“Oh, this is fun! I’ve missed talking about Mister Ed!” Aunt Bobbie announces, raising her glass in a cheer and taking another drink.
“This is NOT fun. Nothing about this is fun. This is a very serious problem and you cannot tell Sam you know anything about it, he would be mortified,” I warn them.
“Someone explain to me why Viagra can’t help Mister Ed?” Aunt Bobbie asks, completely ignoring me. “That little guy sure did like those blue pills before. Times may have changed, but Viagra and Mister Ed will always remain the best of friends.”
I’m pretty sure I’d rather be rubbing my ass on a pee-covered toilet seat cover right about now.
“He’s got a problem with the finish line, not the starting gate,” Scheva tells her, grabbing the martini from her hand and taking a sip while Aunt Bobbie smiles and nods, giving me a sympathetic look.
My mother shakes her head. “I still don’t understand.”.
“He’s having trouble with his dismount,” Aunt Bobbie adds.
“Can’t stick the landing?” Scheva suggests when she sees the confused look still in place on my mother’s face, handing the martini back to Aunt Bobbie.
“He can run up the hill, but can’t make it over the top.”
“The hose is in the garden, but it’s out of water.”
“The skin flute is in the band, but can’t play the finale.”
“The firework is lit, but never explodes.”
“Oh, my God, now I’M confused!” I shout, throwing my hands up in the air and giving Scheva and Aunt Bobbie a dirty look.
“Ohhhhhh, I get it now,” my mother smiles. “Mister Ed can write a check, but he can’t cash it.”
Scheva gives her a high five and Aunt Bobbie raises her glass in another toast. None of them even care that my fiancé’s chances of dying are increasing each time they open their mouths.
“Look, Sam is going to be here any minute. He’s currently on high blood pressure medication as a result of having so many bat-shit crazy people in his life now, which is the cause for…Mister Ed,” I spit out, not wanting to say the damn horse name but refusing to use the words erectile dysfunction since he absolutely does NOT have a dysfunction. Unless you count marrying into this family, which has now been confirmed requires prescription drug use. “Since he is the only hope right now of you ever getting another grandchild at some point in the future, you need to make sure you do everything you can to make sure he remains calm, not stressed, and keeps his blood pressure down, got it?”
Considering my mother has been begging for another grandchild, and seeing how my brother Nicholas and his wife just provided her with her first one in December and have no plans to have more anytime soon, Sam and I are her only hope for another one to spoil within the next few years. I know her weakness, and I’m not ashamed to use it for my own personal gain, for Sam’s health, and for the health of our sex life.
“I always do whatever I can to make sure the people I love are calm and happy,” my mother says with a huff. “And to prove what a team player I am, I’m going upstairs right now to box up all of our X-rated DVD movies and give them to you and Sam.”
Before I can tell her to stop talking, the door opens up behind us and Sam walks in. As soon as I see him, all I can think about is that stupid prescription bottle and how if he’d never met me, he wouldn’t have any of the problems he’s having now. He says hello to everyone and moves to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back against his chest.
“Sorry I’m a little late, we had a couple of issues at the tux place. What did I miss?” he asks, resting his chin on top of my head, thankfully unable to see the warning look I shoot toward my mother.
She brushes my glare off with a wave of her hand and steps to the side of us to rub Sam’s back soothingly.
“I’m giving you and Noel an early wedding present,” she tells him. “At least 4,000 viewing hours of stress-free enjoyment so you’ll be able to put Mister Ed out to pasture once and for all.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Aunt Bobbie announces, tossing back the rest of her drink, linking her arm through my mother’s and pulling her toward the stairs.
“Do I even want to know what your mother is talking about?” Sam asks as we watch the two women scramble up to the second floor.
“Nothing you need to be concerned with,” Scheva assures him. “Pay no attention to them when they start talking about a horse playing with fireworks and watering the garden. It’s a fairytale that absolutely does not end with Mister Ed being dropped off at the glue factory for failure to get his cart over the mountain.”
I slyly give Scheva the middle finger down by my waist and she laughs before leaving us alone in the hallway to race up the stairs after my mother and Aunt Bobbie.
“Do I-”
“Nope, you absolutely do not,” I interrupt him, turning around in his arms and clasping my hands behind his neck. “Let’s just go sit down on the couch, put our feet up and relax. Doesn’t that sound nice? I’ll even give you a backrub while we wait for dinner. Just a nice, peaceful, relaxing evening with nothing to worry about.”
Sam gives me a strange look, but I smile at him, grab one of his hands and pull him into the living room. It’s not like me offering to give him a backrub or do anything else nice for him is out of the ordinary, but I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m either high or I’ve lost my mind. There’s never been a nice, peaceful, relaxing evening in this house since the day my parents moved in and he knows it. Lucky for him, I’m hell-bent on making sure that’s exactly what he gets from now on.
There is no way I’m going to let the love of my life die from a heart attack or never be able to have sex with me again just because my family is certifiable. I will keep these people calm and in order if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 4
Lucifer’s Waterfall
Sam
I should probably ask Noel if everything is okay. Scratch that. I should make her tell me what’s wrong. She’s acting weird, and I don’t like it. One of the things I love most about her is that she can be feisty and isn’t afraid to give her opinion or argue her point. Especially when it comes to the craziness of her family. Her willingness to just brush everything strange that happened with her mother, Aunt Bobbie, and Scheva under the rug and offer to give me a backrub immediately, tells me she’s not okay. The weirdness is completely normal. Hell, I’ve come to expect it every time one of them opens their mouth. But her not wanting to complain about it or discuss it with me like she usually does? Not normal.
Unfortunately, I forget about everything I want to say to her as soon as Noel pulls me into the living room.
“What in the hell happened in here?” I whisper in shocked awe and maybe a little fear as I look around the room.
“It looks like a craft store threw up all over the place,” Noel whispers back.
“Jo-Ann Fabrics, to be exact,” Bev adds, walking around us and shoving a huge blue tote into my arms. “I had a fifteen-percent-off coupon that couldn’t go to waste.”
“Mom! That’s too heavy! Here, I’ll take that,” Noel scolds, quickly snatching the tote from my arms, the weight of it bringing her entire body forward until it slams to the ground at my feet. “You just sit down and put your feet up.”
I watch in confused irritation as Noel grunts and huffs as she tries to lift the tote back off the ground, finally giving up and getting behind it to push it across the floor and into the corner of the room. She comes back over to my side and gives me a pat on the back and a smile.
“I could have carried that over to the corner,” I tell her, unable to be mad when she’s standing so close and rubbing her hand up and down my back.
“Nonsense. You just have a seat and don’t worry about anything.”
She tries to shove me toward the couch, but I hold my feet steady and refuse to move.
“Noel, what is going on?”
“What’s going on, is that everyone should be ha
ppy I didn’t pay full price for these Mason jars,” Bev interrupts, holding up two glass jars in her hands. “Saving money should make Mister Ed very happy.”
Noel groans and Aunt Bobbie raises her glass and nods her head in agreement.
“Mom, we already discussed this. No Mason jars,” Noel complains.
I knew as soon as I proposed to Noel on Valentine’s Day that her family would go crazy with planning the wedding, and I was right. We’ve spent the last four months trying to convince her mother that we just wanted something small and intimate in their backyard. After a month of Bev dragging us to every venue in a fifty-mile-radius, each one more pretentious and fancy than the last, Noel put her foot down and threatened to go to Vegas alone to get married if she didn’t stop trying to make this the wedding of the century instead of something small, like we wanted.
“But it says on Pinterest that Mason jars are all the rage,” Bev complains. “We can put flowers in them on each table. Or fill them with little colored rocks and water and have goldfish swimming in them. How cute would that be?!”
“No,” Noel states.
Bev rolls her eyes and shoves the two jars back into a cardboard box on the coffee table, walking over to another box by the fireplace.
“Fine, what about these little chalkboards? We can write anything we want on them, like Cake Table, Gift Table, Candy Bar!” she tells us excitedly, holding up a small chalkboard with a wooden frame.
“No, no chalkboards. And what the hell is a candy bar?” Noel asks.
Bev tosses the chalkboard into the box and walks over to yet another one on the couch, pulling out a huge glass jar.
“You put a bunch of different sized containers on a table and fill them with candy. How fun is that?!” Bev asks.
“No.”
Noel crosses her arms in front of her, holding her ground.
“Noel, the people of Pinterest have spoken. Mason jars, chalkboards, candy bars…it’s called Shabby Cat and we’re doing it.”
“I believe you mean Shabby Chic, my love,” Aunt Bobbie corrects.
“Whatever,” Bev says with a wave of her hand. “If you’re forcing me to put on a wedding in our backyard on the Fourth of July, you have to give me something. Give me Shabby Chic, Noel. GIVE IT TO ME!”
Aunt Bobbie sets her glass down on top of the fireplace mantle and walks to Bev, grabbing her upper arms and taking a few deep breaths.
“In with the good, out with the bad, Beverly. Remember, this is all about keeping Mister Ed calm,” Aunt Bobbie reminds her.
The two woman spend a few minutes breathing together when Reggie walks up behind us. I feel a little better now that he’s here. There’s only so much crazy wedding talk one man can handle all by himself.
“What’s going on? Why does my living room look like a craft store puked all over the place?”
“Nothing is going on, dear. Everything is fine, dear. We’re all remaining calm, dear,” Bev tells him with a big smile as Noel moves over to the boxes and starts rummaging through them.
“Are these mini bird cages? No,” Noel states, holding up one of the metal cages with a cringe.
“You could use them instead of the Mason jars on every table. But you’re right, it’s too much. I’ll call the pet shop and cancel the order for fifty doves, one to put in each of them. Whatever you want, dear,” Bev tells her with a smile.
I have no idea why Bev is suddenly being so agreeable with Noel and I don’t like it. This feels like the calm before the storm and pretty soon, I’m going to be ducking punches and breaking up a chick fight.
“Why is there a chainsaw and wood carving tools in this box?” Noel asks, pushing the box of bird cages aside and lifting the flaps of a box in the corner.
“For the ice sculpture, silly,” Bev laughs. “Your father is quite crafty. I ordered a few big blocks of ice from Amazon so he can practice before the big day.”
“You can order ice from Amazon?” I ask, deciding to finally join in on what’s happening here instead of standing on the sidelines.
“You can order a seventy-five-gallon drum of lube from Amazon. Spoiler alert, happy early wedding present!” Aunt Bobbie announces.
Aaaaaaaand now I’m back to wishing I would have kept my mouth shut.
“Dad is not carving an ice sculpture for the wedding. No ice sculptures! We told you, we just want something small and simple. A little Fourth of July picnic in the backyard with a few people,” Noel reminds her.
“I don’t know, I kind of like the ice sculpture idea. Adds a little class to the backyard wedding,” Scheva tells her, shifting from one foot to the next like she has to pee.
“Don’t put down our backyard wedding,” Noel warns. “It’s going to be small and intimate and sweet.”
“I’m not putting it down. I’m just saying, people will be more agreeable to sitting outside in ninety-degree heat if they have a way to cool off, like standing next to a giant block of ice,” she suggests, still bouncing around on her feet while rubbing her thighs together.
“Scheva, sweetie, do you have to pee?” Bev asks her.
“No, I don’t have to pee. I’m just having a small problem with my nether regions,” she informs us.
Reggie dry heaves and Aunt Bobbie perks up, moving over to Scheva’s side.
“Oh, tell me more! Alex is a strapping young lad, I bet he never watches Mister Ed.”
Noel makes a choking cough sound and Bev pats her on the back.
“Actually, Alex and I broke up and this is exactly why,” she states, pointing to her crotch.
As much as I want to cover my ears and run from the room, I really do want to know what happened between her and Alex so I can help my friend out. Even though I managed to get him showered and out of the apartment earlier, he went right back to curling up in his recliner and making a call to Lenny to bring him more wings as soon as I dropped him back off at his place.
“Ahhhh, so your vagina just wasn’t cutting it, huh? Had one too many poundings and now it flops around in the breeze? Totally understandable,” Aunt Bobbie says with a sympathetic nod.
“Who has the sloppy twat now?!” Noel adds, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Scheva.
“If you twits don’t stop talking about twats, I’m gonna go get my gun!” Reggie yells.
“Sorry, Mr. Holiday, you might want to plug your ears for this,” Scheva says with a shrug before turning to glare at Aunt Bobbie and Noel. “For your information, I have a yeast infection and it’s all Alex’s fault.”
She pauses to scratch between her legs, letting out a contented sigh while I try not to throw up in my mouth.
“How exactly is that Alex’s fault?” Noel questions.
“He had a sinus infection and a cold last week. He was going downtown and he coughed. Right into my vagina. Obviously he gave my vagina his germs, that’s why I have a yeast infection, and that’s why I can’t be with him anymore.”
No one says a word for a few seconds while Scheva continues to scratch her crotch like a dog with fleas.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how yeast infections work. And I’m pretty sure you broke up with him because he was getting too serious and it freaked you out,” Noel adds, finally saying something I can work with.
“Honey, who are you calling?” Bev suddenly asks as we all turn toward Reggie to see him pull his cell phone out of his pants pocket and start pushing buttons.
“I’m calling the men in white coats to take me away. You all have lost your damn minds and you’ve taken me with you. Sam, if you have half a brain in that head of yours, run. RUN, DAMN YOU, RUN!” Reggie shouts.
Figuring I can come back to the Scheva and Alex problem later, I realize I need to change the subject before Scheva starts rubbing herself on the arm of the couch and Reggie really does get his gun and opens fire.
“Actually, I kind of like the ice sculpture idea,” I quickly tell the room, hoping Noel doesn’t want to kill me. “Some of the ideas the last few months ha
ve been a bit much, like hiring a skywriter to fly overhead and spell out our names in smoke, building a hedge maze in the backyard and conducting the ceremony inside of it, or saying our vows in a hot air balloon. But an ice sculpture? I can get on board with that. They’re kind of cool.”
Bev claps her hands excitedly and looks at Noel.
“See? The ice sculpture is brilliant! Your father’s thumb has finally recovered from that silly little accident carving the American Flag into the tree stump for the Fourth last year, so it will be perfect!” Bev explains.
“Silly little accident?” Noel scoffs. “He nicked an artery almost bled out all over the carving.”
Reggie snorts. “It was just a flesh wound. And I didn’t have to go out and buy red paint to color the flag when it was finished. That’s a win all around. If Sam here can pinky-swear he won’t touch your carton of milk before the wedding night, I’ll carve you up something nice and pretty, free of charge. And by free of charge, I mean I won’t cut off his dick while he sleeps.”
I swallow nervously and try not to piss my pants when he gives me a side-eye glare. Ever since Noel brought me home for Christmas to pretend to be her boyfriend and meet her family, Reggie has threatened my manhood and referred to Noel’s vagina as every kind of milk product he can think of. Something to do with buying the cow when you can get the milk for free. I usually ignore him, but ever since we got engaged, he’s gotten more hardcore with his intimidations. It almost makes me want to tell him about the problem I’ve been having so he knows that isn’t an issue. But then I’d have to also reassure him that regardless of my problem, his daughter has been completely satisfied every time, and I’d like my dick to remain in my pants and attached to my body, thank you very much.
“No ice sculpture,” Noel states again, glaring at her mother.
“Come on, what’s the harm in a little carved block of ice? I bet Reggie could make a really nice swan holding a heart or something. I’ll supervise your dad and make sure no appendages are cut off,” I reassure her.
“There will be one appendage cut off if you’ve been dipping your stick in strawberry Yoplait. That ice sculpture will look like a crime scene, mark my words,” he whispers to me under his breath.