.

It’s probably best if I take a few days off from the list. My mental state demands it. It’s the last Friday of the month and that means Chicken Paprikash day. My mom makes the best Chicken Paprikash in the world and always invites a few people over when she makes it once a month. Tonight, my grandfather and his wife Sue are going to be joining us.

My grandfather George is pretty bad-ass. For the first few years of my life we lived with him, and I have some of the best memories ever from that time. He always let me watch whatever I wanted on TV, and I could swear as long as I never told my mom. My grandfather is the king of stringing together long, completely inappropriate words that hardly ever make sense but sound good coming out of his mouth when he’s pissed off. He used to let me practice my run-on sentence curses until one day I said “Shit-poop-hell-freak-monkey” and I was banned from cursing. He shook his head at me sadly and told me he was disappointed in my lack of effort.

I haven’t seen Pops in a few weeks, and since the entire freaking family is now aware of my love for Charlotte, I’m assuming he is too since my mom can’t keep her mouth shut. Hopefully he’ll be able to give me some good advice. He’s been married twice; he’s got to have
something
useful for me.

I walk into my parents’ house without knocking and see my grandfather sitting on the couch watching the Game Show Network. What is it with old people watching game shows? When I’m old, please don’t let me ever fall asleep in my recliner watching reruns of Family Feud.

“It’s about time you got here. There’s too much estrogen in this house,” Pops complains as he lowers the volume on the TV.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“Sue’s in the kitchen with your mother and Sophie.”

“Dad’s here, isn’t he?”

“Like I said, too much estrogen,” Pops deadpans.

Flopping down on the couch next to him, I let out a great big sigh.

When Pops doesn’t say anything, I sigh again, hoping he’ll get the hint.

“Just spit it out, kid. You know I don’t do the whole touchy-feely thing, so don’t expect me to ask you what’s wrong.”

I should be used to his crass bedside manner by now, but I’m not. Being subtle isn’t one of his strong suits.

“So, there’s this girl I’m in love with—”

“Yeah, Charlotte, I heard,” he interrupts. “She’s not out of your league, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Well thanks a lot. I wasn’t thinking that at all until now.

“She doesn’t know that I’m in love with her. We’ve known each other since birth, and it’s a little hard to just come right out and tell her at this point,” I explain.

“Stop being a pussy and just tell her,” Pops replies.

“But what if she doesn’t love me back?”

Pops shrugs and turns back to the TV. “Then grow a pair and get over it. Jesus mother of fuck Christ in a piss shithole, dick for brains, the answer is bathtub.”

Well, this little talk sure helped to boost my confidence. As I get up from the couch to go in the kitchen and check on dinner, Pops grabs my arm and pulls me back down next to him.

“Sometimes I get a little nervous too. Here,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a bottle of pills. “Take one of these vitamins. They’re good for brain stimulation and all that shit. Maybe they’ll help you strap on a set and use that brain of yours to figure out a way to come clean with Charlotte.”

Pops opens the lid and dumps two of the pills in my hand and then hands me his glass of water on the coffee table in front of him. Downing the pills in one swallow, I figure if they don’t help stimulate my brain into coming up with a better idea for showing Charlotte I’m in love with her, maybe they’ll calm my nerves about the ribbon cutting ceremony later tonight, or give me strong bones at the very least.

Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right at all. I want to have sex. I always want to have sex, but right now I want to have sex with the giant pair of scissors I’m currently holding in my hand and that wouldn’t be good at all. Sex and scissors should never mix.

I could totally fit my penis into the finger holes, though.

I’m also contemplating having sex with the drainpipe attached to the building to my left. And maybe even sticking it to the Rhododendron bush to my right. I wonder if anyone would notice if I got down on my stomach and just started rubbing myself against the curb? Is it still illegal to have sex with trees in Ohio? I need to stick my penis in something right the fuck now.

I glance out at the crowd of people gathered in the parking lot of Minney’s Adult Mart and wipe the sweat from my brow. Seduction and Snacks is the only distributor for Minney’s, so this ribbon cutting ceremony is a pretty big deal. I don’t have time for whatever is going on with me right now. I feel like I’m fifteen again and a gust of wind can get me hard.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you. You look like you want to kill someone. Or rape the pair of scissors you’re holding. Are you feeling okay?”

I glance at Tyler standing next to me and notice he’s wearing corduroys. Those would feel really good right now if I rubbed my penis against them. All soft and rough at the same time. Like a ribbed condom, but better.

“Why are you looking at my legs like that? Stop it,” Tyler scolds.

Shaking the dark thoughts from my head, I quickly turn away from him and try to think of something other than sex.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I was fine at my parents’ house but started feeling funny on the way over.”

That woman has really pretty knees. I’ve never had sex with knees before.

“I hope that is a real fucking gun in your pocket and you’re not excited to see me, otherwise this friendship is over. I don’t swing that way,” Tyler says in disgust as he stares at the crotch of my black dress pants.

Looking down, I realize I have the world’s biggest hard-on tenting the front of my pants. I quickly turn away from the gathering crowd and un-tuck my dress shirt from my pants to try and cover it up.

“Oh my God, why won’t it go down?!” I whisper yell.

“Try thinking about your mom naked. Wait, never mind, that just got me hard,” Tyler says with a laugh.

“God dammit, shut up! Shit. Baseball, Pops taking a dump, puppies dying, Barney,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes closed. “Holy fuck this is starting to hurt. Why won’t it go away?”

“Wait, this is a serious problem? I thought you were just kidding,” Tyler says after a few minutes of watching me mumble.

“It’s a serious fucking problem! It feels like there’s a penis inside of my penis trying to claw its way out and fuck everything in sight! I have to cut this ribbon in fifteen minutes. I can’t stand in front of all of these people like this,” I complain.

“Actually, this is probably the best place for you to be with this type of problem. I’m actually surprised there aren’t people whipping it out in the parking lot. Try smacking it,” Tyler suggests.

Before I can tell him that’s a dumb idea, the palm of his hand smacks against my dick with the force of a two-by-four. I immediately bend over at the waist and start dry heaving and calling Tyler every name I can think of.

“Hey, Tyler! Is Gavin okay?”

Oh holy fuck, Charlotte is here!

I can hear her heels clicking on the sidewalk, bringing her closer and closer.

“Oh my God! She can’t see me like this!” I panic, fumbling with the scissors and trying to get them to cover me.

“Hey, number five on the list is totally gonna happen right now!” Tyler says, clapping his hands together in glee.

“I’m not showing her my penis!” I whisper.