Free Hearts and Llamas by Tara Sivec

 
    As I'm trying to plan the featured dessert
items this week at the shop, the ringing of the phone interrupts my
concentration. It's the week of Valentine's Day and that means
we're going to be slammed with walk-ins—people that have waited
until the last minute to get something delicious for their loved
ones.
    "Hello?" Carter answers.
    I listen to his one-sided conversation as I
try to remember if the caramel chocolate chunk cookies were
featured on last week's menu or the week before and if covering
them in red icing would make them "Valentiney" enough.
    "No, Gavin isn't home right now. He's at his
grandpa's house. Sure, I can let him know you called, Brooklyn.
Does he have your number? Okay, got it. Bye."
    I stare at Carter with my mouth open as he
hangs up the phone nonchalantly and goes about his business of
filling his travel coffee mug for work, humming to himself.
    "Um, who the hell was that?" I ask, squeezing
the pen so hard in my hand I can feel the plastic starting to
crack.
    "Brooklyn. Some girl in Gavin's class at
school," Carter replies, finally turning around and noticing the
look on my face. "What's wrong?"
    My jaw drops and I stare at him angrily,
wondering if he even knows me.
    "Brooklyn? Some girl? Who the hell is this
slut and why is she calling our son?" I demand.
    "Claire, she's ten. I'm pretty sure she
hasn't reached slut status yet." With a laugh, he walks over to the
table and sits down next to me.
    "She's calling our house. What ten-year-old
girl needs to call a boy's house? A slutty ten-year-old girl,
that's who. She's got her sights on our son, and before we know it,
she's going to be giving him blow jobs on the back of the bus and
forcing him to watch porn with her. This is our BABY, Carter!"
    "Blow jobs and porn? When did fourth grade
turn into a brothel?" Carter asks, raising an eyebrow
questioningly.
    "Oh, just you wait. It starts out innocently
enough. She calls the house acting all sweet and harmless and then
BAM! Gavin gets the shit kicked out of him by her pimp because he's
poaching on the guy's territory!"
    I can't stop the word vomit no matter how
hard I try. This is Valentine's Day week— one of the most romantic
weeks of the year and our busiest at the shop. I should be
concentrating on how much I love Carter and the oodles of money I'm
going to make selling sweets, but instead I'm worried about my son
being led astray by a harlot. A harlot named Brooklyn. Her parents
probably named her that because skank was too obvious even though
they knew what her future career would be.
     
    "Let's give a great big Bearded Clam welcome
to BROOKLYN as she takes the stage! Brooklyn's parents knew she'd
be working the pole some day and thank God for that! She's quite
bendy and she's dancing for us tonight because, well, she's a great
big ho!"
     
    Carter gently reaches over and pries the pen
from my hand, pulling me out of my pole-dancing thoughts, and sets
the pen down next to my list. Glancing around the table, he thinks
better about leaving the butter knife from my bagel earlier within
my reach and slides it closer to himself.
    "She's just a little girl who likes our
little boy. No big deal. I'm going to work now, and you are going
to get back to your list and NOT think up ways you can cut this
girl's hair off without getting arrested," Carter tells me as he
stands up from his chair and places a kiss on the top of my head
before walking out the back door.
    "Please. Like I would really spend my time
thinking of ways to cut her hair off," I mutter to myself as I
reach for the pen, tear off the top sheet of paper from my pad and
start a new list: Ways of Putting the Fear of God in Ten-Year-Old
Girls.
     

     
    "So, what are you getting the old ball and
chain for V-Day?" Drew asks me as we head to the lunchroom on
break.
    "I don't know. I haven't decided. I could
always send flowers to the shop."
    Drew shakes his head at me as we grab a table
in the corner.
    "Nope, too boring. Try again," he