Page 25 of Cookout Carnage
Tanya stares at me. Then shrugs. She says, “Fine. Go to her. But wait. Take this with you.” She runs inside the catering wagon. She’s gone like five minutes, and I’m fidgety. She switched gears. She acknowledges that we’re not a thing and Jules is. I don’t trust it completely, but I’m grateful this shit stops tonight.
JONATHAN: I swear to God I’m coming.
JULES: I thought I was the one who was supposed to come while swearing to God.
JONATHAN: You won’t walk for a week.
Tanya walks up and gives me two of Tabi’s bottles. Which I’m sure she stole from the wedding stash. But what’s done is done. A sparkling and a bottle of red. She had the decency to open the red but leave the sparkling closed for maximum bubbles.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll see you around,” is all she says. She’s so fucking strange, but I’m in the clear, and my entire life seems more in focus as I walk away and towards something.
She hands me a tote bag for them with two plastic cups. Both say, “Tanya’s Dream Wedding Weekend 7/4!” I’ve never been part of it. I nod to Tanya, and she waves me away.
Even if no one believed me, I think she’s finally gotten the message. Now, onto getting the girl. Getting her on her knees, under me, and then in my arms.
9
JULIET
Iblush a bit when he talks like that. He perfected dirty texting when we were long-distance dating in college. Then when he went to play for the Cowboys for a couple of years. I dream of those nights when he’d literally talk me into an orgasm.
My niece, Dinah, skips around me as the explosions and choruses of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ sound off. I want to skip again. It’s time for a couple of explosions of my own. The shitty field isn’t that shitty, but it is swampy and buggy as hell. I’m sitting on my sister’s blanket. She and her husband are cuddled together, and I want that. I almost have it.
“Sit down, you giant.”
“Yo! Sit the fuck down.”
My head pivots, and I see the 6’5” giant ducking down, scurrying, and looking for me. I let a two-finger whistle rip.
The crowd is still heckling him.
“She’s over there.”
“Shouldn’t you be at your rehearsal dinner?”
He stands up tall and throws his arms in the air. “I’m not getting married!”
I stand so he can see me.
“Who cares? Sit your bottom down, Jonathan Tucker!” That’s Maybelline, and it makes me laugh. My guess is she’s on a three-juice evening as well. He catches my eye and doesn’t stop his momentum. He doesn’t look at the fireworks or bother with anyone else. I’m like a tractor beam pulling him into my landing bay. He doesn’t break stride except to set down a bag. Then his hands are on either side of my face, and his lips are hard on mine. Telling me his intentions. His insistent tongue pries mine open. My nails drag through all of his thick blond cowlicks and waves. I moan into his mouth as he repositions his hands to my back to pull me closer. I mold my body to his and lose myself. Literally and figuratively, the fireworks are exploding all around and inside us. I slowly touch and tease his cut and immense back. We twist our heads trying desperately to get a better angle. To find the perfect space for us to live and kiss forever. My tongue advances and retreats to the rhythm of his, and I’m lost in the moment until we’re reminded where we are.
“Mr. Jonathan. Really? My aunt? Eww.” She was too young to ever see us together. Everyone is throwing popcorn and chips at us to sit down. We squat, and he looks at Dinah.
“Ms. Dinah, is that ok? Because I sure like kissing your aunt.” He doesn’t have to ask her. But I’m touched he realizes how important she is to me. My niece and nephew are part of the reason I’m back here too. I missed their whole lives running away.
She watches the fireworks, then leans over to us.
“Can I still help with the flowers?”
“I couldn’t do it without you.”
“Oh, well. It’s ok. But keep the kissing away from me.” She turns back to snuggle into my sister, who laughs at the entire exchange. I give her a little wave, and she nods.
Then I look at Jon, and his eyes are hooded and dark. I’m sure mine are as well. He reaches behind him and grabs the bag he was carrying, then stands and drags me with him. We’re running out of the muddy field. He’s dodging people, blankets, and chairs like he’s trying to outrun defense on the gridiron—I almost clip some strangers. We finally start full-on running away, and the fireworks are still going. We slow down near his truck. I’m panting and catching my breath. He turns to me and says, “You missed a hell of a party.”
I giggle. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing about it for years.”
