How To Tame Beasts And Other Wild Things

by A. Wilding Wells

  Holy shit hits the fan, is all I can think about telling Dad I’m Balthazar’s girl. My stomach clenches as I picture him boarding a plane then yanking me out of here, golden handcuffs attached. I wish I didn’t care that I have a trust, but I do. It’ll give me freedom to work with and help animals. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll hold up his end of the deal, while I’ve done nearly nothing to hold up mine. My job to find Balthazar a nanny-come-wife hasn’t crossed my mind in a while. Why would I search for that person? Why…when it could be me?

  “That was nice. Now I have a treat for you,” I say after taking a spoon from the drawer. I dip it inside the glass trifle bowl in the fridge. “Close your eye.” He smiles and abides. “Open wide.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He chuckles.

  “Open, naughty boy, or you won’t get a special made-just-for-you sweet taste.”

  He opens his mouth, and I slide the mounded spoon in to receive a wonderful though startling response in return.

  “Matilda Pearl, I swear to god I’d ask you to marry me today if I thought there was a chance in hell you’d consider it.”

  I gasp as a fluttery feeling flies through my gut. “Because I made gingerbread trifle for you?” I laugh and a heated blush rides my neck. “Well, you have no idea what other sorts of things I have up my sleeve.” Marry me today?

  “If they’re anything as good as what you’ve got hidden in your drawers, I’ll take ’em,” he says, grabbing my ass. “You’re too good to be true. I know that. Too good.”

  I wreath his waist with my arms. “No one has ever said anything so ridiculous to me in my entire life.”

  “That you’re too good to be true? That you’re amazing as fuck? What’s ridiculous is that you’ve never heard it before.”

  Time stops abruptly. The world is still, save the beats of our hearts, which are unquestionably connecting. I don’t know why his gaze feels like more than I’ve felt before this instant. His fingers find my face along with my joy-filled tears, which he wipes away. His throat bobs, and his lips part, and I know this thing between us has changed for him too. All of these months of uncertainty have become something. Not just feelings or lust-filled emotions. More. Truths, pledges, needs. All of them colliding at this delicious intersection the two of us are standing in. A beautiful bubble of love.

  “Matilda,” he says as his lips come close to mine while his hands slide behind my neck. His grip is firm as he pulls me to him.

  I breathe his air, closing my eyes. I’m adored and wanted. He wants me.

  “Balthazar,” I whisper before his lips hit mine.

  His kiss is slow and deep, all encompassing. A sigh escapes my grin. I want to soar through the chambers of his heart and trip it up in tangles that’ll never allow him to see anyone but me. I want to be the knots, the carved lines, and the creator of new memories. I want to give him everything, and I want to take the same from him.

  “Matilda,” he says from the cellar of his throat. “I know it’s only November, and we still have time, but I don’t ever want you to—”

  The kitchen door flies open, smacking Aesop. He scrambles to his feet and dashes across the room, ramming the table as pies, potatoes, and a bottle of scotch slap the floor. In a flurry of commotion I land on my ass, with an ass on my lap. I don’t know what startles me more: Aesop straddling me in a pool of scotch and pie or the fact that my father just caught the man I want to give my heart to giving me the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had in my life.

  23

  Matilda

  Two bodies have I,

  though both joined in one.

  The more still I stand,

  the quicker I run.

  What am I?

  An hourglass

  “What in the Sam Hill?” Dad shouts. His gaze bounces between me and Balthazar as though he’s happened upon a crime scene.

  “Everit?” Balthazar says, staggering backward until he collides with me then takes Aesop off my lap. I laugh nervously as he helps me up.

  “Well, I sure as shit ain’t Santa Claus!” Dad snarls. His nostrils flare as his face turns purple. A look I’m familiar with. It’s the you’ll-never-stop-embarrassing-me look. It’s the you’ve-always-been-nothing, you’ll-always-be-nothing look.

  “Dad? What are you doing?” Here, at our holiday, with my family. Why? Fuck, he saw us!

  “I ought to be asking you that question, Matilda Pearl. Tell me I didn’t just witness you kissing your sister’s husband.” He growls. “He is your goddamned brother-in-law. Didn’t you do enough sluttin’ around back in high school?” He wipes one hand down his face as he shakes his head and snickers. “I swear I thought, once I shipped you off to Paris, you’d get some class. Hmmphff. But no. Here you are, same old Matilda, looking for attention in all the wrong places. Going after her husband. Unbelievable!” He drops his bags to the floor.

  I clamp my mouth closed as heat licks my skin. Tears burn my eyes. I will them not to flow over my rims as Balthazar stalks over to my father.

  Why does he have bags anyway? I’m sure he thinks Balthazar will gather them up for him. I’m certain they’ve met, but I’m also confident they don’t know each other. They breathe air from different universes.

  “How fucking dare you talk to Matilda that way in my house!” he yells. “Who the hell do you think you are, marching in here unannounced, calling her those foul things? The only ass in this room is clearly you, Everit. Apologize this instant or get the hell out.” He charges into my father’s space, backing him against the wall.

  Dad’s face becomes livid with anger. “Last time I checked this farm was still mine!”

  And the door opens again.

  “Happy holidays!” Aunt Molly sings. Her giant Carmen-Miranda-looking red hat falls to the floor, landing in pie. I look down as Aesop saunters over and begins to nibble on it. Carrots? Yes, of course she has produce on her hat.

  “Aunt Molly.” I open my arms to hug her velvet-wrapped body. Her overflowing bosom molests me, as does her syrupy sweet scent.

  “The hell is going on here?” She scratches her head as her eyes explore the kitchen. “Looks like a bakery and a liquor store’ve been fucking up a storm. Speaking of which, what are you pouring? Smells like scotch! I’ll take a glass!”

  My father is red-faced and fuming, glaring at me then Balthazar as Molly flits around the room, making herself at home. Her wild, crimson mop of curls end up in Aesop’s mouth as she bends down to grab her hat.

  “He’s eatin’ me!” she screams while slapping Balthazar’s thigh. “You big, burly thing! For fuck’s sake, help me!”

  “Sorry, Aunt Molly,” Balthazar says so politely that it shreds me. He pulls her hair from Aesop’s mouth and promptly introduces himself. “Balthazar Cox. It’s nice to finally meet you. Thank you for joining us for the holiday.”

  “Any man whose name ends in cock and looks like you is a pleasure to meet,” Aunt Molly says, getting all Mae West on Balthazar.

  “Cox, ma’am.” He chuckles with zero embarrassment.

  “Cucks!” Jax declares as he peeks around Balthazar’s legs while looking at Molly.

  “Mate, it’s Cox,” Balthazar says, hoisting Jax up onto his hip.

  “Jax, meet your great-aunt Molly. Seems to me this is where you got your mop of red hair from.” He chuckles.

  Jax puts his hand up for a high five, and she promptly smacks it. Her smile is billboard-sized as she looks him over.

  “Give that thing to me, for god’s sake.” She reaches for Jax. “What has this farm become? The dumping ground for the hot and angelic?”

  Jax jumps into her arms and begins playing with her cleavage, sticking his entire hand in and out of it. She lets him. Paying no mind whatsoever. I’m half tempted to hand him a bag of marbles.

  “Everit, you never told me he was a British hot as stinkin’ hell God! Packed into a holy Mr. Universe body,” Molly says, grinning while she slams into my father’s side as her gaze falls
over Balthazar.

  My dick of a father, who cannot even make eye contact with me without his upper lip curling in disgust, grunts. He still hasn’t apologized. And he looks like crap. Tired. Maybe mean people age faster. Frowns must do that to a face.

  “Meah,” he says.

  What the hell was that? A word? A sentiment?

  “Thought I’d surprise you with your father, Matilda. It’s been a while, bunny.”

  “And what a nice surprise it is.” I avoid eye contact with anyone as I step over the mess on the floor and reach into the fridge for a bottle of champagne. I wouldn’t call this feeling I’m experiencing celebratory. Though a buzz might get me there.

  “Aren’t there two of these dumplings?” Molly asks, hunting around for Jinx.

  “Try in there.” I point to the den as I wrestle the champagne cork off, missing my dad’s head by a foot. Darn.

  Balthazar quietly cleans up the floor. I’m sure he wants to flatten my father who sits down in a chair and pulls a newspaper from his briefcase, promptly ignoring us. Well, this feels familiar.

  “Why don’t you go up and change,” Balthazar says in my ear as he dumps the remains of pie in the garbage.

  I walk into the pantry and wave him in. “You okay with him? What a fucking nightmare!”

  “I’ve got a gun in the cabinet.” He smirks. “And looks like I’ve got Molly as well.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why she asked him to come. I’ll corner her later.”

  “I’m just sorry he was such a wanker to you. I won’t allow that crap. I won’t allow him to treat you that way, love.”

  “Matilda,” my father barks. “Why don’t you get your ass out of the pantry and get me a damned drink already. I sent you out here to help him, not to fuck him. Now do your job, dammit!”

  Balthazar’s eyes go feral as he backs out of the pantry, warning me to stay put with one hand up. He marches to my father and quietly addresses him. When I peek around the corner, they’re walking out the front door, onto the porch. Then all hell breaks loose.

  The two of them ensue in a yelling match that I’m sure will shake a blizzard out of the sky. Balthazar towers over Dad. But here’s the thing about my dad: he’s not a man to back down. I pray that he’s leaving tonight. Or just after dinner. Better yet: before. Now would be ideal.

  As they storm back in the house, Molly turns the corner with her eyebrows raised. I’m pretty sure it’s not about my dad and Balthazar based on the way Jax and Jinx are marching behind her.

  “Uh, bunny. I met angel number two. That li’l dumplin’.” She tips her head to Jinx and chuckles as she covers her mouth, biting back what wants to be a breakout laugh.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “We’ve got artists on our hands. Wall painters—graffiti!”

  “They were finger-painting in the den? That’s okay. We don’t panic over that sort of thing.”

  “Not anymore, muffin.” Balthazar winks at me. I think his accent was dialed up to ten for my father, as was his pet name for me.

  When I glance over to my dad, he’s sitting again. This time, the paper is covering his face. Fine by me. Judgmental jerk.

  “I’m guessing y’all are still potty-training?” Molly says as she grabs the champagne from the table and pours herself a glass. She spins on her heel and waves us into the den. We meander to the bathroom to get an eye—and nose—full. In a situation like this, all one can do is laugh and hold their nose. Because toddlers finger-painting the walls with poop isn’t really worthy of any other reaction besides a buckled-over belly laugh.

  “You head up, love. I’ve got this.” Balthazar steers me out of the shit-covered bathroom. I’m talking walls, floor, toilet, and the vanity. It’s impressive how many surfaces they managed to cover. Double trouble.

  “Please make your asshole brother a cocktail. There’s weed killer in the barn. That’ll mix well with about anything. I’d advise gasoline, but he’s already on fire,” I whisper to Molly as she grabs my arm.

  She pulls me to a standstill. “Bunny, listen to me,” she says with a troubled tone. “I needed him to come.”

  “That was lovely of you. Thanks for the heads-up. Did you dig up Lavinia too? She in the trunk?”

  “Don’t be angry.”

  “He hates me. Why would you bring him here? You’re my person in this family—no one else. He calls me a slut. Who calls their only living daughter a slut? He’s demented. How are you and I related to that thing I call Dad?” I turn to walk away.

  “He’s sick,” she says softly, grabbing my arm.

  “Damn right he is. Sick as hell.” I sneer.

  But, based on the way she’s not smiling back, I guess we’re talking about something else. My guts hit the floor.

  “He’s sick, bunny.”

  “Sick?” I repeat.

  My father is stalwart, hasn’t been sick a day in his life. He can smoke five cigars and down a bottle of scotch then get up and run ten miles, kicking every runner’s ass on the block. He started with nothing and became something, a massive success and a massive asshole to boot, since everything he does is big. But sick? He’s too bold for sick. Too quick for sick. I hate that he’s sick. I hate him for everything. Now, I hate him even more. Great.

  “Yeah. Sick,” she repeats.

  “Oh fuck. What?”

  “Cancer. I told him to get a second opinion, maybe a third. He doesn’t want any of it. Won’t even discuss the idea of seeing another doctor. He’s not doing the drugs, the chemo. Nothin’. He heard the news from one doc and closed up shop. It’s not like him. He should get another opinion. He should fight this! But I think after what your mother went through with her cancer he won’t. He’s got his own ideas about how he’s going out and it’s probably going to be with a bang knowing him. I don’t know what to say, except that you two need to mend your fences. He can be mean, can be a jerk. But he’s not a bad man. And he’s your father. Claims he wants to be forgiven. By you.”

  Forgiven. My theme song. Holy crap. My father is going to die. I don’t know how many times I’ve bid him farewell to hell or told him to fuck off over the years. But this is real. Die?

  “He’s here to say goodbye? I’m so confused…he hates me! He wants my forgiveness? Sure doesn’t seem like it. I’m not feeling the love. You think he can change?”

  “Death can change people, make them realize things like nothing else. Death and love are both game changers in life,” she says as she touches my cheek with her palm.

  “Death makes people care?”

  “Something like that.” She gazes lovingly at me. “He’s had a life and then some. Your mother, then your sister.”

  “All the while wishing it had been me one of those times.” I snicker, feeling like I cheated death and they didn’t. Maybe that made him hate me more. He was left with me, the only one he never saw in the first place.

  Molly grabs my wrist. “Bunny, you need to stop. Need to realize that he’ll be gone at some point, and then you’ll wish things would have been different.”

  “When is he leaving Wisconsin?” I ask matter-of-factly, not knowing where to put any of this information. Does it go in my emotional bank of “holy-crap-front-and-center-think-about-it-now”? Or does it hit the back of the bus and ride around in my brain until I can try to understand it with a clear head?

  My dad is dying. Going to die. This is some final shit right here.

  She waggles her eyebrows.“Funny you should ask, he wants to—”

  “Molls, don’t say another damn word. Not one. Nothing, zilch…ze-fuckin-ro! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go change. Upstairs. In my room. Into…” I run out of the den and dash up the steps. I take them two at a time, until I lose my footing and my mouth strikes the landing. “God save the fucking queen!” I crawl into my room on my hands and knees.

  I hear Balthazar charging up the steps behind me swearing. His hand catches the door just before it slams. I’m slumped over with one
hand covering my mouth, hoping to hell all of my teeth are still in place amidst the throbbing pain and taste of blood.

  “Matilda, you and those fucking stairs. I swear we need to get them exorcized. Look at me. You okay, love?”

  He flips me into his lap and cradles my body against his as he assesses my lip. “Looks like we have a new beast in the house.”

  “My dad?” I whisper through a choked cry.

  “No, your upper lip. Might need its own room.” He chuckles, dabbing my lip with his T-shirt.

  “Dying,” I say, looking at the blood on my fingertips and his shirt.

  “Nah, you’ll be fine.” He winks. “I do think you need to take on those stairs. Show ’em who’s boss next time.”

  “My father’s dying. Cancer.” What a fucking bulldozer. Hey, cancer, you fuckwad. How dare you come into my house, riding on my father? I need to hate him. You here to change that? You here to change him? Me? Good luck! Are you the messenger and the gravedigger? Or are you a silver lining in our relationship? Are you here to help us find each other or end us for good? I can hear you laughing. I can smell you. I can even taste your rot in my mouth. Fuck you, cancer!

  His eyes go wide. “Cancer? Wait. What?” My trembling hand is caught by his.

  “Molly just told me.” My breathing hitches.

  How can one string of words make a person feel so much? He has cancer. Why couldn’t it have been three other words, three words he’s never said to me. I love you. Would have been nice. Would have—past tense.