A Baby for the Beast

by Chance Carter

  At least Willow’s building had an elevator. It was a small win, but I would take any win I could get these days. That was the kind of thing you appreciated when everything else in your life was in shambles.

  No cardio today, life.

  Willow’s door was open when I reached the fourth floor and she was waiting to hug me before I’d even stepped over the threshold. I only got a flash of her blonde hair and sea blue eyes before she was throwing her arms around my middle, and squeezing the living daylights out of me and my poor duffel bag.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened, Em,” she said. “You can stay here as long as you need to.”

  “Thanks, Will.” I hugged her back, my forehead resting just atop her crown of pale curls. She wasn’t all that much shorter than me at 5’4,” but the four inches sure made a difference when we were hugging.

  “Come on,” she said, pulling back and smiling at me. “I’ve got a box of wine and all the kombucha you can drink.”

  I grimaced. “Just the wine, I think.”

  Willow laughed lightly, slipping around me to grab the suitcase so she could follow me inside. I dropped my duffel bag in the entranceway, my shoulder singing Hallelujah.

  Willow’s apartment was one of my favorite places to be in the world. It wasn’t all that spectacular, but she’d worn it in over the years until it was uniquely her own. From the blanket wall hangings depicting various groovy designs, to the gigantic bean bag chair in the corner of her living room, perfect for snuggling up on with a book, the space had an eclectic charm that I’d hoped to one day have in my own place.

  With Lance.

  I was crying before I even hit the sofa.

  Willow was an expert at dealing with other people’s emotions, which was more than I could say for myself. She gave me a little space while she poured our drinks and made a plate of snacks, then set the goods on the recycled driftwood coffee table and curled up against my side.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  The curiosity was killing her. I didn’t blame her. Why, after two years of exclusive dating and six months of living together, would Lance suddenly toss me on the street? It didn’t make any sense. I was under the impression we were building a life together.

  “He, uh,” I sniffed. “He said that our relationship had grown stale.”

  My voice cracked near the end and I reached for the wine, downing a healthy gulp before I felt able to continue.

  “He said he wasn’t happy, that he didn’t love me anymore. And that…”

  I didn’t know if I could say the last part.

  Willow must have sensed this. She immediately started rubbing my back with fervor, probably a little more than was necessary.

  “You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to,” she said. “Or ever if you really don’t want to.”

  “No, no,” I said, wiping under my eyes. “I think it would be good to talk about it. I don’t think I’ve started processing yet and I need to.”

  I gulped in a deep mouthful of air, then exhaled. My voice was small when I spoke.

  “Lance said that everything that went wrong in our relationship was m-m-my fault.”

  Willow immediately sat back, shocked, her ever-present bangles and earrings jangling with the sudden movement.

  “He said what now?”

  I stared at her balefully, not wanting to repeat it. She understood and grabbed the plate of snacks, handing me a slice of apple covered in peanut butter. It was good, though it didn’t fill the hole in my chest by a long shot.

  “Well, I don’t believe him,” Willow said. “You’ve done everything for him. You worked your ass off every day so you could help him with bills when he was in between jobs. You put up with all his crap.”

  She frowned, clearly puzzled.

  “I just don’t get it.”

  I shrugged.

  “Neither do I. But the heart wants what it wants, right? And Lance has made it very clear that his apparently does not want me.”

  “But to just kick you out like that! The nerve of him.”

  I took another swallow of wine. I couldn’t imagine staying in the same apartment as him anyway, after everything that had happened tonight. He’d been callous and cruel, almost unflinching as I reacted to the news. The rejection hurt too much for me to want to be close enough for him to inflict another attack.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with me staying with you?” I asked.

  Willow nodded quickly, eyes wide.

  “Of course! You’re my best friend and I’ll do whatever I can to help you. And for what it’s worth, I think this could be a good thing for you. You know how I felt about Lance. Feel, I mean, how I feel about him. Which, at this moment, is that he’s a complete ass, by the way.”

  I nodded. Willow had never liked Lance, not from the first time they had met. It wasn’t any single thing she found fault with, just his overall personality. She didn’t like how aggressive and critical he could be, but for me those traits were indication that he was a driven perfectionist. Except, the only thing he’d ever seemed to perfect was his latest excuse for quitting his job, whichever one he had at the time. And, at the end of the day, even I could recognize that the Lance I’d fallen for was not the same one who’d unceremoniously ejected me from our apartment today.

  “I know you didn’t like him, but can we keep the Lance-bashing to a minimum?” I asked, “at least for tonight?”

  “Absolutely. Besides, that’s not what you need.”

  I had no idea what I needed, so the thought that somebody else might was a huge relief.

  “What do I need?”

  Willow pushed another apple slice into my mouth and then demonstratively chugged back a huge portion of her wine.

  I didn’t exactly agree that getting plastered and eating my weight in healthy snacks was what I needed, but I was willing to give it a shot. For science. After swallowing my mouthful of apple, I tipped my head back and showed I was truly in the spirit by drinking the remaining contents of the glass. Willow cheered and rose to refill my glass, and I indulged in another slice of apple.

  Three glasses later, I realized what I did need. We were listening to one of Willow’s Billy Joel records, because apparently he had some sort of soul healing ability. It was about halfway through “Piano Man” that I realized what I needed to do.

  “I need a life change,” I announced from my bean bag throne.

  Willow, lying across the couch with her head over the side, looked at me with an upside-down smile.

  “What kind of change? A new haircut?”

  I self-consciously ran my hands over my auburn waves, horrified at the thought of something happening to them. I loved my hair. It was silky, shiny, and always seemed to have the perfect texture. There was no way in hell I’d be chopping it off in some sort of ‘new hair, new me’ effort.

  “No, I mean like a big change.”

  Willow sat up, sensing this was a serious conversation, and turned down the volume on the stereo.

  “You know I’m all about change,” she said. “Lay it on me.”

  “Uh, well...” I said, frowning. “ I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  Offering up an apologetic smile, I shrugged. “Help me?”

  Willow laughed and came down to sit across from me, folding her legs into a perfect lotus.

  “If you’re going to make a big change in your life, it needs to come from in here.” She said, pointing to her chest, just above her heart.

  I normally hated when she tossed out trite expressions like that, but this time it struck a chord. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was Billy Joel. Maybe it was the bean bag chair. Whatever the case, I dug down deep and tried to figure out what my heart would tell me to do if it could speak. Which it couldn’t, no matter what Willow said.

  Even though I was miserable about losing Lance, I did recognize that I wasn’t always happy when we were together. There was something missing from my life with him, someth
ing that I’d never really taken the time to explore, because I’d been afraid of pushing him away by doing so.

  “I want independence,” I said. “Lance always got to dictate how I lived my life. And before Lance, it was my parents. I’ve been in a rut for God knows how long now and it’s time for me to get out of it.”

  Willow pumped her fists in the air.

  “Yes! That is exactly what I think you need! That was some great soul-searching, babe.”

  I smiled, pleased with the compliment, and took a celebratory drink of wine.

  Now I had to figure out how to be more independent. Finding my own place would be part of that, but I would have to make some other changes first.

  “So what’s the plan?” Willow asked.

  I thought for a moment.

  “I think I want a new job.”

  My current job, waitressing at a family restaurant, wasn’t cutting it for me. I’d only stayed there as long as I had because it was stable and I got decent tips. I was always too afraid to try something new in case Lance needed to lean on me. Now that I was going it alone, I could rely on the little lump of savings I’d been building to get me through if things went south. After all, I wasn’t going to be using the savings now anyway, since it was supposed to be for our wedding.

  “A new job,” Willow said, with a wistful tone. “That’s such a great idea! Very Bridget Jones of you. You should try to find something art related.”

  I cringed at this, even as a shiver of excitement ran down my spine.

  “No. Not art. I’m willing to try just about anything, but I’ve always wanted to work in an office.”

  Cue Willow’s cringe. She couldn’t think of a worse place to work than an office, with its business suits and filing systems. She was an elementary school teacher, and a brilliant one at that. Sometimes I wondered how the two of us ever found each other.

  “Okay, a business job. We can work with that.”

  She raised her glass for a toast.

  “To new beginnings.”

  I countered her toast with one of my own.

  “To going all Bridget Jones on this bitch.”

  Chapter 2

  Max

  It was, by all accounts, a successful party. The drinks flowed freely, the sound of laughter drifted above the strains of classical music from the orchestra tucked in the corner of the grand ballroom, and not a single one of the tasteful yet elegant decorations was out of place. Everyone was having a good time.

  Everyone except the birthday boy, that is.

  “I love when your mother throws these things,” said my best friend, Jeremy Braun, grabbing a crab cake from a passing tray and stuffing it into his mouth. “Always a ton of beautiful women. Always a ton of tasty food.”

  “And that’s all you need to have a good time?” I asked, in a voice drier than my Moët.

  Jeremy quirked a brow, genuinely puzzled. “What else could a man want?”

  “Some peace and fucking quiet,” I muttered under my breath.

  Jeremy heard me and laughed, snatching a stuffed mushroom and nibbling at it uncertainly. After his first bite, he made a face and dropped it on the next tray to pass by.

  “I wish she’d not do so much seafood, though.”

  “It’s expensive,” I answered. “Of course she’s going to order it. By the bucket load.”

  Jeremy’s olive eyes stared past me and his brow wrinkled. “Speaking of which. Incoming—”

  That was all the warning I got before Paulina Westfield bustled into my vision, arms held slightly aloft like a tiny drunken dinosaur. I could tell from the tinge of pink on my mother’s cheeks that she was having a nice time this evening, which I should have expected.

  “Maximilian, there you are.”

  I cringed at her use of my full name. I hated when she did that.

  “Here I am,” I said, offering up a pleasant smile. “Lovely party. Thank you.”

  “You deserve it, my dear. My only child, now thirty years old,” she sighed. “So, what does that make me? A lonely old widow? It’s nice to get to spend time with all these young people, even if they do remind me that my glory days are far behind me.”

  “Paulina, you look stunning,” Jeremy said, in a honeyed tone he reserved for such occasions. “Nobody would believe you were Max’s mother if they didn’t know.”

  It was true that my mother did look much younger than her fifty-three years. She always bought the best skin creams and lotions on the market, and had regular teeth whitening and Botox treatments. She wore her dyed black hair in an elegant chignon most days, though for tonight’s special event she’d opted for a more elaborate up do, with braids, pins and all sorts of other debris. Her clear pale skin had barely any wrinkles, and when she looked at me it was with the same icy blue eyes from all my childhood photos.

  “Jeremy, you’re such a charmer.”

  Mom laughed and rested a hand on his arm flirtatiously.

  “We really must find a girl who can keep up with you, otherwise you’ll leave a string of broken hearts behind you.”

  “As long as I never break yours.”

  My mother practically preened at that. It took her a full twenty seconds to recover before she turned to me, intent evident in her gaze.

  “I’m afraid I must steal you away, darling. I have somebody I’d like you to meet.”

  I glanced up at Jeremy, who shrugged and took another sip of his champagne.

  “I’ll go do the rounds.”

  I nodded to my friend and followed my mother through the crowd, wondering what she had up her sleeve this time. She was always up to something. Paulina Westfield was a meddler, through and through. She had no qualms about eavesdropping or gossiping, so long as it served her purposes. Generally those purposes weren’t harmful, but I had at least one ex-girlfriend who’d learned the hard way not to mess with my mother.

  Mom stopped in front of a tall blonde wearing a pretty purple dress. The girl was talking to a group of people, but the moment my mother tapped her on the back she turned and gave me a dazzling smile.

  “Maximilian, this is Cynthia Bronstein. Her father owns half the properties in Manhattan, you know.”

  “Not quite half,” Cynthia said, laughing shyly.

  She had a pretty smile, which matched the rest of her pretty features. Long, dark lashes that framed exotic green eyes, a straight aquiline nose, and lips that parted with lust when she saw me looking her over. She was hot, I’d give her that. The dress was tight on her curves, and I wondered how her ass would feel in the palm of my hand.

  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” my mother said, and just like that, she was gone.

  “Happy birthday,” Cynthia said.

  “Thanks.”

  The silence lengthened between us.

  “Your mother said you like sailing.”

  I sighed, “My mother wishes I liked sailing. I like to go out on my father’s yacht from time to time.”

  “Your father’s?” she said her eyes filled with confusion. “But I thought...?”

  “Yes, he’s dead,” I said, straightforwardly. “But I don’t feel comfortable claiming ownership over something he put so much of himself into.”

  My father loved that yacht. He would spend weeks at a time out on the water, which I’d always thought would get lonely. Little did I know at the time that he was never actually alone. When he died five years ago, he left the yacht to me, but it would always be his in my mind.

  “I’m sorry,” Cynthia looked down. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Actually, if you’ll excuse me I have a phone call to make,” I said. “My apologies.”

  I slipped away from Cynthia, not particularly caring if I hurt her feelings with my abrupt departure. I wasn’t upset, just bored. I’d had that same conversation with countless girls over the years. After a while, they all started to blend into one—just another young, pretty socialite with more money than sense. They weren’t all like that, of course.
Some of them were quite intelligent and talented, but that didn’t make me any more interested.

  The aspect I enjoyed most about my mother’s parties was the relative anonymity they afforded. Few of the people here could spot me on sight, and those that could were generally distant acquaintances that didn’t have the nerve to come talk to me anyway. And there were lots of them.

  I did a couple rounds of the room, accepting well-wishes from the people I did know, then blending back into the crowd. All the while, I kept an eye out for Jeremy.

  I soon spotted him near the back corner of the room. He had a napkin of food in one hand and a drink in the other, and he looked bored as hell. He brightened up when he saw me.

  “For a lawyer, you’re awfully anti-social,” I mused when I reached him.

  Jeremy offered a weak shrug.

  “My job is to talk. I’d rather not do it in my spare time too if I can avoid it. Especially to your mother’s lot.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, with amusement. “You say that like they’re not your own lot as well.”

  Jeremy had grown up just as privileged as I did, only his father was a lawyer instead of a business tycoon.

  “Oh, you know,” he said as he gestured vaguely toward the mass of people in the ballroom. “They’re all so… stodgy. She picks them based on breeding and temperament, much like a person chooses a show dog. Where are all the playful little mutts?”

  I knew exactly what he meant. If just one of the girls my mother introduced me to had a spark of fire in her, perhaps I would be more interested. But she wasn’t looking to entertain me—she was looking to marry me off.

  “Oh shit.”

  Jeremy shoved the food in his mouth and stepped around me before I even had the chance to ask him what he was doing.

  I turned and saw why he’d made such a speedy exit.

  Paulina was headed straight toward me, her jaw so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if she cracked a tooth. It was her signature ‘pissed off’ expression, one that she’d cultivated and perfected over decades of dealing with my churlishness and my father’s antics.

  “Maximilian Augustus Westfield!” she snapped, her voice a little louder than I would have liked. “What in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doing?”