“Went to the nude beach with two of my female friends,” he says casually, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin, conversation changing course entirely. “The wind gave me a partial boner. So everyone saw mymassive dick.”
“Um, gross, Timmy. TMI. That’s not something I need to know. Why would you tell me that?” The man is full of stories, and I’m not quite sure why he picked this one to share with his partner. But I’m starting to question more than a few things coming out of his mouth.
He shrugs. “It’s just a funny story!”
“That you have your dick out around your female friends? No. I don’t want to hear about your nude beach boner that you have out around other women.”
He scoffs. “You need to lighten up. It’s not a big deal.”
I sigh.
He shifts gears almost immediately, pulling a face and adopting a high-pitched sing-song voice. “I kill you!” He says, eyes widening maniacally as he leans in closer. “I kill you!”
Damn. Timmy is on a real roll today. I’m not sure if he’s trying totest me, or if he really just doesn’t have a filter. A lot of what he says is funny and has me crying with laughter, but today nearly everything he’s saying is pushing my buttons in a bad way.
I blink at him, more shocked than amused. “Timmy, that’s a really fucking weird thing to yell. I don’t think you should go around saying that.”
“Oh, chill out! It’s just a joke.” He shrugs. “You’re right, though. I probably shouldn’t. I did get arrested for saying it at the beach one time. Made a ‘terroristic threat’, they called it. Cops were just mad because someone didn’t get my sense of humor.”
“You were arrested for making a terroristic threat?” I ask, a little unnerved now. “For saying that?”
“Yeah, they said I was legit threatening to kill people.” He laughs, not noticing my lack of amusement.
“Were you?”
“No! Of course not. It was just a joke,” he laughs again. “Everyone needs to lighten up.”
I sigh, feeling exhausted by the seemingly endless train of questionable anecdotes and misguided brags. “Timmy, I’m serious. Just stop saying it. It’s only a matter of time before someone else takes it seriously, and then what? It’s not worth it.”
“Fine, fine,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender. Then he grins. “I kill you—kidding, kidding!” he laughs. "I’ll stop saying it. But y’all need to chill out.”
Maybe it’s my inner optimist, but I can’t help but hope he’ll grow out of this weird phase of say-anything, no-filter mentality. But every story, every bizarre moment, has me questioning a little more.
33
STICKY FINGERS
The Past
Grandmother: Here, have a grape.
Me: Don’t we have to pay for it first?
Grandmother: Shh, don’t worry about it. Everybody does it.
Here’s a piece of candy as well.
Me: Oh, um, okay. I guess. Thank you.
The Present
The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead as we weave through the grocery store’s wide aisles, tossing groceries into the cart—snacks, pasta, heat-and-eat pizza, fresh fruit and vegetables, cottage cheese, cheddar cheese, and ice cream—always ice cream.
Our playful banter fills the space between theshelves, me teasing Timmy about his love of canned soup while he makes exaggerated faces at my love of ridiculously spicy hot sauce.
Everything feels light and easy—the kind of fun that makes grocery shopping, of all things, feel like an adventure. We sneak in kisses by the produce section, bumping into each other playfully. I laugh as Timmy ties a helium balloon to the grocery cart, letting it serve as some kind of directional beacon if we lose each other in the store. We playfully argue over what bread to buy as if the fate of all further carb intake depends on it–Timmy wanting basic white bread, me wanting Ezekiel bread packed with seeds and grains.
As we stroll past the refrigerated section, Timmy grabs a cold smoothie from the shelf—one of those overpriced ones with high-quality ingredients—and twists the cap off without missing a beat.