Chocoholics: Love And Lists Part 8

"How are you feeling, Dad?" I ask.

"These chicken feet have pot whistles," my dad complains to the ceiling.

I sigh and look over at Tyler. He looks a little guilty. He's biting his nails and staring wide-eyed at my dad.

"Don't worry, I'm sure all of your wishes that he would die so you could make a move on my mom aren't coming true," I tell him with a laugh, trying to lighten the situation now that I know Dad isn't really having a heart attack.

"My p.e.n.i.s is a pirate and I fight crime with a meat whistle sword. Who wants to pet my goat?" Dad asks.

"Oh, Jesus, you're going to kill me," Tyler moans.

"What are you talking about?"

Tyler stops biting his nails and begins pacing back and forth at the end of the bed.

"I need to tell you something, but you have to promise not to kill me," Tyler begs.

"Dad, I'll be right back," I tell him as I get up from my chair and move around to the end of the bed, grabbing Tyler's arm to get him to stop pacing.

"FAIRYDUST!! EVERYONE GETS FAIRYDUST!" Dad yells.

"Oh my G.o.d, this is bad. This is really bad," Tyler mutters as he stares at my dad.

"Tyler, what the h.e.l.l is your problem?"

He sighs and turns away from my dad to look at me nervously, biting his lip. "So, remember yesterday morning, naked and afraid?"

"I thought we agreed to never speak of that again," I complain.

"Yeah, well, I just now remembered why I was naked. The night before, after you pa.s.sed out, I made some chocolate candies in your kitchen. And then ate one."

I stare at him in confusion and then shrug my shoulders. "Yeah, and?"

Tyler bites his lip again and glances nervously between my dad and I.

"Shhhhhh, the puppies are making glue," Dad warns us.

"And, um, well, they were 'shroom chocolates."

He looks at me worriedly and I'm still not catching on so I shrug again.

"Hence the reason for my nakedness. I was high that night," Tyler adds.

Still not getting it, I stare at him in confusion.

"I made six chocolates and I ate one. But when I left your house that morning, there were only four chocolates left. Which means ..."

I turn my face away from Tyler slowly and stare at my dad who now has his leg bent and his foot in his hand, staring at it intently.

"There's no marshmallow in this. WHY THE f.u.c.k ISN'T THERE ANY MARSHMALLOW? Tell the beaver to stop singing. I don't like that song."

Oh no. Oh my G.o.d. My dad stopped over that morning to drop off my mail.

"So yeah. I'm guessing this means your dad is tripping his b.a.l.l.s off," Tyler mumbles. "Hey, at least it's not a heart attack."

Now that I have this information, I should be a little bit relieved. I mean, Tyler's right. At least it's not something serious. But now I have to tell someone, like my mother. And she is going to kick my a.s.s. I could just take this information to the grave, but I can't let the doctors continue to test him for no reason. That's just cruel.

"Gavin, oh my G.o.d, I got here as soon as I heard. Is your dad okay? What's going on?"

Turning, I see Charlotte rush into the room and she throws herself in my arms. It feels so good to have her body pressed up against mine that for a minute I forget about the problem at hand. She squeezes me tightly to her, and I take a moment to just breathe her in. We haven't spoke at all since the kiss, which is really unusual for us. We talk every single day whether it's in person or via text. I'm not embarra.s.sed at all by what happened between us at Fosters, but the fact that I haven't heard from her since then makes me wonder if she is. And if she is, at least she's able to put it aside and be here for me. At least the fact that she still cares about me hasn't changed. But if I tell her that my dad isn't really sick, and the reason for him being in the hospital, she's probably going to be p.i.s.sed and no longer concerned for my well-being.

I know I'm an a.s.s. Don't judge me.

Staring over her shoulder at Tyler, I give him a look that says "I really want to kick your a.s.s right now, but I won't because I'm an awful person and I'm going to use this to my advantage."

"They think he might be having a heart attack. I'm so worried," I tell her, burying my face in the side of her neck and holding her tighter.

"I HAVE A MEAT WHISTLE!" my dad yells.

Charlotte pulls away from me and looks over at him.

"Did he just yell about his meat whistle?" she whispers.

"Um, yeah, just ignore him. It's the drugs they have him on to keep him comfortable," I tell her quickly.

Tyler laughs behind us and I shoot him an angry glare.

"Alright, I just spoke to the doctor down in the cafeteria and it looks like there's nothing-"

"MOM! Thank G.o.d you're back," I interrupt her quickly.

Stepping away from Charlotte, I pull mom over to the door and lower my voice.

"So, here's the thing. Dad accidentally ate a 'shroom chocolate that Tyler made at my place the other night so he's not having a heart attack. He's just really, really high. But Charlotte doesn't know that and she's worried about me, so we're just going to go with it, okay?"

I stop rambling and try not to wince at the wide-eyed look my mom is giving me. The look that says her head is about to explode.

"You have got to be f.u.c.king kidding me," she finally mutters. She leans around me and stares angrily at Tyler. Tyler just shrugs and waves at her while Charlotte steps over to the side of my dad's bed and grabs his hand.

"It's going to be okay, Uncle Carter. You just concentrate on getting better and I'll make sure Gavin is okay," she tells him softly.

I smile brightly at Charlotte's words but quickly wipe the happiness off of my face when I turn back to see my mom glaring at me.

"Charlotte, have you made any phone calls with Gavin yet? You're probably going to need to help him pull out his antenna, I don't think he knows how it works," Dad explains.

Mom laughs, patting me on the back when she sees the look of horror on my face before walking around me to go over to my dad. Charlotte moves out of her way and comes back over to me.

"Wow, I can't believe how out of it your dad is. I feel so bad. Are you having a problem with your phone? Do you need me to take a look at it?" she asks.

"Gavin, pull out your phone and show her how broken it is," Tyler says with a laugh.

"There's nothing wrong with my phone. It works perfectly fine," I growl.

Charlotte holds her hand out in front of me. "Don't be stubborn. Put your phone in my hand. I'm really good with phones."

Tyler laughs again and I reach over and smack him in the arm.

"Really, my phone isn't broken," I reiterate.

"Dude, Charlotte is really good with phones. Let her touch it," Tyler snorts.

"Gavin, if you don't give me your phone right now, I'm going to reach into your pocket and take it out myself," Charlotte argues.

"I am so turned on right now," Tyler whispers.

"I have a better idea. Why don't we get out of here for a little while and give my mom and dad some peace and quiet," I tell her, trying to change the subject.

Charlotte sighs and looks back over her shoulder at my parents. "That's probably a good idea. Your dad needs his rest and you need to do something to take your mind off of what's going on with him."

Elated by the idea that I'm going to spend some more quality time with Charlotte, I tell my parents goodbye and leave Tyler with them. He deserves the punishment of my mother's wrath for the rest of the afternoon after what he did.

Charlotte grabs my hand as we head toward the door, and I try not to skip across the room in happiness when she laces her fingers with mine.

"We can do whatever you want today. It's your choice. But just so you know, I will have my hand on your phone by the end of the night," Charlotte threatens.

"MAKE SURE HE PUTS A PROTECTIVE COVER ON HIS PHONE!" my dad screams at us as we exit into the hallway.

"So hypothetically, what would you say if I told you I broke up with Rocco?" Charlotte asks.

We've been at my apartment ever since we left the hospital and we've consumed quite a bit of beer. All of our empties clang together as Charlotte leans forward and slams her bottle on the coffee table before curling her legs underneath her, sitting next to me on the couch.

For most of the afternoon, we watched mindless TV and didn't talk about anything important. It seemed like we were both trying to avoid the white elephant in the room. But now that we have some alcohol in our system, more important issues are being discussed.

"You broke up with Rocco?" I ask in shock, trying my hardest to keep the elation from my face.

"I said hypothetically," she reiterates.

Dammit all to f.u.c.king h.e.l.l.

How do I answer this? How does she want me to answer this?

"Um, Rocco is a really nice guy."

BULLs.h.i.+T!.

Charlotte sighs heavily and turns to face me on the couch. "That's not what I asked. I know Rocco is a nice guy. One of the best. I want to know how you would feel if I wasn't with him anymore."

Feelings? f.u.c.k, she wants to talk about feelings? I feel like I want to go streaking through the streets if she's no longer with Rocco. I'm guessing that's not what she's looking for here, though.

I need to talk to my dad. This is really sad that I'm a grown man and need my dad, but I do. f.u.c.king Tyler and his 'shroom chocolates. If I call my dad now, he'll probably just tell me to eat the b.u.t.ter because the cornflakes are watching.

"Can you hold that thought for a minute? I just realized I forgot to send an email out for work. It's really important," I add when I see the disappointed look on her face.

"Fine, but hurry up. I'm feeling a little buzzed and I want to talk."

Standing up and walking backwards toward the doorway, I watch as she pulls her legs out from underneath her and leans forward to grab her beer bottle. The front of her s.h.i.+rt falls open and I have a perfect view of her red, lace-covered b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Sweet Jesus. What was I doing? What day is it? Did I eat a 'shroom chocolate by mistake?

"Stop staring at my b.o.o.bs and hurry up," she tells me with a smirk.

I flinch and look up into her eyes, a little shocked that she hasn't made any attempt to lean back so I can't see down her s.h.i.+rt anymore. It's like she WANTS me to keep staring at her b.o.o.bs. I feel like it's my civic duty to continue staring at her b.o.o.bs. Even they want me to keep staring, the way they're all pushed up in her bra and looking so amazing without even trying. I think one just winked at me. Do b.o.o.bs wink? Does beer contain eleventy-seven thousand percent alcohol by volume now?

Remembering my purpose for suddenly getting up from my spot next to her, I start backing up again, my eyes never leaving her winking b.o.o.bs.

Eventually, I have to pull my gaze away as I round the corner of the living room and into the kitchen. Turning around, I race across the room and wedge myself between the fridge and the cupboards, pulling my cell out of my back pocket and dialing the first number I can think of.

As the phone rings, I peek my head out from around the fridge to make sure Charlotte didn't follow me in here.

"This better be good. I have a naked woman on the roof and a jar of almonds toasting in the microwave," Uncle Drew answers.

"Charlotte wants to talk about feelings!" I whisper yell into the phone.

"Carrots want to dog above ceilings? Dude, are you stoned?" Uncle Drew replies.

Taking a quick glance around the fridge again, I raise my voice a little louder, cupping my hand around my mouth to contain my words.

"Charlotte is in my living room. I just saw her b.o.o.bs. I repeat, I JUST SAW HER b.o.o.bS!"

There's silence on the other end of the line and I wonder if the call dropped.

"Uncle Drew?" I whisper.

"I'm here, I'm here. f.u.c.k! I wasn't expecting this phone call for at least another seven to ten days. Aunt Jenny hasn't finished making the bar graph, and we still have statistics to process. s.h.i.+t! Okay, don't panic. Did you TOUCH the b.o.o.bs yet?" Uncle Drew questions.

"No! But she wants me to tell her how I feel. What the f.u.c.k do I do?"

Uncle Drew sighs. "f.u.c.k. Feelings. d.a.m.n, she's bringing out the big guns. Okay, here's what you do. You distract her. Chicks are like squirrels on crack. Throw a nut in their direction and they'll forget what they just wanted five seconds before," Uncle Drew explains.

"So, you're saying I should just change the subject when she asks me how I feel?"

"f.u.c.k no! I'm saying, if she asks you some girly s.h.i.+t, you throw your nuts at her. Whip those puppies out, roll them around in your hands, and get her to focus on those bad boys instead."

Remind me again why I thought calling him was a good idea?

"I'm not showing her my b.a.l.l.s!" I whisper angrily into the phone.

Uncle Drew laughs and before he can give me any other stellar advice, I hear Aunt Jenny in the background.