“It’s a Halloween wedding, and you’re wearing a costume,” Scheva growls.
“You said this was a meeting to discuss any final changes to the outfits. Well, I’m making a final change. I’m NOT wearing the costume you picked out for me,” Noel argues.
“You will wear it and you will like it!”
“You made me a cardboard box you expect me to wear, painted like an oven, with a picture of a baby inside that rests right over my stomach. YOU’RE COOKING A BABY!” Noel screams.
“IT’S A BUN IN THE OVEN, AND IT’S CUTE!”
“IT’S NOT A BUN IN THE OVEN. IT’S AN ACTUAL BABY IN THE OVEN. BABIES DO NOT GO IN OVENS!”
“DON’T PISS ME OFF OR I’LL MAKE YOU WEAR THAT FLUORESCENT-GREEN TAFFETA MATERNITY PROM DRESS WITH THE GIANT PUFFY SLEEVES I FOUND AT GOODWILL!”
“You wouldn’t!” Noel fires back, attempting to push herself up from the couch, her belly getting in the way and making her fall back to the cushions five times. I sit next to her and do nothing but watch.
I could be a gentleman and help her up from the couch, but then I’d just be convicted of aiding and abetting when Noel finally gets to her feet, charges Scheva, and chokes her to death.
Noel finally manages to push herself up from the couch and waddles over to Scheva, getting right in her face.
“I’m NOT dressing up as an oven.”
“Yes, you are. I already bought Sam’s chef costume so you two match, and it’s too late to change the entire theme of your matching costumes,” Scheva argues.
“I’m dressing up as a slutty witch, or a slutty kitten, or a slutty devil, just like I do every year, and you’re not going to stop me!”
“This is so hot,” Alex whispers as he watches our women scream at each other from his spot next to me, perched on the edge of the couch.
“That’s my pregnant wife you’re talking about.”
Alex shrugs. “Yeah, so? Pregnant porn is hot. Don’t tell me you’ve never watched it.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Thank you,” he replies with a smile.
“ALL RIGHT! THAT’S ENOUGH!” Reggie bellows, walking into the living room and handing a fresh martini to Aunt Bobbie before cracking open the can of beer in his other hand. “Noel has already ruined our family name by not decorating for the holidays over the last year, I don’t need the neighbors gossiping more about us because they can hear you two screaming about cooking babies and slutty kittens.”
He turns his angry look in my direction, and I cower back into the seat cushions. Reggie blames me for Noel’s refusal to decorate the outside of our house for any holidays since last Halloween. No one in this neighborhood would even know or care that we haven’t decorated, since we live thirty minutes away, but that doesn’t matter to Reggie. Noel became a little superstitious when every holiday we spent together after we first met turned disastrous.
We met in an airport bar a few days before Christmas, and she convinced me to come home with her and pretend to be the boyfriend she’d recently broken up with after he proposed to her. But I got shot with a BB gun when we toured the house from A Christmas Story, and Aunt Bobbie was so high on drugs, she was convinced she saw a squirrel wearing a sweater.
Then you have our first Valentine’s Day, when Bev brought home a stripper named Pinky to live with them, and everyone thought Pinky swallowed Noel’s engagement ring and they’d have to wait for her to shit it out to get it back. Not to mention Aunt Bobbie accidentally giving Noel Ecstasy instead of Xanax before a big job interview, which resulted in Noel attempting to strip and dance in the office of her interviewer.
And there was our first Fourth of July, our wedding day, where we were stalked by a half-dead, pissed-off zombie cat named Turd Ferguson, a few stray fireworks almost burnt my dick off, and Noel’s wedding dress went up in flames like a barn full of dry hay.
To say we’ve had some very eventful holidays is putting it mildly. Noel decided, starting last Halloween, that we would do whatever we could to ignore the holidays in the hopes that this would eventually bring us good luck. It seemed to work, too, until this past Easter, when Noel found out she was pregnant and tried to surprise me with notes hidden in Easter eggs. But her drunk Aunt Bobbie and even drunker best friend, Scheva, found the notes and switched them, and her sweet way of announcing the news turned into the most awkward conversation about anal sex that anyone has ever had.
“Dad, I told you why I haven’t decorated for the holidays, give it a rest,” Noel says with a sigh.
“And look what happened! You got knocked up and now you have to dress up like an oven,” Reggie grumbles.
“Pretty sure that’s not what caused my pregnancy.”
“IT WAS AN IMMACULATE CONCEPTION!” Reggie shouts.
“Can we please bring this back around to the wedding? MY wedding? The happiest day of my life, and the day all of you people will do exactly as you’re told and wear exactly what I’ve picked out for you?” Scheva interrupts. “Sam will be dressing as a chef, Noel will be dressing as a goddamn oven and will not bitch about it one more time, Aunt Bobbie will be dressing as Barbra Streisand—”
“I get to sing at the reception, right?” Aunt Bobbie interrupts. “I’ve been practicing ‘You Don’t Bring Me Flowers,’ and the ladies from Drag Queen Bingo will be disappointed if I don’t sing it.”
Scheva continues without acknowledging Aunt Bobbie. “And Reggie and Bev will be dressed as a priest and a nun.”
“How many fucks given? NUN!” Alex cheers with his fist in the air.
“Now, we only have a week left until the wedding. We have treat bags to make, pumpkins to carve, orange lights to string, and all of those god-awful clowns to remove from the front yard,” Scheva tells us.
Just like Noel and I, Scheva and Alex have decided to have a small, intimate wedding in Bev and Reggie’s backyard. Here’s hoping their wedding doesn’t end with a trip to the emergency room in the back of an ambulance and third-degree burns on anyone’s junk.
“THOSE CLOWNS STAY!” Reggie yells. “I’ve already got a plan ready for the wedding day. As soon as you asked if you could have the wedding here, I started collecting used wedding dresses. All of the clowns will be dressed for the festivities, and my display will remain intact for the judging ceremony.”
Yes, because nothing says “happy wedding day” like clowns dressed up as brides.
Noel stomps back over to the couch and flops down next to me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her against my side.
“You’re going to be the sexiest oven anyone has ever seen,” I whisper in her ear.
“Forget about cooking a baby. I’m going to chop off your balls and cook those instead.”
Did I mention how happy I’ll be when this Halloween wedding is over and our baby is finally out of my wife’s body?
Chapter 3: Apple-Butter Lube
Noel
“I can’t believe you’re just now telling me this. Also, you’re a dumbass.”
I pause from grabbing a small pumpkin out of the bin in front of me to glare at Scheva.
“I’m not a dumbass. And I didn’t want to bother you with it. You’ve got a lot going on right now,” I explain, putting the pumpkin into the wagon next to me.
Scheva decided late last night that she didn’t have enough small pumpkins for the table centerpieces at the wedding, and she sent out an S.O.S. text at midnight that we were all to meet her at our local pumpkin farm to stock up, first thing this morning.
While my mom and dad are busy in the field, picking out a few extra-large pumpkins for their front yard, and Alex and Sam are occupied in one of the old fields, a few acres away, watching the pumpkin launcher shoot pumpkins, Scheva and I finally have some alone time in front of the main building, at the bins of small pie pumpkins.
“You can’t possibly think Sam is cheating on you. Again. Didn’t we already go through this before? And besides, he fears your father too much to ever cheat on you,” Sch
eva reassures me.
“Fine, I don’t think he’s cheating on me, but he’s definitely keeping something from me. He’s been acting weird lately. And you know all that overtime he’s been working? I went up to the base the other night to take him dinner, and the guard at the gate told me he left hours earlier.” I grab another pumpkin from the bin and put it into the wagon, on top of the pile we’ve already accumulated.
“Aunt Bobbie has been acting weird lately too. Well, weirder than usual. Maybe she finally convinced him to start going to Drag Queen Bingo with her. I bet Sam makes a very lovely woman,” Scheva says with a laugh.
She walks over to the wagon, picks up the handle, and starts pulling it toward the cashier at the side of the building. I follow along, walking next to her.
“It’s probably just my hormones making me crazy, right? I mean, maybe the guard was wrong and Sam really was there.”
“Did you ask Sam if the guard was wrong and he really was there?” Scheva asks, stopping by the cashier and pulling her wallet out of her purse.
“Of course I didn’t ask Sam, are you insane?! I’m much happier thinking the worst so that when the truth finally does come out, I can be pleasantly surprised that all my fears were wrong, like a normal human being,” I tell her.
“You mean like a neurotic human being.”
“Same difference,” I shrug.
“All right, someone needs to back up one of their vehicles to the front of the building and help me load my haul,” Aunt Bobbie states, coming over to stand next to Scheva and me.
Aunt Bobbie disappeared as soon as we arrived to browse inside the pumpkin farm’s store. They sell all sorts of homemade goodies, like apple and pumpkin pies, apple cider, and freshly made pumpkin donuts from their bakery.
Aunt Bobbie pulls a mason jar out of the purse hanging from her shoulder and holds it up for the cashier to see. It’s got a pink label wrapped around the glass that says Steph’s Apple Butter.
“What’s the cinnamon content in this?” she asks.
“A very small amount. Just a dash, really. Enough for flavor,” the woman replies with a smile.
“Excellent. Cinnamon burns. I know that from experience. A dash should be just fine. I’ll take seventy-five jars,” Aunt Bobbie informs her before shoving the jar back inside her purse.
The woman’s mouth drops open in surprise.
“Aunt Bobbie, what in the hell do you need seventy-five jars of apple butter for?” Scheva asks, her nose scrunched up in confusion.
Aunt Bobbie laughs.
“You’re right. What was I thinking? That’s just crazy!”
The cashier’s face relaxes until Aunt Bobbie continues.
“Make it a hundred. You can never have too much apple-butter lube.”
Scheva quickly throws a wad of cash on the counter and thanks the cashier, both of us grabbing Aunt Bobbie’s arm and pulling her away before the cashier passes out and our family gets kicked out of yet another public place.
“Heeeeey! I need to pay for my apple-butter lube!” Aunt Bobbie protests loudly, causing a bunch of pumpkin-farm patrons to look in our direction.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Suzie Stick-Up-Her-Ass!” she yells at a woman who has stopped in the middle of the walkway to gawk at us. “I bet your husband knows what’s up with apple-butter lube.”
The man standing next to the woman blushes and quickly looks away from us.
“Yeah, that’s right. You’ve slathered some apple butter on your nether region before, admit it!”
Mom and Dad come walking up to us, each carrying a large pumpkin in their arms, as Scheva and I do our best to shush Aunt Bobbie and smile apologetically at the people watching this horrific scene unfold.
“Why is everyone staring at us?” Mom asks as she sets her pumpkin down by my feet.
“Oh, no big deal. Aunt Bobbie is just making sure we’re never allowed to come within a hundred yards of this place,” I mutter.
“Dammit, Bobbie! We’re already not allowed to go to Target and Starbucks anymore. And we’ve been banned from two Home Depots because of that incident with the leaf blower,” my dad complains.
“It’s not my fault the worker didn’t understand the sucking power of a machine he sells in his own store, Reggie. And it’s also not my fault he allowed me to demonstrate using the crotch of his pants. How was I supposed to know there was an emergency kill switch that would have prevented his penis from being covered in so many popped blood vessels that the thing looked like a bloody nightmare? He should have known his product better,” Aunt Bobbie protests.
“Taking a picture of it with your cell phone when the ambulance arrived was also probably a bad idea,” I remind her.
“I needed proof of the dangers of leaf blowers to send to corporate!” she says with a stomp of her foot.
“All right, as fun as all of this has been, we need to get these pumpkins home so the guys can start carving them,” Scheva announces.
“I’m not leaving without my apple-butter lube,” Aunt Bobbie pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Ooooooh, you can use apple butter as lube? Reggie, maybe we should get a few cases,” my mom muses, smiling at my father, who has moved a few feet away, looking anywhere but at our small group, pretending like he doesn’t know us.
Scheva starts to drag her wagon of pumpkins toward the parking lot. Aunt Bobbie stomps away with her, and my mother continues trying to convince my dad they should stock up on apple butter. I send a quick text to Sam that we’re getting ready to leave, and he replies immediately, telling me he loves me, and that he and Alex will meet us out by the cars.
Like always, I feel like an idiot for the thoughts I’ve been having about my husband. I’m sure he’s just been acting more out of sorts than usual lately because he’s anxious about the fact that we’re about to become parents. My family provides enough insanity in our daily lives; I don’t need to add to it by making up issues that aren’t even there. I really do have the best husband in the world. If we weren’t still getting dirty looks from half of the staff right now, I’d run inside and pick up a few jars of Steph’s Apple Butter myself, for us. Maybe by the time Halloween rolls around next year, it will be safe to come back.
Chapter 4: It’s So Tingly
Sam
A wad of pumpkin guts smacks me in the face, and I glare at Alex as he sets down his drill and stares at the pumpkin in front of him.
“Is it really necessary for you to use a power tool to carve these pumpkins?” I ask, swiping the globby mess off my cheek and flicking it onto my newspaper-covered kitchen table.
“I’ve already carved seventeen pumpkins, and you’re only on your third. I’d say having a power tool is a necessity,” he answers, standing back to look at his work.
“All you’ve done is drill a giant hole in the center of each one. At least I’m putting effort into mine and giving them faces,” I reply, holding up the gap-toothed jack-o’-lantern I just finished.
“It’s not a giant hole. It’s a glory hole. I’m making these pumpkins multifunctional for the male guests, since going to a wedding for a dude is hell on earth. They can enjoy the soft glow of the candle inside of it during dinner, or they can take one to the bathroom and have a little in-and-out fun. People will thank me.”
Shaking my head at him, I walk over to the sink and start washing some of the goo off my hands.
“I’m pretty sure your bride-to-be will not be thanking you when you explain what you’ve done.”
Alex tosses me a towel when I turn around, and I begin drying my hands as he starts loading the carved pumpkins into a few large plastic containers that we can pack into my truck and take over to Reggie and Bev’s later.
“Speaking of thanking me, you didn’t even give me any gratitude for the gift I brought you today,” he complains.
“These pumpkins look dumb and ugly.”
We both turn to look at Tia, the six-year-old girl sitting at my table, who stares with ann
oyance at the pumpkins Alex puts into the container.
“I’m supposed to thank you for volunteering us to babysit your neighbor’s kid?” I whisper to Alex as I come up next to him.
“Children are a delight—especially you, Tia, isn’t that right?” Alex asks her with a huge smile on his face.
Tia jumps down from my chair, walks up to Alex, and kicks him right in the shin.
“SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!” he shouts, bending at the waist and grabbing his leg.
“You said a bad word. I’m telling my mommy!” Tia scolds before storming out of the kitchen, her blond pigtails swishing back and forth as she goes.
“I SAID TWO BAD WORDS! AT LEAST I CAN COUNT!” Alex shouts after her.
“Real mature,” I mutter with a shake of my head.
“Fine, not all children are a delight, but you should still be thanking me. Scheva told me that Noel thinks you’ve been acting weird lately, and that it might be because you’re scared about your impending fatherhood,” Alex explains as we start cleaning up the mess covering my kitchen table. “You can’t tell me this wasn’t a brilliant idea. It will give you a little practice on how to handle kids before the big day arrives, so you don’t fuck everything up.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. And I’m not nervous about becoming a father. You know exactly why I’ve been acting weird lately, so babysitting duty wasn’t necessary.”
Alex is the only one who knows about the surprise I’ve been planning for Noel, and that I’ve been busting my ass to get it finished before she has the baby. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t let the cat out of the bag, considering this guy usually can’t keep a secret to save his life.
“You do realize that once a certain someone finds out what you’ve done, you’re probably going to have to change your name and enter the witness-protection program, right?” Alex asks as he rolls up the pumpkin-guts-filled newspaper and tosses it in the trash.
“It’s not going to be that bad,” I tell him, even though I know it is.
It’s going to be bad. Horribly bad. I’m just hoping I’ll be forgiven and they’ll see how good this will be for everyone. Eventually. Like, maybe by the time our child goes to college.