I still wasn’t taking any of my meds but Chandler didn’t baby me, which made me appreciate him more. He did, however, watch me every once in awhile, making sure I was actually doing okay. I think he was finally starting to realize that he was my medicine.
Now that the secret about my depression was out, it was like a weight had been lifted off me. Chandler and I even joked about the pills and their effects. We were sitting at the kitchen counter eating breakfast one morning, when he said, “Really. You’ve never tried Ambien sex?”
“Um, no.” I stabbed my eggs with a fork. “Never heard of doing that.”
“So, you take an Ambien—”
“Which makes you pass out like right away!” I interjected.
“Yes. But. If you manage not to fall asleep, apparently, it’s like the craziest sex ever.” He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what people say, anyway.”
I shook my head. Only Chandler could turn my lifelong demon into a joke and have me be okay with it. “You act like you’re some inexperienced type of guy sometimes, you know that? Like you haven’t slept with a ton of girls. You’re a damn Casanova.”
He gave me a funny look. “Casanova?” he asked, frowning.
I grinned. “Becca told me that was your nickname during college.”
He made a face then schooled his face. “Am I?” he asked, almost innocently.
“C’mon,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Everywhere we go, girls materialize out of nowhere, and I can see them almost literally getting turned on as they talk to you.”
He laughed out loud. “You must be better at seeing this than me. Maybe I don’t have as many experiences as you think?”
I sipped my coffee and thought about it. “I mean, I only have a small sample size, but I think it’s true.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe it runs in your blood.” It was a joke but Chandler choked on his eggs and had to clear his throat with scalding hot coffee. “What did I say?” I asked, puzzled, and hitting him on the back as he coughed for a few more minutes.
“Nothing, it’s just…” He looked away for a second then grabbed his empty plate to set in the sink. “What do you remember about what I told you about my biological father?”
I sat on my seat for a few seconds before I spoke, refraining from telling him that every memory of mine he was in was as clear as day to me. “Well, your mom thought he was an asshole and you’d never met him…but that was really it.”
He nodded, slowly. “Well, I guess if I am a Casanova, it might actually run in my blood.”
I shook my head. “What?” I asked, bemused. “I was joking, Chandler.”
He topped off our coffees and sat back down next to me but stared down into his mug. “Mom and I got into an argument about…him…one time. She was dating Bob and I was being difficult about it.” He glanced over at me then away again, then stalled, taking a couple sips of coffee. “It’s funny,” he said, at last.
“What?” I asked, softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“She’d never said one good thing about him,” he said, “other then that she got me out of the deal.” He paused, and seemed lost in thought for a while. “I’d forgotten that…” He shook his head. “Not that it makes up for everything but…it’s something I hadn’t had before.”
Again, he fell eerily silent. I squeezed his shoulder. “Go on,” I encouraged.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I asked her why she hated his guts so much because she’d really never told me. She always said he was worthless, that we were better off without him. But growing up without a dad, I wanted to know what he was like. I thought that my mom made him out as evil when he really wasn’t.” He laughed, but it was joyless. “During our argument, she told me the usual byline, and I lashed out. I said something horrible to her, which I won’t repeat because I never meant it.” He sighed, shaking his head. “She never held it against me either. But she told me, in that calm, reserved way of hers, that I was nothing like him, which I thought was weird, the way she’d phrased it.”
Again, he stopped, and I could tell he was living that moment again. Moments, good and bad, but the past was powerful, and sometimes brutally painful. I didn’t know what to do or say, or if I should hug him or give him space. So I just sat there with my hand on his shoulder, waiting. I wasn’t going to push.
He seemed to draw himself out of his head and looked over at me, but his gaze was somewhere else, inward, looking back at his life. He blinked, and the focus was back and on me. He smiled, ever so slightly, which always had a way of making me return it. “What?” I asked, gently.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
That simple sentence warmed me up, all over. “Me too,” I whispered hoarsely, getting all emotional.
He blinked again, and looked off but not lost inside himself like before. “Anyway… Apparently, my dad is quite the Casanova himself,” he said, his voice even, but not indifferent. “She told me that he’s got kids all over. Just leaves ’em like they’re nothing. Like I was nothing. And that’s when I realized what my mom was trying to keep me safe from all these years. Feeling unwanted. She’d tried her best herself, and…maybe she married Bob, in some ways, to give me the good, kind, decent father she’d always wanted for me.”
Holy shit. I gulped, blown away by his self-realization. I did hug him then and he let me. “I’m so sorry, Chandler,” I whispered, eyes stinging. “Your mom’s right, he is worthless.”
“Yeah, well, life happens,” he said, with a short laugh. “And it’s twisted that I still ended up like him.”
I pulled back, glaring. “No.”
He eyed me back then smiled a little, putting an arm around my waist. “Okay, maybe not. I hope not,” he said, grimly.
“You’re not,” I said firmly.
Finally, a laugh, a nice one. “Okay, I can live with that.”
“You’ve never wanted to meet him?” I ventured, carefully.
He shrugged. “I go back and forth. All I have are my mom’s thoughts and memories about him, and she’s not exactly fair but I know she hasn’t lied to me about the parts that matter,” he said, brows furrowing. “I don’t know. I guess a part of me has always wanted to know about him on my own terms, so that I could finally put that part of me, and my past, aside.”
“Closure,” I said. “He’s been a ghost your whole life but he’s had the greatest impact on you and your mom. Makes sense.”
“Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But the other part of me is scared of meeting him, too.” He shook his head. Then his phone rang, interrupting what was possibly the most serious and longest conversation about Chandler ever. He glanced at his phone on the kitchen counter. “Shit, that’s probably Tony. I’m supposed to pick him up.” He checked the clock on the stove. “And I gotta go soon or we’ll both be late.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips, slid off his seat and headed toward his bedroom.
He had a special workout with the team this morning, and rushed out with another quick grin, then was gone. I’d gone to several of his practices and two games in the past week, one that had been in Germany. He was amazing, and I’d been shocked to find how popular he was, not just in Spain but in Europe, in general. The fandom wasn’t as crazy as it was in the US but Chandler was a clear favorite, getting a lot of attention from the media that had been at the game, to fans chanting his name and wanting his autograph and selfies after their big win. With the stats he’d been putting up while I’d been here, I still couldn’t believe he didn’t try out for the NBA. But he was so touchy on that subject and I hadn’t wanted to go on about that since I kept bringing up his biological father.
For the next few hours it was just me and the dog. Funny how this vacation was turning me into something of a homebody.
Jess and I cuddled on the couch, watching TV for a little while. It was nice to brush up on my Spanish but my mind was on other things. I replayed our conversation a millions times and in different ways, trying to put myself in his shoe
s. Maybe Chandler’s mom had a point about his dad being an asshole, but what if he’d cleaned up his act since then? Didn’t we all deserve a second chance? What if, like Chandler, he was afraid of what he’d find by resolving his past?
I grabbed my laptop from my luggage and sat back down on the couch, upsetting Jess before she settled back down. I popped open my laptop, as my idea started to develop.
For the rest of the afternoon, finding Chandler’s dad consumed my entire being.
I knew his mom’s name was Stefana Spiros, but I didn’t know his dad’s surname. Chandler grew up in rural area of Indiana but again, I didn’t know much beyond that. I did a Google search for her name, and low and behold, I found her wedding announcement to Bob, who looked goofy happy, from an Indianapolis online newspaper. It was a stark contrast to Stefana, who looked to be in her early 30s, but with a mild-mannered smile. The announcement was pretty basic but it had some information. Like a bio for each. Bob was a local boy, as was his extended family. Stefana had no family mentioned, other then Chandler, who was listed as ‘from a previous relationship’, and her occupation. Really scant. I guess Chandler had no real family outside him and his mom, and now Bob and his half-brother.
Then, I waded through—of all things—her high school newspaper database, which had made a recent effort to archive all of their old newspapers online. She was a local girl and I stared at Chandler’s mom for a second. Wow, she was a hottie back in the day with her tan skin and thick brown hair.
I came across a picture of Stefana and her date at prom her senior year, then stared at for the next five minutes. I didn’t think it’d be that easy but when I looked at the guy, it was unmistakable. Stefana had dark brown eyes while her date had blue-green eyes. Some of the facial features were also familiar as was his height. The guy was definitely older, whereas she looked to be about eighteen. And boy, the man even looked like trouble.
Chandler was twenty-six. He’d mention in passing his mother was around forty-five. The math added up.
The man’s name was Jack Whitehead. I back-searched his name and crossed it with a couple of other databases, including one of those online criminal database you had to pay for. So worth it, I decided.
What I found was damn interesting. I got up and went to the small table by the window where Chandler had his own laptop and a basic printer. I printed off a couple of pages of information, stuffed them in an envelope and hid it in my luggage bag. I’d wait for the right moment; it would be therapeutic for Chandler to know who his father was. I was sure of that.
***
Each night between Chandler and I seemed more intense than the night before. The intensity of our physical encounters was due to something that was rapidly becoming evident: I was about to leave and go back to Chicago tomorrow, and we hadn’t had The Talk.
The fucking talk. I didn’t want to have it, because I knew what it might mean. I assumed he didn’t want to have it, either. Yet, as we lay in bed on the Friday night before my flight was scheduled to leave, neither of us addressed the whole ‘me leaving’ topic. In fact, we’d been living in the present like a fairytale. Chandler’s breaths were deep and I knew he was sleeping. My eyes were open as I pondered what to do about this whole situation.
The past week, we’ve been the kind of couple I’d always wondered if we could be. We’d opened up so much to each other. Massive breakthroughs. He’d almost said he loved me but almost wasn’t fact.
He wanted to be with me, but there were still things we’d yet to discuss: a future. What that looked like for me, him and us. I knew that a perfect week didn’t change someone’s perception of what they wanted out of their life and had wanted for a long time.
Was the best week and half of my life the only time I’d get to have him, in the most perfect way? We had few problems for this short time and whatever issues we’d had, we’d resolved them, together. And I felt stronger because of it, and I thought Chandler did too. We just focused on each other. The real world didn’t exist but soon, it would. We’d both have to face reality.
Perhaps it was better to live on, in bliss, as amigovios. Or, as I was beginning to say in my mind, the ‘ambiguous novios.’ What the fuck were we? The old fears and reasons I’d made up the pact years ago started to resurface. Did he do this with all kinds of girls? A weeklong romp then move on? As strong as our connection was, a cloud of doubt lingered over me. Everywhere we went, women knew him. I never knew if they knew him because he was just a tall, handsome as hell man who played basketball for Barcelona’s local team and had lived in this city for several years, or if their was a history there with some of these women. But I wasn’t about to confront him and be that crazy girl who made a mountain out of a molehill. I’d gone into this knowing full well what may happen, or not.
I burrowed further into Chandler’s body, loving the skin-to-skin contact. God, it was like a drug. No, he was a drug.
I had stopped taking my depression meds for the entire time here, and I’d never felt better. Whereas before, when I was working for Green PR, sure I got by taking my meds and going through the motions; but I always felt like I was playing the perfect version of me, never that I was just being me.
Here, in Barcelona, at Chandler’s side, the reality was that I felt more me than I’d felt in a long time. Years. Since…fuck.
Since the last time I was in Barcelona.
And I liked this version of me. I loved not having to act happy to wake up every morning and go to a job I didn’t much care for. Not having to look at my pills and wonder if I would be a slave to them for the rest of my life.
I didn’t want this week to end. Because come Sunday morning, when I arrived back in the U.S., I was going to be in for a serious Chandler hangover.
And something told me a Chandler hangover couldn’t be cured with a nice greasy plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns from Debi’s Diner.
Would Chandler ask me to stay in Barcelona? God, how could I even think that was an option? This was a vacation, an escape. Barcelona wasn’t real life. In real life, you had a job, you had responsibilities, you had to make money.
In real life, I couldn’t just cavort around being fuck buddies with the most gorgeous man in this goddamn city, having kinky-as-hell sex next to a damn church.
Oh, wow. My mom was not ever going to hear that story.
I needed to touch base with reality, I decided. I slid out from under Chandler’s arm. He kept sleeping. I put on some shorts and a t-shirt and went into the living room. I opened up my laptop and plopped down on the couch.
Who was the most down to earth person I knew who could help me make some sense of everything that was going on in my life right now?
I knew what my mom would tell me. Come home and get my head out of the clouds.
Ironic, since she once moved across the country to be with my dad.
My dad would tell me to do whatever my heart desired.
While I was grateful for all the love he and my mom had given me over the years, neither of them could talk me through this.
The answer came to me in a flash, a duh moment. Andrea fucking Diggers. We’d only become friends this past summer, but she was one of the strongest women I’d ever met and we’d become super close. Even though she was a few years younger than me, she had her shit together more than most people my age. I also knew she’d never judge me. I’d helped her through some hard times, and we rolled great like a team.
I looked at the time. It was a quarter to 9 p.m. here so Andrea would be up and about. I shot her a message through Skype text asking her if she could video chat. She was, and I dialed her in. Next thing I knew, her gorgeous face had popped up on the screen, causing me to smile from ear to ear.
“Andrea! Hi!” I grinned and as I did, I made a personal resolution this next year to spend more time with the people I loved the most. Like her. Her wavy brown hair was cut in bangs around her eyes. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle even more than they normally did.
“Well hello!
Happy New Year! What a nice surprise!”
“Yeah, how’s the weather in Chicago today?”
“Freezing. But…luckily, it’s pretty warm here inside Jake’s apartment.”
Just then I heard powerful footsteps on the ground in Andrea’s room, and I saw Jake’s body cross behind Andrea.
He poked his head into the frame, right next to Andrea’s. “Amy! How is Spain, you crazy fucking girl?”
“Hey, take it easy.” Andrea shot him a slightly dirty look, but followed it up with a smile.
“It’s okay, I don’t care if Jake swears.”
“I know you don’t care, but we have little ones to worry about now—”
“Wait, little ones? With a ‘s’? I thought you just adopted Tate?” Andrea had mentioned to me before I left for Spain that they were engaged and sent me the ring pics, but anything else was knew to me.
Andrea looked at me blankly, then glanced at Jake, who nodded. She turned back to face me and ran a hand through her hair. Jake gripped high on her shoulder. “Well, we were going to wait until we were further along to tell everyone. But Amy, I’m pregnant.”
“Oh my gosh!” I squealed. “Congratulations you two!”
Jake smiled and moved a hand up to Andrea’s face, turning her face for a kiss. I thought I saw some tongue action, but hey, who was I to judge? “We just found out,” Jake boomed, and glanced at Andrea. “I already knew it—I’ve noticed Andrea’s boobs getting bigger.”
Andrea rolled her eyes and shook her head. The eye contact the two of them made said it all, though. Just the way their eyes could graze over each other and look back at me showed me how they thought about each other. “It was a bit of a surprise—obviously we wanted to have the wedding first.
I smiled. “You two are so in love. What’s your secret?”
“A healthy sex life,” Jake joked. “Now with that pearl of wisdom, I have to go pick up Tate from school. It’s two p.m. here. Talk to you later!”
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