Well Hung

by Pratt, Lulu

  “Made what work?” I breathed.

  “Us.”

  He fingered the rim of his glass, not lifting his eyes to meet mine. I gasped for air. Even though I hadn’t had a sip of alcohol, I suddenly felt light-headed.

  The problem had never been the timing. It had been us. To blame the world, the calendar, anything but the two of us, was insane. It was determinism — the idea that everything that happens is already fated, that we have no hand in choosing our own destinies. Fuck fate. We have control over our actions, and to say otherwise was to misplace responsibility.

  In the blink of an eye, I’d gone from swoony to seething.

  “Xavier,” I said under my breath, the edge of a growl in my tone. “We’re both grown-ups. If we wanted to make this happen, time and distance wouldn’t be a problem. I have flexible jobs. You have private jets. Please, please don’t just throw your hands up in the air and blame this on external forces.”

  He met my fire with a fire of his own. “Really? You walking away from our relationship wasn’t just bad timing? What was it then?”

  “It was me seizing an opportunity!” I cried back, my voice getting higher. “And having an adventure! What’s so wrong with that? You couldn’t have waited?”

  “You ran away!” he replied, his tone rising to match my own. His hands gripped the edge of the table.

  “That’s a selfish thing to say.”

  “Why didn’t you pick me?” he said, suddenly quiet.

  “I could ask you the same thing.” All the heat had left my body, and I could feel my limbs turning to ice.

  “What do you want from me, Chloe? Just say it.”

  I didn’t know. I had answers lined up for all his other questions. If I’m being honest, I’d rehearsed variants of the conversation many times over in the shower, always trumping Xavier and then flouncing out in a fury. What I’d never bargained for was this, the quiet, defeated begging for some kind of guidance.

  Xavier was aching, I could see it. The father of my child was in pain. His eyes were half-closed as he tilted his head to the ceiling, his dark brown hair falling over his ears from how many times he’d run his fingers through his hair. I was breaking him, and I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe this was what I did — pushed people away. We’d been getting close, there was no denying it. Perhaps I was so reluctant to tell him about the pregnancy that I thought it’d be easier to just throw proverbial stones at him, sending him back into the forest and Rebecca’s arms.

  So I said, “You’re right, Xavier. We can’t work. It’s not timing. It’s us. But either way, we aren’t meant to be. If we were, we would’ve figured it out by now. Besides, you have a fiancée.”

  “Not yet—”

  “Come on. We’ve been planning proposals for you for months. Your families are both counting on it.”

  He hung his head and said nothing, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, as if the burden of responsibility were actualized on his back.

  “Let’s call time on this,” I said, trying to censor the frustration from my tone. This moment, this last moment, should at the very least be civil.

  Xavier looked up, stricken. “Please, Chloe.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I have to do what’s best for us.” And for our baby, I thought tearfully.

  His face flashed to horror, then anger, and then to a chilling blankness.

  “Fine,” he said coolly. “If that’s what you want.”

  I didn’t want to leave him on this note, so I asked, “Can I have a goodbye kiss?”

  He didn’t move a muscle. “All right.”

  There wasn’t much space between us. I only had to lean forward a little to press my lips to his. I was shocked to find that he didn’t return the movement. His mouth was like a dead fish on mine, completely lifeless. There was no trace of the passion that had boiled his blood only minutes ago. He had, for all intents and purposes, shut down.

  “I’ll miss you,” I said as I pulled away.

  He turned his head from mine to stare at the dark oak wall next to us. “Yeah.”

  If that was how he wanted to behave, so be it. I’d tried to make this easy, and he’d thwarted me at every turn. I was done trying to play the diplomat.

  I slid out of the booth. “Goodbye, Xavier.”

  He didn’t reply, just took another swig of his beer.

  With a sour taste in my mouth — maybe from our acidic kiss, or just the image of Xavier turning his body away from mine that was seared into my eyes — I strode out of the bar and into the night.

  CHAPTER 32

  Xavier

  CHLOE WAS already outside when I realized what a horrible mistake I had made.

  I bolted up from the seat, crying out her name.

  “Chloe, Chloe!”

  I raced to the exit, pausing only to throw some money on the bar.

  Flinging the door open, I looked desperately for Chloe, for her tell-tale beachy blonde hair and wicked eyes.

  But she had already gone. The curb was empty, save for a New York City-sized rat and some empty plastic trash bags.

  “Fuck!” I shouted into the night.

  The rat didn’t respond. Neither did the bags.

  I walked a few steps back so I could lean my woozy body against the brick wall. Chloe’s sharp words had in turn sharpened my mind, and the alcohol seemed to have receded from my brain into my limbs. Unfortunately, I found, I could think with clarity, enough to know that I’d just sent Chloe away forever.

  “It’s what she wanted,” I whispered to myself.

  She’d made it clear that she was done with my excuses and my insistence on being with Rebecca. And I couldn’t blame her. If what Chloe wanted was to get away from me, to have a fresh start, then there was no point in trying to stop her. We’d had plenty of opportunities, and I’d fucked up each one. A tight knot of self-loathing clenched my stomach. Well that, combined with the significant amount of liquor. It was time to go home.

  But first…

  I took out my phone, and made a call.

  “Hey, Xavier, what’s up?”

  “Hey, Rebecca.”

  She sounded sleepy. “Did I wake you?”

  “No, no, it’s all right. What’s going on?”

  “I just wanted to ask… I wanted to ask… ” I took a deep breath, and forced myself to smile, as if she could hear it through the phone. “I wanted to ask what you’re going to wear to the gala.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated, then said coyly, “Wouldn’t you like to know? It’s a surprise.”

  “Gimme a hint.”

  “No!” Rebecca giggled. “Don’t try to work it out of me. You’ll like it, that’s all I’m gonna say.”

  I laughed back. It felt good, joking with Rebecca again. It seemed as though we hadn’t done it a long time. Maybe everything had just gotten so heavy with our families and the responsibility of our marriage that we’d forgotten we were actually great friends.

  “Does it have feathers?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh my God, it has feathers?!”

  Rebecca snorted. “Yeah, it has feathers and it’s all white and you got me. It’s actually a burlesque costume.”

  “Burlesque and all white, huh?”

  At my words, our laughter died down, and the implication lay between us. We both knew what the gala meant, what was supposed to happen there — a proposal. It was a truth so obvious that it didn’t even need to be said. Besides, despite the fact that we were both preparing for this proposal, it was considered tacky to actually discuss the thing, probably because it was supposed to seem traditional — which is to say, a surprise — as opposed to a business strategy. Real lovers surprised each other with proposals and gifts. Business partners had their assistants pencil it into their calendars.

  “Anything else you wanna talk about, Xavier?” Rebecca asked, her pearly voice ringing through the phone. “Because you can pump me for info all you want, but my lips are sealed shut.”

  “Okay,
I’ll let you go, but only so that I can think of other ways to figure out what you’re wearing. Maybe I should hypnotize you?”

  “You’d go to the trouble of hypnotizing me, and then not make me do, like, a chicken dance or something?”

  “Priorities, dude, priorities.”

  She giggled. “All right, whatever you say. Talk to you later.”

  She clicked off the phone, and I was once more alone on the street in all the ways that mattered.

  The night smelled like New York. The scent of the bar wafted out from behind me as one drunkard exited and another entered, carrying with them smells of stale whiskey and cigarettes. I looked around, almost hoping a homeless man would stumble by so I could buy him some food, maybe take him to a shelter or hotel for the night. I felt an overwhelming need to do good. No, that wasn’t really it. Rather, I felt an overwhelming need to be with anyone else. Because just then, I couldn’t stand being alone with the person I despised most in the world — myself.

  Suddenly, I realized what I could do that would both be productive and keep me from my dark thoughts.

  I could call Chloe.

  And no, not call her to beg for forgiveness, or ask for another chance. I could, at last, set her free. That would be the kindest gift I could give her.

  I dialed her number, and waited with bated breath for her to pick up. One, two, three rings. No answer.

  A tinny voice came on. “At the tone, please record your message. When you’re finished, you may hang up or press pound for more options.”

  There was a long, high beep, cuing me to begin.

  “It’s, yeah, it’s Xavier. I guess you can’t come to the phone right now.” I scuffed my shoe against the sidewalk. “Listen, I’m sorry about everything I said tonight. Just… all of it. So I’m calling to say, let’s be friends. Nothing more. I’m glad we got a chance to reconnect at Comino. It’s meant the world to me.”

  I paused and gathered my thoughts.

  “I know you’re heading to Paris, so I thought I’d let you know I have a place out there. If you need some time to find an apartment, you’re welcome to stay there while you get your bearings and house hunt or whatever. Finding an apartment can take forever, especially in a city like that, and I don’t want you to feel rushed.”

  I swallowed and then continued.

  “Maybe I could come visit you, once you get settled. Well, um, I mean, me and Rebecca. We could visit you. Rebecca knows her way around Paris, she could show you some of the best spots—”

  I cut myself off, realizing that, not only was I rambling, I was talking about Rebecca, the person Chloe probably least wanted to hear about.

  “Anyway,” I continued, trying to get back on track, “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m dealing with a lot of stuff right now, and I feel just deeply responsible for so much shit. I’ve always had responsibilities, and lately, they’ve felt bigger and heavier and I’m sorry that you got sucked into it. I haven’t treated you the way a woman like you deserves to be treated. You are so, so special, and I want you to know that. I wish…”

  I waited, almost as if she was going to reply, before remembering that this was only voicemail.

  “I wish,” I whispered, “that I was free to be the man you deserve. But I’m not. So… let’s be friends. That, at least, I can manage. You’re gonna love Paris. Bye, Chloe.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Chloe

  I PRESSED PLAY and listened to Xavier’s message for a third time.

  As he came to the words ‘you are so, so special,’ I clicked the pause button and threw my phone down to the end of the bed, unwilling to hear once again Xavier’s closing salvo, the final knife he’d plunged into what could have been our relationship. I was strong, but I was not strong enough to hear that again.

  I curled into a fetal position, clutching my hands over my stomach and realizing that my baby was probably in a similar position that very moment. Knees tucked in, head bending down to chest, back arching like a smooth curve. We were as one.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” I crooned, rubbing my tummy. “Mommy and Daddy just can’t make it work. And you deserve better, because your dad is… ” I let out a loud sob, but pushed through. “He’s a wonderful man. And if you don’t get to know him, I at least wanted you to know that.”

  Because, I was coming to believe, if Xavier wasn’t going to act as a full-time father to this child, I didn’t want him around. More to the point, I didn’t want him to feel financially responsible for the baby, as though I’d trapped him into this. I would raise my kid the best way I could — on a single income, with not a ton of money, but plenty of love. And, hey, we would be in Paris. What better place was there to grow up? My child would learn French, eat the best food, wear little baby slippers from local artisans.

  It was, in fact, the kind of life my mom had always dreamed of providing for me, one filled with adventure. And now I was finally carrying out her legacy. It would be my baby and me against the world. I’d teach my child how to cook with fresh vegetables, how to admire art, how to foster loving relationships with others. The more I thought about it, the more I discovered how very ready I was to be a mother. My child would know boundless love.

  “You’ll be here so soon,” I told my womb. “In a few months, I’ll get to meet you. And I know you’re gonna be wonderful.”

  With that, I turned into my pillow and sobbed. My baby would be wonderful, all right — just like their father. Oh, Xavier. In my mind, I saw his lips pressing into one another, trying to refrain from showing the emotion I knew was so redolent, probably in an effort to protect me. I pictured his long neck, those high cheekbones, and how his entire angular body had pivoted away from mine. Unfortunately, it was an image I’d never be able to forget.

  But at least there was Paris. Once I was in another country, when I had some distance between Xavier and me, maybe then a fresh start could be made in earnest. It was just when I got close to him that things became dicey — when I remembered how beautifully our bodies worked together, creating the magic of pleasure and new life.

  In Paris, I’d be free.

  Or at least, I hoped so.

  CHAPTER 34

  Xavier

  I AWOKE WITH a sickening dread the following morning.

  Apparently, I hadn’t planned my ultimatum all that well, because when I got home and checked my calendar for the following day, I saw to my horror that I was scheduled to visit Comino Gallery and check in on the final stages of the restoration.

  Awesome. Couldn’t have timed it any better if I’d tried.

  But my dad had scolded me for slacking on my duties, and I was determined to prove him wrong, even if that meant interacting face-to-face with Chloe the day after our big blow-up. Going to Comino was part of my job, and failing to do so would only be a disservice to my family.

  And anyways, we were going to just be friends. Or at least, that’s what I’d asked for in the message. Perhaps she felt differently. Maybe Chloe didn’t want to so much as look at me.

  Well, she’ll just have to grin and bear it, I thought with resolve. If we were both uncomfortable, so be it.

  We’d aim for friendship, and if that failed, we could just be polite acquaintances who had fucked a bunch.

  Still, even as I committed myself to friendship, I made sure to pick out a flattering outfit for my morning errands — a T-shirt, perfectly cut jeans, black boots and a black leather jacket. It was a little out of character for me. These days, I was more accustomed to suits. But the look reminded me of the guy I thought of as “College Xavier,” or the man Chloe had fallen for.

  Fuck, was I just making things harder on myself by trying to recreate the past? Maybe I should change into the pinstripe gray suit, I wondered, knitting my brows together as I examined my reflection in the mirror.

  The man before me was beaming with a cool confidence that I didn’t feel. It was reassuring that I was able to fake it, though. That oughta be worth something.

  I’d st
ick with this College Xavier. He had it easy. He didn’t know the weight of responsibility. I envied him.

  I dabbed on a touch of cologne, just a smidge, and called my car to take me to Comino.

  When I arrived, I made my way down to the restoration area without even bothering to stop and speak with Tok or the other employees. I was too anxious about seeing Chloe, and I worried that they’d see the truth written all over my face. I’ve been told I’m a wretched liar. It would be unbecoming for both me and Chloe if they saw the nature and depth of our involvement. Whether she was frosty or warm, our initial interaction would be much too revealing, and needed to be done in private.

  I knocked on the basement door. “Chloe?”

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Xavier.”

  There was a pause, then noise, as Chloe moved some things aside and came to open up.

  And in a moment, she was standing before me, in a large, flowing dress that went all the way down to her ankles, scooping at her neckline to reveal her shoulders and the beginning swells of her breasts.

  Don’t look at her breasts! I had to scream at myself. Breast-gazing was definitely not a thing friends did.

  “Hey,” she said, self-consciously brushing some hair out of her face. “Were you — am I — I wasn’t expecting you.”

  She seemed… casual? Was that it? Almost like none of last night had happened.

  But I ignored my doubts, replying, “Yeah, we have an appointment on the calendar, to check in on final restorations.”

  “Oh. Of course. My bad, my brain has been so muddled lately.”

  “Don’t worry about it. May I come in?”

  My mind flashed to her apartment, to crossing that threshold at her behest. How I had thrown her against a wall and then onto her bed.

  Okay, Jesus, I needed to get my dirty mind under control. Even if I was thinking about ripping the top of her dress down to her hips and burying my face deep between her breasts. We were just friends.