Troubles and Treats (Chocolate Lovers 3)

I think my beer has something funny in it. I feel funny. Funny is a funny word.

“Oh sweet mother of f**ks,” Liz says with a sigh. “So you and Drew haven’t been on a date in months. You haven’t done anything, just the two of you, in months. Is that correct?”

I nod my head and pick up my cup to find my beer gone.

“Who the f**k drank my beer?”

Liz takes the empty cup out of my hand and chucks it into the garbage can next to our table.

“I need a cigarette. WHO’S GOT A CIGARETTE?!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

Don’t judge me. Sometimes I get the urge to smoke when I drink. I think I read somewhere that alcohol causes you to want to do things you shouldn’t, like rob a bank or kill a hooker. Wait, no. I think that’s crack.

“Oh Jesus, do NOT let her smoke,” Liz mutters to Claire.

“You can’t tell me what to do if you won’t even look at my VAGINA!” I complain.

“YAY VAGINA!” some guy yells as he walks by our table.

“WOOOOHOOO VAGINA!” I shout back. “Hey, stud! Give me a cigarette!”

The very nice gentleman stops and runs back to our table and hands me a cigarette, lighting it for me since I probably shouldn’t be in charge of anything that can set things on fire at this moment.

I inhale and immediately start coughing and dry heaving.

“Fuck, she’s going to puke,” Liz complains. “Take her mind off of it.”

Claire pats me on the back and takes the cigarette out of my hand, tossing it over into the grass a few feet away.

“Okay, here’s the deal, Jenny. Next weekend, you and Drew are going out together alone. Carter and I will take Veronica and Billy so you guys can go to dinner and do whatever. If you guys are in the groove and you don’t want to stop to call me, we’ll just keep them overnight,” Claire tells me as she and Liz help me up from the table.

“I love you, Claire Bear. You’re the best ever,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her waist and put my head on her shoulder.

“I love you too, but I’m still not looking at your vagina.”

Chapter 17 - Jackson

“No, Veronica, you are not having candy for lunch,” I tell my daughter for the third time as I help her out of the car and then race around to the other side to unstrap Billy from his car seat before he starts screaming his head off.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I WANNA BEAT YOU UP WIGHT NOW!” she yells in the middle of the driveway while stomping her feet.

Canada, take me away…wait, Canada? Is that right? Why would I want Canada to take me away? They really need to rethink that commercial.

I ignore Veronica’s temper tantrum over not having candy for lunch while I try to shush Billy who just woke up from the car ride and is not a happy camper. He’s screaming in my ear and smacking me with his little fists, Veronica is screaming by my leg, and I’m trying to pretend neither one of them exist as I reach into the backseat of the car and grab my purse, diaper bag, and the four bags of groceries I just picked up on the way home.

Taking two grumpy children to the grocery store should automatically win me mother of the freaking year. Why do people give me such pissy looks as I’m hurrying up and down the aisles while the kids are screaming? Do they think I pinch my kids so they’ll cry and ruin everyone else’s shopping trips? Maybe I've purposely decided to go to the store when I know my kids will be the worst behaved. I do it just to piss off all of the old, childless people who are stocking up on Metamucil and Depends.

As soon as I get all of the bags in my arms and heft Billy up higher so I don’t drop him, the two heaviest bags break open at the bottom and the milk, apple juice, a jar of tomato sauce, and jar of pickles go crashing to the driveway and shatter all over the place. I’m just about ready to cry and sit down in the middle of the mess when I feel a hand on my back and a voice behind me talking to Veronica.

“Hey, little cutie! Look at the pretty flower I just picked. How about you go on inside and help mom put it into a glass of water?”

I turn and see a guy around the age of twenty or so, bent over, handing my daughter a huge, beautiful sunflower. She immediately stops shouting, smiles up at him, and runs towards the front steps.

The guy stands back up and turns to face me, and I notice for the first time that he isn’t wearing a shirt.

Holy f**king sweaty six pack abs. I am so grateful for Indian Summers in Ohio. Yesterday it was snowing and today it’s in the seventies.

Billy seems to be just as taken with this guy as Veronica had been and has stopped his fit of rage and is now staring straight at the guy. I can’t help staring myself. He’s gorgeous. He’s about six feet tall, has shaggy, sandy blonde hair, and pale blue eyes. He looks like he could be a surfer. But there aren’t surfers in Ohio. Or are there? I mean, Lake Erie turns into the ocean like a mile out, doesn’t it? That’s how we get waves on the shores of the lake. I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere.

“I hope you don’t mind about the flower. I have a niece her age and she loves flowers. My name is Jackson, by the way. I just moved in across the street.”

I shake myself out of my stupor of staring at his naked chest and grab the hand he has held out for me. I had seen him move in a few weeks ago and we've shared a couple of neighborly waves whenever we're outside at the same time, but I have never seen him up close.