How To Tame Beasts And Other Wild Things

by A. Wilding Wells

  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?

  30

  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, um…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 out…she…we live together, we’re together. Yes, she’s my, Christ—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 stan
d 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 other…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.

  “You can call me what you want. Lucille Ball. Clumsy. Klutzy. Whatever label you feel good about. Just don’t call me late for champagne and dessert in a penthouse suite!” Matilda sings.

  I open the champagne as she pops a chocolate in her mouth. After I’ve poured each of us a glass, we clink our rims and take a sip of the bubbly.

  “C’mere.” After setting my glass down, I press her face in my hands. “Hey, you can call me half blind…or mad eye or whatever label you feel good about. Just don’t call me a man who is not head over heels in love with the sexiest fucking woman on Earth. You hear me, Lucille? Otherwise, you’ve got some ’splainin’ to do!”

  She snorts then laughs. “You got it, Ricky!”

  I spin Matilda then back her into my arms for a dip. She squeals as she grabs my neck and pulls herself up.

  “I’m sorry if you felt I was getting a bit overam
bitious. I didn’t mean to piss you off.” Her lips feather mine, chocolate hitting my tongue as I kiss her. “It must be my old days of playing rugby in high school. I was always a take-the-ball-and-run guy. I won’t apologize for telling you how I feel or what I see in our future. But I’ll try to reel things in a little.”

  “Don’t let my momentary lapse of enthusiasm freak you out,” she says, rocking up to her toes. “I’m trying to find my way through all of this just like you are, okay? Please don’t be mad. I was sort of trying to keep things simple.”

  “That’s very levelheaded and weird of you. But yes, it’s okay.”

  She grins and rolls her eyes.

  Grateful as fuck that we’re okay, I kiss her. “I’m just glad you love me most of the time.”

  “Um, yeah. Most of the time as in I think about you nonstop, every second around the clock. You know, I think of you like that. Most of the time.”

  “And what do you think when you’re thinking of me?”

  “That I want you shoving me against the wall and pressing your body onto mine.”

  I walk us farther into the suite. “And what else?”

  She grins and steps out of her heels. “I want you tongue-fucking me.”

  “Where, love?”

  She giggles then sucks my earlobe. “Anywhere I’m wet,” she says quietly.

  “And are you wet anywhere in particular just now?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Coincidentally, there’s a wall behind you that has your name on it.”

  “Hmm, funny thing is, there just happens to be a few wet spots on me that have your name on them.”

  We walk two strides back.

  “Good, now, get up against the wall. I’ve got some things I need to get to,” I whisper against the curve of her neck as I move the hair from her shoulder. “Some sexy things. Some lips-meeting-lips, cock-not-getting-blocked kinds of things.”

  Her ass hits the wall first. Then her head touches it. She drops her eyes to the top button on my shirt before flipping through each one until it’s open.