Desperately Seeking Epic(56)

“Sorry about the shirt,” I say. “But we need a guinea pig.” Clara looks to Neena for explanation, but I continue. “Neena wants to shave my face, but she’s scared. I want to show her how to do it.”

She’s staring at me. “Okay . . .”

Apparently she needs some clarification. “I want to show her on you.”

“I’m not letting you shave my face, Paul,” she laughs.

“Just sit down,” I huff playfully. “I’m going to shave it with a razor with the cover on. I won’t really shave your face. She just wants to see the technique.”

“Please, Mom,” Neena begs before Clara can answer, a small smile on her face because she knows Clara will do this for her even though she doesn’t want to.

“Okay,” she mutters. Grabbing two hair ties off the sink, she yanks her blonde hair up and twists it into a knot on her head. Plopping down on the toilet, she watches me as I fill the sink with clean water and grab a razor with a plastic cover from the medicine cabinet.

“Oh,” Neena beams. “I need my camera.”

“Great,” Clara says.

“Hey, this is making her day,” I tell her. “Thanks for doing it.”

“I’m glad to do it. I’m worried though. She seems to be slowing down, don’t you think? Moving slower. Not quite as perky or energetic.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, my chest aching. “I’ve noticed too.”

“Thanks for doing this, Paul,” Clara says, sincerely. “I just feel like the happier she is, the more time we have.”

I nod. “I agree.” It’s our own personal form of denial. Then the thought of last night hits me; our fight; the terrible things that were said. “I’m sorry about last night.” It’s been said already, but it needs to be said again. She grabs my hand and squeezes.

“I’m sorry for so much. But we’re a team in this now. And I’m glad you’re here.”

Looking down at Clara, her blue eyes fixed on me, deep with sincerity. I can’t help myself. Leaning down, I kiss her lips softly. When I stand again, I say, “You’re beautiful.”

“You really are, Mom,” Neena chirps softly from the doorway, camera in hand, filming us.

Clara blushes. “Only because I shave my face daily,” she jokes.

Neena continues to film as I cover Clara’s face in shaving cream, and she even makes me kiss Clara, explaining how cute it will look. My daughter, the romantic. As I glide the plastic over Clara’s delicate skin, I explain to Neena the technique and where the sensitive spots are. When we’re done, Clara towels off her face and poses. “How do I look?” she asks in a deep and masculine voice.

“Handsome,” I confirm. “Manly.”

Clara looks at the camera and does some kind of obnoxiously loud kiss after flexing her arms, like she’s a dude kissing his bicep. “Yeah, I’m a stud.” Neena rolls her eyes, but giggles because her mother is a loon.

“I’m going to go have a burping contest with myself in the other room,” Clara tells us as she heads for the door.

“Don’t act like that’s just a guy thing,” I call after her. “You know you do it, too.”

“I’m going to change my shirt and make myself a fresh cup of coffee,” she calls back, ignoring me.

I grin at Neena. “See how she didn’t deny it?”

After she leaves, I clean the sink and prepare for my shave. When it’s all ready, I take a seat and hand Neena the trimmer, but she stares at it for a moment before handing it to me. “Hold on one sec.” She scurries off and when she returns she has her cell phone. “We need before and after pics.” She snaps two of me before I grab her and set her on my knees as I lean in from the back. “Now one of us together.”

She shakes her head no and tries to stand, but I hold her in place. “Why not?”

She won’t look at me when she replies, “I like taking video and pics of others. Not of myself. I hate how I look.”

“You look beautiful,” I state. “Don’t ever forget that. Please, just one for your old man?” I beg, squeezing her.

Her shoulders droop, but she extends her arm out with her phone, the screen facing toward us. “On the count of three,” she warns. “One, two, three.”

Just before she clicks the photo, I kiss her cheek and she giggles. The picture is perfect, capturing her amazing smile. “Dad!” she groans tiredly.

“Okay, one more. I’ll be good this time, I promise.” I take the phone from her and hold it away from us. Then I count, just like her. But when I reach three, she turns and wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek.

Okay, I lied. This picture is perfect.

I kiss her head and hand her the phone. “I better get copies of those,” I inform.

“Or what?” she challenges me, feigning playing tough.

“Or I’ll ask your mother to cook dinner tonight.”

Her mouth drops open in mock horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” I narrow my eyes, holding back laughter.

“Fine,” she answers, pretending to be miffed. “You’ll get the pictures,” she ensures me. “I promise.”