Desperately Seeking Epic(23)

“You’re staying here?” Neena gasps, her excitement hard to miss.

“In the guest room,” I clarify.

Neena springs up and rushes toward me, wrapping her skinny arms around my waist and squeezing tightly. “Thank you, Mom,” she whispers. Then she hugs Paul and the biggest grin spreads across his face.

Thank you, he mouths.

I give him a small smile before heading to the bathroom, hoping I’m not making a huge mistake.



“Mom?” Neena questions, her tone dainty as we drive to the Sky High.

“Yes,” I reply, before taking a sip of coffee from my travel mug.

“What’s it like to have sex?”

I nearly spit my coffee all over the steering wheel and front windshield. Somehow I manage to swallow it, but end up coughing a few times. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Who else can I ask?”

Sticking my mug back in the cup holder, I place both hands on the steering wheel, stiffening my arms, bracing myself for this conversation. “I’m glad you’re asking me, sweetie. You can always ask me anything. I’m just curious why you’re asking.”

She shifts in her seat, her hands knotted in her lap, a nervous habit she got from me. “If I tell you why I’m asking, will you promise not to cry?”

Damn. I don’t even know what she’s going to say and I already want to cry just because she is asking me not to. I take a deep breath to steady myself. “I promise.”

“I’ll never have sex.” She gives a little shrug. “Not like I want to now, but one day I think I probably would have.”

Don’t cry, Clara. Do not f*cking cry. You promised.

“I want to know what it’s like.”

Blinking rapidly, cursing the tears that are threatening to spill, I steel myself. “Well,” I begin, not at all certain what will come out of my mouth next. “Sex is something that is really . . . wonderful when it’s between two people that really care about each other. When two people love each other, being able to connect to one another physically is something truly amazing.”

“What about people who have sex that don’t love each other?”

I widen my eyes. I definitely have not had enough coffee for this conversation. “I suppose if two adults are consenting to it, sex can be good if they don’t love each other, but definitely nowhere near as good as if they do.”

“So the sex was really good with Dad?”

“Neena,” I say, under my breath. “You really want to know that?”

“Not the details, just want to know if that’s what it was like with him.”

I lick my dry lips and grip my steering wheel more tightly. Flickers of heated moments with Paul pulse through my veins; his mouth, his fingers dancing across my skin, the deep and raspy groans he would let out as we made love. “Yes,” I answer. “It was like that with your father.”

“Was he the only guy you’ve ever been with?”

I shake my head. As a mother, I hate to admit to my daughter I’ve had sex with more than one man. She sees me as this perfect woman. But I don’t want to lie to her. “No, baby. He wasn’t.”

She chuckles a little. I think my honesty surprises her. “How many?”

“Neena!”

“One, two?”

“Four.”

She scrunches her face up. “That’s not very many, Mom. You’re nearing forty. That’s only like one a decade.”

“Well, what can I say? Ages one to ten were rough years for me,” I say, dryly.

“Okay, that’s a good point. But it’s still a low number.”

I can’t help laughing. “By whose standards?”

“I don’t know. The modern woman,” she sasses. “I read in a magazine that the average person has eight to ten sexual partners in their lifetime.”

I twist my mouth. “What magazine did you read that in?” Apparently, I’m slacking on supervising her exposure.

“I don’t remember,” she mumbles.

“Well I don’t think a person should feel the need to meet any definite number. Just because some statistic says society meets a number doesn’t mean we have to.”

“Well, you’re below average.”

“Sorry my number disappoints you, Neena,” I chuckle.

“Do you think Dad has been with a lot of women?”

I snort. I cringe to think of that number. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

“I can’t ask him that!” she shrieks.

Flicking my blinker and turning into the office parking lot, I say, “Then I guess we will never know.”

“Are you sad you never got married?”

Parking the car, I turn off the ignition. She’s out in full force today, asking me all the tough questions. “I was married,” I admit. “Once.”

Her eyes widen to the size of saucers. “What? To who?”

“His name was Kurt. It was a long time ago.”

“How could you never tell me this?” The look on her face is sheer shock.

“I don’t like to think about it, I guess.”

“Do you still love him or something?”

I laugh. “No,” I answer firmly. “But I did, or . . . thought I did, and he hurt me badly.”