Grace’s grandmother wagged the tongs at me. “You can’t trust a flush.”
She marched into my bedroom. I trailed after her, wondering,What the hell?
She set the condom down then shoved the tongs down the toilet. “What are you doing?”
“Proving to you that you need to be better about disposing of all your gold-plated swimmers,” she insisted. “I don’t trust your mother. She’s a bitch stuck in a trap, and she sees her retirement plan going down the drain. Soon you’re going to man up and cut her out of your life.”
“I won’t!” I said guiltily, because I had fantasized about it sometimes.
“You better if you have any sense,” Gran retorted, lifting the tongs out of the toilet with another condom. “She sees you as a money-printing factory. Why collect the golden eggs when she could make her very own golden goose?”
“Shit.”
“No,” Gran said, heading to the kitchen. “You can’t throw them away, and you can’t flush ’em. The only way to be sure is to boil the little fuckers.”
* * *
“How have I sunk so low?”I asked the universe in horror as Grace’s grandmother set a pot of water to heat on the stove. “I feel like cooking your own sperm has to be a low point in a man’s life, a sign that maybe he should reevaluate his decisions.”
“This is smart,” Gran said, tossing the condoms in the pot with a little salt. “You can never be too careful.”
She slammed the lid down. The pot immediately started to boil over, and a horrendous smell leached into the air.
“Gas masks!” the cockatoo shrieked as I ran around to open the windows. I tried to turn off the stove but was rapped on the knuckles.
“Your future self will thank you.”
“I’m never having sex again,” I promised, turning on a fan.
* * *
Once Gran washappy with the world’s most disgusting cooking experiment, I tossed the water then dumped the whole pot in the trash.
“I need a drink,” I said, pouring myself three fingers of scotch. “And probably a new penthouse.”
“You just need some candles.” Gran hustled off to rustle some up. The doorbell rang, and I went to answer it, hoping it wasn’t my mother.
“Dude…” Eric Svensson said when I opened the door.
Josh winced. “I don’t even want to know what went on here.”
“We’re making sure there aren’t any little child support leeches lingering around if you know what I mean,” Gran said, placing several large pink-and-gold candles around the space and lighting them.
Josh dry heaved when the smoke from the candles permeated the space.
“Now don’t act like you’ve never smelled vagina before!” Gran said, hands on her hip. “You boys need to get out more!”
“Fuck,” Eric said, gagging.
I grabbed three bottles of liquor and went out onto the terrace.
“Let’s have our meeting outside.”
* * *
The Svensson brothersand I had finished our meeting and were playing strip poker with Grace’s grandmother when Grace returned.
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed and raced out onto the terrace.
