“No silly.” Becca rolled her eyes and flipped her blonde hair back. “The shot.”
“Oooh.”
“Four Birthday Suits!” the bartender announced.
I smiled as I distributed the four shots.
“Cheers! To Becca,” we all said. We three took our shots back but I noticed Amy just sort of sipped hers delicately and had a forced smile on her face as she looked around.
Eased by liquor, I felt like I was ready to get to the bottom of Amy.
Well, the bottom of her personality at least. She sat next to me while Becca and Le Ral got cozy. Finally, one-on-one time. I pulled the barstool out a bit for her, moving it slightly closer to me before helping her up on it.
“Amy, I don’t get you,” I said, confronting her. I needed to get this off my chest. “You can’t deny that you’re attracted to me. And I don’t judge. But seriously, it’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. What’s really holding you back?”
Amy batted her eyes and ordered a gin and tonic. “Fine, you really want to know?” “I do.” And I made sure to keep my eyes on her face, look her in the eye to prove it. “Lay it on me, Squirt.”
She sighed at my nickname for her but she answered me. “Well, there are two things. One is you and one is me.”
I frowned. This was new to me. A part of me wondered if she’d made a new list, one that was even longer than the last one. “Meaning…?” I prompted, very politely and still keeping my eyes on her face even if my brain wanted to wander elsewhere.
“Well, you, Chandler, are a player,” she stated. “I’m attracted to you, sure, but how do I know you’re not doing this with other girls?”
“I see,” I responded, not really sure what to say. “I could say I haven’t been hooking up with others girls but would you believe me?”
“I want to believe you,” she said and I could tell she meant it. “But you’re a psych major, you of all people know people’s behaviors are ingrained.”
Shit. I was just now realizing that a lot of the girls I’d dated weren’t as smart or observant as Amy. She saw right through me. That was going to take some time to get used to. So I deflected. “I won’t deny that I’ve been with other girls, yes. But as I said, I’m not with anyone right now, and you just got out of a relationship.”
“Right, which leads me to point number two.”
“Okay. Hit me.”
She took a long sip of her drink then exhaled. “Chandler, I’ve had horrible luck with relationships—especially with guys—for as long as I remember.”
I thought about that for a beat before I said, “And?”
“Attraction isn’t enough for me.” She hesitated, looking down at her drink instead of me. “To be honest, you seem like a bad decision. The worst decision I could ever make.”
Ouch. I mean, I wasn’t a walking STD for crying out loud and I was very careful. No way did I ever want to get a girl pregnant. “You’re wrong. Hooking up with me wouldn’t be a bad decision,” I said, trying to understand what was making her so scared. “I don’t get how you think that.”
“I don’t do casual. You clearly do,” she continued, finally glancing up at me. “Which is why I made the pact with you in the first place. You have a lot of options. I don’t want to be just another option. We’d hook up, and you’d move on, easily, while I wouldn’t, as easily.”
Damn. She was right of course, on my casual take on relationships with women. And I did have options. I also didn’t hesitate to explore those options. While I understood her reason, it was also incredibly frustrating. At the same time, it was refreshing to have a girl I liked tell it like it is.
I sighed, conflicted. “You know what, you’re right in some ways.”
“I am?” She sounded shocked.
“Yes,” I said, smiling a little. “Let’s just start out with the basics. I don’t know a lot about you. And you know even less about me. Let’s get to know each other better.”
“Okay,” she said, hesitantly. “Where should we start?”
I thought about it. I already knew she had hippie parents and that she had a brother. “Tell me more about your family,” I said.
“Um, okay,” she said. “I have one older brother, Samuel. He’s an architect in New York. You could say that we survived our hippie upbringing.” At this she paused and smiled before resuming. “My parents still live in the house we grew up in, just outside of Chicago, in Joliet. Dad runs an organic greenhouse and Mom has a yoga studio. We’re all pretty close, stay in touch though sometimes too in touch, y’know? How about you?”
A tiny bit of uncomfortableness came over me at the way she described what, to me, sounded like a perfect upbringing. But this was my idea so I told her.
“My mom, Stefana, married my step dad, when I was fifteen. I have a little half-brother, Billy. They all live in rural Indiana.” I stopped, just dead in my tracks and I couldn’t figure out what else to say. Quite honestly, I didn’t have the cheeriest childhood, and talking about it made me even more uncomfortable.
“You’d said you didn’t know anything about your dad?” she asked, gently.
“Nope,” I answered, shifting in my seat and ordering another Stella.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I took a deep breath as the bartender set my beer down and I took an immediate fortifying sip. I’d rarely mentioned this one little detail about my life that always threw me off my game. Most people didn’t really think twice about it and the more I tried to be cavalier about it, the more it had agitated me over the years. Amy picking at this scab was getting to me though.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, trying for nonchalance. That was how I rolled, easygoing and a low-pressure lifestyle. “We’re better off without him, as my mom always said.”
“Oh.” Amy looked up at me with her cute little doe eyes.
I saw no judgment, or pity, just acceptance and understanding. That relaxed me a little. “And your parents are still together you said?” I asked, continuing our conversation but glad it was off me.
She nodded. “Married twenty-six years.”
“That’s impressive.”
Amy had been moving slightly closer to me during this conversation. Now I noticed that she was just inches from me.
“Honestly,” she continued, “I know I sound like a spoiled brat, but it sometimes freaks me out. They were the perfect couple, and I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to live up to what they have.”
“You shouldn’t compare yourself to other people.”
“They’re my parents,” she said, slowly. “How can I not compare myself to them?”
“So what.” I shrugged. “I don’t want to be anything like my parents.”
She tilted her head to one side, brows furrowed. “In what way?”
“I’m never having kids, for starters.”
Amy’s eyes opened up a little bit wider. “Why?”
“A lot of reasons. I think I’d make a crappy father. And also, I think what you’ve said to me about my ‘reputation’ for being a womanizer…it’s actually true if I’m being honest. I like to keep things superficial. The inevitable breakup is easier for me if feelings don’t get involved.” I stopped for a moment because I was actually having a real conversation about myself that I normally hated doing. Amy was also listening to every word I was saying, like what I said really mattered to her. Again, also a new feeling. “And, I’ve had a hard time settling down, at least in college. But I have my reasons. I don’t think love is real.”
She gave me a surprised look. “What do you mean by that?”
Amy was like a little kid who kept asking me questions until she reached the center of my heart. But I felt comfortable enough to tell her. In fact, I wanted to tell her. It didn’t mean it’d be easy in the telling, however. I lurched slightly at what I was about to say, but it had to be said. Looking at Amy, sweet little innocent girl, I had to tell her the truth, try and open up. Truly, for both our sakes.
&nb
sp; This wasn’t a topic I often touched. Hell, I almost never talked about him. I took another sip of my drink, and let the alcohol linger on my throat.
“You ready to go down the rabbit hole, Squirt?” I asked.
She looked me right in the eye. “Try me.”
Eleven
Chandler
I almost never brought up my father, and with good reason. I didn’t know him but I hated him. The way Amy looked at me though, with her kind brown eyes. I could feel her genuine concern. After all the cardboard blondes I’d been dating lately, it was a fucking relief.
“If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.” She put a hand on my forearm. “But I can tell something’s bothering you.”
“No, it’s fine.” I took a deep breath. “Growing up, my mom always talked nonstop about what an asshole my biological father was. I’ve never met him, I don’t care to,” I said, watching her face and wondering what she was thinking. As I said the words, I realized I hadn’t admitted what I was about to say, to anyone. Ever. “But instead of my real father, she ended up with my stepfather Bob, and even though he was nice and all, it was so obvious to me that she didn’t love him.”
It was hard to admit that I thought my mom and Bob were just a relationship of convenience, not love. It’d also made me accepting Bob as a ‘dad’ in any way impossible because I never felt like we were a ‘family’, just two separate entities slapped together.
Amy’s expression didn’t waver. “No?” she asked, softly. “You sure about that?”
I shook my head. “He’s been good to me and my mom, but for my mom, I think he’s more of a, ‘well, I don’t want to be alone so I might as well be with you’ kind of arrangement. He clearly loves her more than she does him but my mom has traditional views on family and marriage. She’s never been that affectionate or warm so it makes sense why she married Bob, out of tradition and security than being in love with him. Ultimately, it made me realize that I…don’t really believe in love. It’s for some, but not everyone gets it. And that’s okay. So I became a master at leaving but it works for me. It’s not to say I don’t enjoy being with someone and being with that person for however long we’re together—but having the stereotypical life, just to have it because it’s expected of me…my mom, after two tries, taught me to not hope for or expect that much. Why bring kids into that, and make them feel what I felt my whole life? I don’t see the point.”
I stopped abruptly, not meaning to say as much as I had. Ironically, as a psych major, I’d never self-analyzed myself as much as I had in the past few minutes but as fluidly as I’d just spoken, I knew it’d been in me all this time, in the back of my mind and waiting for the right person to say all that to. It floored me, this revelation and I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. I’d been purposefully blind to it for years, on purpose, but not tonight.
Amy placed a hand on my knee, her eyes searching my face. “Chandler—if your mom’s more reserved, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him any less then your stepdad loves her. She just may have trouble showing it. And to you as well.”
“I’ve…honestly never thought about it that way,” I admitted, startled by her observation. The lens in which I have viewed my mom and her marriage to Bob had never wavered from the moment I’d cemented my thoughts on love, marriage and relationships. It’s affected me in every way.
Amy inched closer and surprised the hell out of me by giving me a hug. When she leaned into my chest, a strong wave of emotion went through me, trying to tell me something. Except I didn’t know what. I wasn’t really sure I liked it but it was comforting, which was completely different from feeling comfortable about revealing my emotions.
“You look like you need it,” she said when she pulled back completely. I missed that contact and resisted the urge to keep her there, close to me.
“Um, thanks,” I said, still not sure what I was feeling. I pushed that aside and focused on her, taking a deep breath.
“So…you don’t want…a family?” she asked, tentatively. “Get married and everything that comes with it?”
“It’s not for me,” I said, firmly. “I knew that a long time ago.”
“Hence, why you jump from girl to girl,” she said, quietly. “Makes sense now.”
I shifted uneasily in my seat because I could tell my confession had stumped her. “You probably want all those things, huh?” I asked, interpreting her words. I swallowed, nervous to hear her response. Not that I was thinking about deal breakers with a girl I hadn’t even kissed… But I was.
She nodded, her expression hard to read. “And you don’t,” she said, her voice also taking on an unreadable note.
There was this silence that sat between us. I hated it but I wasn’t going to lie to her either. The consequences of this conversation, I’d figure out later. Right now, I wanted the topic off me for the rest of the night. I cleared my throat. “All right Squirt. I told you some of my dirty laundry. What about you? Or are you just all sunshine and wild dandelions, the same as you smell?” I teased.
“Very funny,” she said, but she forced a smile but it quickly disappeared. “What do you want to know?”
“What happened to you and your ex?” I asked, still very curious about it.
“Okay,” she said, only hesitating briefly. “Have I told you anything about Scott?”
“Not really.”
She sighed and took a deep breath. “Okay, well, besides being a psycho, he fucked me up pretty good. And I didn’t even realize it until…” Her voice trailed off.
I set my jaw, imagining a slew of awful things. “He hit you?”
She blinked at me in surprise. “Oh God no. Nothing like that. He messed me up psychologically, I think.” She paused. “This is so embarrassing. And I can’t believe you helped me put this together.”
My eyes widened in disbelief. I pointed to myself as I leaned forward. “I helped you solve what? You’re going to have to fill me in, because I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
She giggled, then bit down on her lower lip. “Fine. Like I said, it’s embarrassing but I’ll tell you. You did just tell me some really personal things, or else I’d feel funny telling you this.”
I sat on the edge of my seat. Amy had been so upfront about most things. What could make a woman like her embarrassed? “I’m listening…”
“So the other day, when I saw you in your room…heard you saying my name…I couldn’t believe that a man could really be doing what you were doing and be fantasizing about me.”
I frowned, and scoffed, incredulous. “Why the fuck not?” I raised my voice a little. I was actually getting mad that a girl as hot as Amy didn’t believe she could be the basis of a man’s fantasies. I wanted to know who had knocked her self-worth down so low. “And what’s this got to do with Scott?”
She blew the air out of her mouth like she was taking a yoga breath. “So, when we were having sex, he would have to use porn to get hard. Sometimes. Well, like all the time pretty much.”
My mouth opened, lips parted. If my jaw could have hit the floor, it would have. The fact that this guy needed porn to get off when he had the hottest girl I had ever seen was beyond my worldview. “So your sex life must have been pretty bumping, I take it?” I mused, off hand.
She rolled her eyes. “Chandler. I’m being serious. Remember?”
“Sorry, I know.” Shit, I was making this into a joke. The thing was, I was now in uncharted territory, where I actually cared about Amy’s emotions. I was an expert at seducing women, not tending to their emotional needs. That was a mess I always left for the Beta males to clean up. “Go on.”
She fidgeted with her glass. “Basically, he told me it was my fault for not looking like more the girls in porn. He thought my tits were too small and my ass was too big…or something. I don’t even know.” She was going for blasé but I saw through it. “I’ve always been pretty confident in my skin but for the first time ever, I felt ugly. He made me feel…hideous
…and unconfident.” She said that last part in a whisper and chugged half her drink before taking a moment to breathe. “Don’t get me wrong, there were other issues contributing to our relationship going down hill but that was what made me realize he wasn’t the one for me. I haven’t even been distressed by our breakup at all.”
Some serious anger surged through me at this Scott fucker. I loved women that came in all shapes and sizes. They all had their own personal strengths, of course. Amy was especially hot, though, and now that the fact that she was dealing with body image issues because of this dick grinded the shit out of my gears. Still, I had a question for her.
“So how does this relate to you not wanting to be with me? I mean, clearly the porn thing is not going to be a problem with me.” I looked her right in the eye for emphasis.
She touched her hand to my arm, and the electricity thing happened again in my body. Her touch inflamed me at the same time that it comforted me.
“He also told me I was bad at sex,” she admitted, nearly under her breath. “I’m afraid I’ll be bad with you.”
I slammed my fist on the bar, seeing red. “This motherfucker had to watch porn to get it up and then has the balls to tell you’re bad at sex? For the love of God.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Now I’m feeling like an idiot for being with him for all that time.”
“You aren’t an idiot. He’s the moron that didn’t deserve you.”
My eyes darted to her hand that was still gripping my forearm. She squeezed once more and then let go. “Thanks for listening,” she said, her voice shaky and a little teary-eyed. “You’re a good friend, Chandler.”
I wanted to hug her like she had me but that wasn’t my style either, not really. I wasn’t the affectionate type of guy. We just sat together companionably, drinking our drinks and enjoying being in each other’s presence. I’d never had a serious girlfriend and never took relationships seriously. Mainly for the reasons I’d just told Amy. Some of the girls I’d been with thought they could change me, or change my mind about certain things once we had that discussion. That’s when I usually cut things off. I wasn’t going to change my mind for anyone for any reason. Considering the kind of example I had of what a wife and husband looked like in my own mom and stepdad, I knew I was a product of my own upbringing and Amy was right, some habits were too ingrained. I appreciated that she understood what I’d said and took it at face value. Not as a ‘maybe.’ She respected my choice and hadn’t tried to put her values on me. She wouldn’t be the type to try to change me, and that made me like her even more.
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