Desperately Seeking Epic(50)

“In proper Chinese etiquette, the guest of honor sits facing the doorway,” Mei-ling explains. “This is not our house, but as Marcus is cooking and we are technically hosting, he will sit in the seat closest to the kitchen, facing Neena.”

Mei-ling directs us to our seats and when Marcus enters, he’s holding a tray with some kind of fancy dish with a lid.

“Ooh, what is it, Marcus?” Neena asks, as she raises her head in an attempt to peek.

“This, my dear Neena,” Marcus begins with his best imitation of an Asian accent, “is a Chinese specialty. We have made only the best for you, young grasshopper.”

“Oh shit,” I murmur. “He’s going Mr. Miyagi on us.”

“Who is Mr. Miyagi?” Neena questions, her face scrunched up.

I look at Clara like she’s insane. In a serious and intent tone, I ask slowly, “She’s never seen The Karate Kid?”

Clara appears to be spacing out for a beat and then rolls her eyes at me and chortles. “Afraid not.” Maybe she’s forgetting how much of a cult classic this movie is.

Turning to Neena, I meet her gaze head-on. “Neena, after dinner I want you to go upstairs and pack a bag. I’m taking you out of this home immediately. Clearly you have been deprived of any real culture and your mother needs to have her rights taken away.”

Neena giggles and Clara shakes her head at my ridiculousness.

“And you!” I point to Marcus. “How could you let this happen?”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus feigns crying. “I’ve failed you as a friend.”

“Mr. Miyagi was Japanese, not Chinese,” Mei-ling points out, seemingly annoyed.

“But he played a Chinese man in the movie,” Marcus adds.

“No, he didn’t,” she argues.

He laughs. “He was badass, nonetheless.” Then looking down to Neena, he says, in his best Miyagi voice, “First learn stand, then learn fly. Nature rule, Nanson, not mine.”

“Another Mr. Miyagi quote,” Clara says, a little dryly. At least she’s talking more now. I’m starting to wonder what has her so off tonight.

“Marcus,” Mei-ling says his name, her thick accent rising an octave the more annoyed she gets. “The food.”

“Oh, yes.” Marcus nods, still holding the tray. “Tonight we have made a very special meal for you. You are going to love it. Your parents are going to love it.” Marcus is purposely taking forever, enjoying riling Clara and Mei-ling up.

“Spit it out, Marcus,” Clara groans.

“Silence!” he snaps at Clara, still in an Asian accent, making us laugh.

“For you, tonight,” he sits the tray down slowly, “we have . . . the pupu platter.”

Neena’s head rears back as her mouth twists. “Poo poo?”

“Oh, yes, so much pupu,” he replies, laying heavy emphasis on the pupu.

Neena looks at me, eyes wide, sheer shock and disbelief in her gaze, and mouths, poo poo?

The room roars with laughter, to which her face turns bright red. Even Mei-ling is laughing with us.

“What?” Neena asks, looking utterly confused.

Clara leans against me as she laughs, unable to stop. Leave it to Marcus to make everyone laugh. I wrap my arm around her and pull her to me as our bodies shake. It feels good to hold her this way, when she’s happy. I constantly see her mind working overtime. When she finally pulls herself up, she is wiping under her eyes she’s still laughing so hard. “Not poop, babe. I promise,” she cackles, before chuckling softly. “It’s just the name of the dish.”

Neena cuts Marcus a sassy look, even though she’s smiling. I swear this kid has the best sense of humor. She just rolls with things. She knows how to laugh at herself. “Very funny, Marcus.”

“You really think I’d feed you poop?” he asks as his laughter ebbs.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly.

Marcus lifts the lid off the dish and in true Chinese etiquette, begins serving us. “Well, if it makes you feel better, this pupu platter is probably going to make me poo poo later, for real.”

“Marcus!” Mei-ling shrieks. Then she starts fussing at him in her native language that none of us, not even Marcus, understands.

“You. Are. Gross,” Clara tells him while I try to bite back my roars of heavy chuckles.

“Just don’t use my bathroom,” Neena insists as she practices with her chopsticks. “You clogged it last time. We had to hire a plumber.”

“Oh yeah,” Marcus mumbles as he looks off to the side as if remembering.

“Real classy, dude,” I interject, but he simply grins.

Marcus continues to serve the food as he speaks to Neena. “I think your mother actually cooked that night. Must’ve been food poisoning. Sent me straight to the shitter.”

“Language, Marcus. And it was not my cooking,” Clara defends. “And are we seriously talking about Marcus taking a dump right now? I mean . . . right now at the dinner table?”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Marcus looks at Clara thoughtfully before turning back to Neena. “We’re discussing poo poo, while eating pupu, kid.”

What is it about gross stuff that makes kids laugh? Neena’s face lights up as she laughs as hard as Marcus. There’s not a single person in this room that isn’t touched by her smile. It’s captivating. And I know, without a doubt, we’d all do anything to see it. Even if that means talking about poop when we’re about to eat. As I watch her, my heart tightens, and I feel Clara’s hand rest on my leg and squeeze as she watches Neena thoughtfully. I place mine on hers as our eyes meet. It’s one of those moments, and I know I’ll never forget. I wish I could freeze it, or somehow box it; trap it so we never lose it. Here we are, with our friends, and our daughter. Our daughter is sick, weakening before our very eyes, and she’s laughing. How many of these moments do we have left? How many more might we get? I’d give anything to see that smile forever. That thought chokes me. And angers me. I’ve missed a lifetime of these moments . . . her lifetime of moments. It’s not fair. And suddenly, I’m fuming. I’m angry I was denied this. Seeing my little girl every day. Watching her play, so carefree, without a single fear in the world. It’s not f*cking fair. I’m not ever going to be ready to say good-bye to my child. Why didn’t Clara tell me? Why didn’t she try harder to find me? I know she emailed . . . but is that really trying? She robbed me of precious time.