How To Tame Beasts And Other Wild Things (20 page)

“Sounds very serious,” she says in a deep British-sounding voice, mocking me.

“It’s more than serious,” I say sternly. Then I tickle the snot out of her.

She buckles over. “I swear to god, if you don’t stop, I’ll piss myself.”

I lift the hem of her dress with one hand as I molest her ribs with my other. “Good. That means you’ll have to take this sexy thing off.”

“I’ll smell like pee,” she screeches.

“What do I care, then you’ll be naked, I’ll need to take you in the shower, you’ll be wet. I love when you’re wet for me.”

She falls to her knees. “Oh my god, stop! We’ll never make it to dinner.”

“We won’t starve.” I slide her hand to my crotch. “I’ve got plenty for you to eat. You’ve got plenty for me to eat.”

She smacks my thigh as I continue the assault. “Balthazar!”

Grabbing the crook of her elbow, I lift her up and kiss her smile. “Okay, fine. Later. And then again.”

“And again after that,” she says against my lips.

I pin my forehead to hers. “Tell me you love me, Matilda. You never say it.”

She closes her eyes, making me wonder if we feel the same way. She must feel everything I am.

“I love you so much. Do you love me, pretty eyes?”

She pinches her brow, then her eyes widen. “I do love you,” she whispers. “I love you, Balthazar Xander Cox! I fucking love you!” she yells.

When she dashes out of the bathroom, laughing, I chase her.

She throws the suite’s door open then steps over the threshold and screams from the top of her lungs, “I love Balthazar Cox!”

I crack up as she kicks her shoes off then skips barefoot away from me.

“I love you, Balthazar Cox!” she repeats yet again.

I step into the hall after propping the door partly open with one of her shoes. Heads peek from doors along the length of the hall, and she responds to each person.

“I love him. Him. Balthazar Cox.” She points to me then runs to the next person.

Lord, she’s not even tipsy. But maybe high…on love?

“You see that handsome man.” I wave as she points to me. A woman down the hall glances my way and laughs. “Him! I love him!”

A guy at the next door pokes his head out while scratching his portly, bare gut. “We fucking heard you. We know you love Balthazar Cox, lady. Good for you, Cox!” He glances at me then slams the door on her face, which has her running to the next door like a candy-starved trick-or-treater.

I watch, swollen with pride, as she leaps, sings, and confesses her love for me to everyone and anyone who’ll hear her. When no more doors are open, she runs to me.

“I love you,” she says softly as she hugs my torso while gazing up at my face. “I love you, Balthazar Cox. I never meant to leave you wondering.”

Hoping there’s a forever in us, I hold her against my body.
She loves me.
How could I have wondered?

Matilda

I cut through evil
like a double-edged sword,
And chaos flees at my approach.
Balance I single-handedly upraise
Through battles fought with heart and mind
Instead of with my gaze.
What am I?
 

Justice

Christmas music is piped throughout the hotel lobby, adding a layer of merriment as we head out to hail a cab. The Four Seasons Hotel on Michigan Avenue—where we’re staying—sparkles from top to toe. I spin around breathlessly, appreciating the bejeweled, twinkling trees and glittering fruit-draped wreaths.

“Hey, aren’t you the broad who loves Balthazar Cox? I saw you in the hall,” A guy behind me asks as he taps me on the shoulder.

We crack up, and I turn with confidence. “Yes, I love Balthazar Cox.” I lift to my toes, reaching Balthazar’s ear. “And his cock,” I say quietly.

Finally in a cab, we take in the sights. The city is a buzz of cars, lights, horse-drawn carriages, and dazzling glitter-dipped holiday windows. All of it is exciting and dizzying—as is my earlier declaration. I’m not sure why I haven’t told Balthazar that I love him the way I really do. Maybe it’s because I never heard it growing up. I’m still waiting to hear those words from my dad, will he ever tell me? Those three little words are so easy to say, and they mean so much. But do they say enough?

I realize why they aren’t words that pop into my brain when I think about how I feel about Balthazar. I don’t love him. No, I adore the fucking life out of him.

“Balthazar.” I squeeze his hand, pulling him from a trance as he stares out the fogged window of the cab.

“Pretty eyes.” He smiles. “This is wonderful, isn’t it?” He brushes a piece of hair behind my ear, his eye sparkle, making him look drunk on life.

“I don’t love you.” I pin my lips between my teeth.

“The fuck you don’t.” He grins, which peels my face open to reveal my true feelings.

“What I mean is: I don’t love you. I so-many-things you. Yeah. You see, you just happen to be one beastly brit who’s captured me. So love…for all the accolades—historical, musical, poetic, and otherwise—that it gets, well, it’s not descriptive enough for the way I feel.”

“So tell me,” he whispers, pulling me close to his side. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

Nuzzling alongside his neck, I clarify, “I more-than-that. I just… How do I tell you what I feel without sounding corny and cliché? Do you get me?”

“More than you’ll ever know. I get you.” He smiles. “And the thing is: you really get me. All of me.”

My eyes sting. “It’s really a lot, the way I feel. I’d be lying if I told you it didn’t scare the shit out of me.”

I wonder if he does understand how much he means to me. So much that I really may stay. Though I haven’t said it. So much that I can see a future of us. Me, him, the boys. So much that even Cort, who I loved in my own first-love-way, doesn’t hold a candle. Cort and I were boy-meets-girl love. Balthazar though—he’s no boy. He’s all man. From the way he shows his love, to the way he makes love. I had no idea there was a difference. But I know now. I’m with a man—one who adores me.

My lobster bisque arrives, along with the question of freshly cracked pepper, to which I answer, “Yes. Please don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Balthazar’s hand reaches across the table. His fingers entwine with mine as he waggles his eyebrow when the waiter walks away.

“Dirty, dirty.”

“What? You’re the one telling a perfect stranger with a twelve-inch tower of wood to not stop until you tell him to. Should I be worried?”

My knees meet in a squeeze as he slides an oyster into his mouth. “Clearly not.” I drink a spoonful of bisque while he tips the shell up to his lips, supping the juice. “I love watching you eat.”

“Good. I’ll be between your legs later. You’ll have a front row seat.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice a woman staring at Balthazar. When I glance at her, she looks away. She seems familiar, maybe she was in the hallway. He doesn’t appear to notice, I ignore her and take a sip of my wine. As I do, he slips a hand into his jacket pocket.

              “Give me your hand.”

I reach my shaky hand to his. “Relax, love. It’s not what you’re thinking. Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. You kind of had me going for a sec.” I chuckle and then sigh in relief as a held breath pushes out.

He flips my palm over and lays a sparkly bauble there: a sapphire eye brooch that looks rob-a-museum expensive. A row of eye-catching diamonds rims the border, which leads to a teardrop crammed with sapphires. It’s a piece of art, an exquisite relic. There’s no doubt it holds some kind of meaning, and that very idea shakes me to my core—so much so that it flips out of my trembling hand and plunks in my bisque. Nearly cracking my spine, I straighten as I gaze at Balthazar. Luckily, he’s laughing.

“Whoopise!” My cringe becomes a smile as I sink my spoon into my bisque to seek out my treasure. “Eyeball soup?” I chuckle at the brooch on my spoon. Then I rinse it in my water glass as Balthazar silently watches me with amusement crossing his brow.

Rolling my eyes to skirt my embarrassment, I utter, “Sorry about that.”

His hand slides across the table, where our pinkies meet and hook.

“This is exquisite. Thank you. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. It’s… Where did you find it?”

He traces a hand over the densely whiskered shadow on his jaw. “It was given to me the day I left the orphanage. That brooch, a handwritten note stating my name, and my baby blanket are the only things I have of whomever left me on the stoop that Christmas Day. I want you to have it. Another piece of me.”

“Balthazar.” I draw in a shaky breath as the sapphire color of his eye burns with a tear. “I can’t.” I open my palm to him, and the brooch appears to stare at me.

“Then toss it back in the soup. It’s yours or no one’s.” He exhales through his nose. “Sort of like me.”

Swallowing hard, I squeeze it in my palm. Then I open my fingers to examine it again. “Thank you,” I whisper. “It’s remarkable, you’re—”

“Excuse me?”

I look to my left and see the woman who was staring at us earlier standing next to our table.

“I love him, yes. I love Balthazar Cox.” I grin, waiting for her smile or snappy comment. Her mouth opens, and I’m certain it’s to scold me for my animated hallway display. She gasps then points to my hand before looking at Balthazar. She mouths his name once then takes in a sharp breath.

“Oh my god.” She sobs, falling to her knees. Red wine bleeds across the white cloth covering our table as she clutches its edge making it quake while her face crumples. Eyes and quiet chatter surround us.

“Are you okay?” Balthazar asks, placing his palm on her hand.

Her cry quiets as she bites her top lip and tries to blink tears away.

Hoping to place her familiar face, I map her features. A strong jaw. Wide, sculpted lips. A magazine cover-worthy nose. Sapphire eyes. I glance at Balthazar then back to her.

“Oh my god.” I gasp against my palm. “Balthazar,” I whisper, lost for other words, lingering in a storm of confusion.

He shrugs with wide eyes and furrowed brow. “What?”

How does he not know? Not feel it? How does he not recognize himself in her?

Balthazar

You can see nothing else
When you look in my face.
I will look you in the eye,
And I will never lie.

Your reflection

The woman’s throat bobs. “December twenty-fifth. Nineteen ninety-one,” she says softly, “I was only sixteen. I left you, I had no choice. I’m so sorry. I’m so very…”

Her icy-blue eyes hold my story. Dark-auburn hair falls in waves around her pale, freckled face. Her slender, long fingers reach out to touch my hand with a current so convincing that I pull away.

“Balthazar,” she says in a wet, hoarse whisper. Her chin quivers through a frail smile, the look on her face cleaving me.

“Sixteen?” I swallow as my throat thickens.

“I… Oh god,” the woman says quietly. “Should we—”

“Yes.” I nod. I’m suddenly a lamb that might follow her anywhere.

Mascara-filled tears slide down Matilda’s face. “Go to the bar. Let me grab the bill. I’ll meet you. Just go.” She waves her hands.

Laughter, chatter, and piano music from afar hangs in the awkward space between us as we sit side by side, facing the bartender.

I rap the bar with my knuckle. “Scotch?”

“Yes, thank you.”

I glance at her face when she answers me. She’s an elegant beauty for—I do quick math—forty-one.

“So you’re…my...” I can’t say the word.

Mom.
It’s not a word I know in association with myself.
Mother.
This is my mother?

She clears her throat. “I was visiting family, and I met your father. And, well, yes. I’m your mother.” She touches my forearm as if I might break, so gently that a butterfly wouldn’t notice. “You’re his spitting image. He was exactly your age when we met.” She swallows a long sip of scotch. “This is weird,” she says in an American accent.

“Weird as hell,” I echo before choking on a strangled laugh.

“So, you saw me and knew?” I half expect a news team to blast in and start filming our reunion.

“I saw you and I thought it was him, but he would be fifty now. You’re him twenty-five years ago. And I... That brooch in your friend’s hand—it confirms everything.” She places her hand over my white knuckles. “It was his mother’s. He gave it to me when I told him I was leaving. He didn’t know I stayed and gave birth to his son. You’ll find my initials and the year we met engraved under your”—she pauses as her eyes search my face—“grandmother’s name.”

I drag my hands down my face. My grandmother’s brooch. I have relatives? What an odd thing to grow up alone in the world to then find yourself in a random moment, years later, being told that everything you had always wished for was real. I can’t stop staring at her. Everything about her is a mystery. Sixteen. This is my mom.

Matilda walks into the bar and stands next to me. Uncomfortable silence blankets us. “Hi. I’m Matilda, Balthazar’s girlfriend.” She juts her hand between us. Her eyes sparkle as though she’s leaped to a new place in her mind, one I’ve not yet found. I’m still in the confused-not believing-who-put-this-stranger-up-to-this stage. I’d call it blatant non-acceptance.

“Imogene Cox. Delighted to meet you both!” She shakes our hands.

My body vibrates in realization. I’ve just leapfrogged to stage two. Acceptance.

“Imogene. Well I have a mom named Imogene.” Scratching my jaw, I laugh. “And where do you live, what do you do for a living…I, there’s so much I want to know. I’m a little overwhelmed. I feel like I’m meeting a rock star.”

We all crack up, and Imogene’s face turns bright red as she waves her hand around.

“I was terrified to approach your table, I can’t believe I’m sitting here with my son.” She presses the back of her hand to her mouth and muffles a cry. “I live here in Chicago, u
m…
let’s see.” She exhales harshly. “I’m a nurse, well, I’m taking a sabbatical to explore my bucket list.”

“Bucket list?” I ask.

“You know, exploring things I’ve always wanted to get to but haven’t made time for. You’re on my bucket list!” She cheers.

“That’s a hell of a large bucket.” Imogene clutches the edge of the bar she’s laughing so hard. My mother laughed at my joke.
My mother.

“We live in northern Wisconsin, we’re practically neighbors. You have two grandsons, twins!”

“I have, oh my gosh.” She leans into her hands and cries. “I’m a grandmother?”

“Yes, here.” I scroll through photos on my phone. “This is Jax and this is Jinx.”

She holds the phone in her trembling hand as tears glide down her face. Then Matilda cries as well. I pinch my tear ducts again, this is unreal.

“I’d love to meet them sometime if you would want to have, well…Would you want to keep on with our relationship? I don’t want to assume.”

“Don’t want to assume I’d want a mom?” My mouth drops open bringing a grin to Imogene’s face. “Fuck yeah! You should come up and visit us, we have a beautiful farm, you could stay and…yes. Hell yeah, I’d love to get to know you.”

“Matilda, did you name the boys or did my son name them?”

“Oh, I uh. I’m not their mom. I’m their aunt, I’m…” Matilda says, touching my hand. As quickly she removes it and covers her face. “Sorry, this is complicated.”

“My wife, the boys’ mom died in a car accident a few years back. Matilda has been helping me ou
t…
she…we live together, we’re together. Yes, she’s my, Chris
t—
girlfriend sounds so stupid but, yes. We’re together.”

Imogene smiles and raises her glass to the edge of mine then Matilda’s as I recover from my botch job of an explanation. “Life is complicated! Well, sounds like you have a lovely relationship.”

“I hate to go, but I’m meeting a friend in a bit. Can I put my number in your phone?”

“Of course. I’ll give you mine as well. I really would love you to visit us.”

We exchange numbers then stand in a huddle at the bar as Imogene puts on her coat. She shoves her hands in her pockets, then removes one hand for me to shake.

“Thank you, I promise I’ll visit. This is the best day of my life,” she whispers through tears. “I never thought I’d have the chance to meet you after giving birth to you, never thought you’d want me after what I did.”

“Imogene.” I step forward as my heart races. “May I hug you?”

“Oh, oh gosh. Yes, I’d love that.” She looks up to my wet face, which mirrors hers. “A hug from my son, my only child.”

I wrap my arms around her, our shoulders shaking as we weep. “Thank you for being so brave, you could have walked away,” I say hoarsely.

“I’ll never do that again. I’ve regretted it my whole life as it is.”

After a bizarre-and-at times-comical hour in the bar sorting through and sharing who Imogene and I are to each othe
r…
or could be, we part ways. Matilda and I settle back into our seats at the bar and order more drinks. Wrapping her arms around my neck she whispers in my ear, “You must have a million questions attacking your brain. I can hear the wheels in your head zipping along.”

“For the life of me, I don’t know what’s crazier.” I knuckle rub my forehead. “The fact that I have a mother or the fact that we’ve agreed to get to know each other.” I sip my beer, shaking my head.

“Are you okay?” she asks, rubbing my back with one hand. “It’s pretty amazing she had the balls to approach us. What a cool woman.”

              “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Blown away.”

She sips her wine then scoops her arm in the crook of my elbow. “Do you want to invite her for Christmas? Shit, I’ll have to make sure my dad’s on good behavior.”

“Wow. Uh…I guess that would be nice to do. I’m her family.”

She leans her forehead to mine. “Your boys have grandparents.”

My heart says two words when it sees the way she’s lit up over this.
Wife. Mother.

“Isn’t that awesome?”

I take my twentieth deep breath of the evening as I grab Matilda’s hands. “Would it feel too weird if I said
our
boys have grandparents?” I search her eyes for the answer. “Is that putting too much on you? Because, when I think about raising my boys, I think of them as
our
boys. Mine and yours. They’ll only know you as their mother.” I brush my thumb over her cheek, and she leans into it. “Is that too much for you? Am I assuming too much?” Her lips part, and she wets them multiple times. “It’s just… For me, not growing up with a mom… I don’t want that for them. And you… You’re more than any kid could want in a mother. More than any man could want in a—”

She places two fingers on my lips. “Balthazar.”

              “I love you so much.” Her eyes soften as she leans in, replacing her fingers with her lips. “This has been a big day for you, and well…I don’t want you to have to feel as though you need to justify my role with you and the boys. You have a lot on your plate as of an hour ago.”

“Justify. That’s ridiculous.” I grab my beer for a long pull, then set it down with a thud. “Why would you say something so meaningless after what I’ve confessed? I’m saying the opposite. Don’t you want the same things I do? A future with us? And as for me—”

“Take a breath. You just met your mother. My father lives with us. Your children now have grandparents. We have things to work through, the farm and my trust. I have an apartment in Paris. You live in Wisconsin.”

“Christ! That was a mouthful. And? Are you going to drop the other shoe? What? Tell me you wouldn’t for a fucking second think of moving back there! Has that crossed your mind? Have I been reading you wrong?” My hand smashes onto the bar. “For fuck’s sake, Matilda. What is it we’re doing, then? Or, rather, what am I doing? Yes. What the hell am I doing?” I stand, throw a few bills on the bar, then take three long strides away. Looking over my shoulder, I grumble, “You coming?”

“Balthazar, relax. I’m not saying anything. I just… There are lots of moving parts right now. Even more as of tonight.” I slow my pace so she doesn’t have to run. “Don’t you think we’d both be smart to let some dust settle before we add more things to the mix? I’m trying to be practical, realistic.” She bites her fingernails as she toes the curb.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Hailing a cab, I swear under my breath. We sit silently driving to the hotel. Maybe this whole meeting-my-mother thing has thrown her for a loop. I can see that. Then her father having cancer… Yeah, there’s that. Am I overreacting? I know she’s torn up as hell over her dad, and they have a long damn way to go. But still, it’s all a bit out of left field. She was running up and down the hall of the hotel, confessing her love for me just hours ago. She loves me and then some. So, what the fuck is this shit?

After paying the driver, I help Matilda out of the car. Marching up the steps in front of her, I glance over my shoulder. That limp always gets in her way. We enter the hotel lobby and head up another staircase. “Grab the railing, and take one step at a time,” I tell her as she stumbles.

As I hook my arm with hers, she shrugs away and glares at me. “Who have you suddenly become?” I laugh as she grunts at me. “Practical?” She strides ahead of me, reaching the landing before I do, then walks backward as I tick my thoughts off.

“Since when is that a part of your vocabulary, Miss Decorate The Chicken Coop And Invite A Frickin’ Donkey To Live In The House? People live in houses, not farm animals. But no, not with you! You are as sensible and practical as a chocolate teapot!”

“And you’re as practical as a pair of undies on Britneeeeyyyyy—”

She plows backward into a fifteen-foot Christmas tree. Screams surround us as an explosion of shiny balls in countless sizes bounce and roll off the tumbling tree, scattering across the crimson carpeting. Her legs and her arms flail, trying to disengage from the lights and glittering strands of garland. I could have predicted it. Should have seen it coming. When she gets steamed, she gets klutzier than a giraffe in roller skates. Grace personified.

“Lucille Ball,” I mutter as I pick her up and stand her on her feet.

She steadies herself as she smooths her dress. She’s beautiful, wearing her emotions like a ten-carat diamond. A blush flies up her neck while she glares at me as if she just won the Southern Hemisphere at a poker table.

From across the room, we hear a drunken rant. “Hey, that’s her! She loves Balthazar Cox, and now, she thinks she’s an Elf on a Shelf!”

We fall to pieces laughing. Her hands slap my chest, and my arms wrap her body. We receive a round of laughter followed by a chorus of clapping. Hotel staff swarms us as if we’re Brad and Angelina, and apologies fly for the tree that was regrettably placed “in Matilda’s way.” The concierge convinces us that he will not take no for an answer as he hands us a keycard to a penthouse suite.

“Twist my arm.” Matilda chuckles after telling him
no
time after time. Finally, she gives in, now this is a first.

Walking into the suite, we’re greeted by a glittering tree, a bottle of champagne, and a two-tier tray filled with pastries and chocolates.