Desperately Seeking Epic

by B. N. Toler

  “Fine.” She flips the faucet back on and starts scrubbing the pot again. Under her breath, she mumbles, “Ruin a great night with your little head trip.”

  I lose it. My heart thunders as my rage pumps through me. I hit the faucet, causing her to jump. When she twists her head and sees me, she narrows her eyes, glowering at me, but doesn’t back away.

  “Ruin a great night?” I snort with disdain and derision. “How many good nights with her have you gotten?”

  “What?” she questions, appearing angry and confused.

  “Twelve years,” I answer for her, stepping closer. She doesn’t back away because . . . well . . . it’s Clara. She backs down to no one. “Twelve years you saw her grow, laugh, and play, and twelve years of fucking hugs, Clara. Of laughter and pure and sweet smiles. You got all of that. And what do I get?” I ask her, my voice cracking slightly with pain and emotion.

  Clara’s enraged expression ebbs in to what almost looks like shame.

  “You denied me that. You denied me what little time she has had.”

  Her expression morphs back to raw anger.

  “You denied yourself that, Paul,” she hisses quietly. “You took off. Not me.”

  “You could have found me. You know you could have. I mean, here, only when you were at your most desperate time, you found me. Why not before, huh?”

  She finally steps back, her forearms and hands soapy, dripping water on the floor. “The same reason you never came back. You never called. You never wrote. Not me. Not Marcus. You disappeared. So let’s be real here,” she growls. “You didn’t want to be found because you didn’t want to come back.”

  “You were having my baby!” I boom. “I deserved to know that!”

  “You are ridiculous!” she booms back. “You leave and I’m supposed to chase you? And for what? So that you’d hate me for trapping you here? Or you’d play part-time father in between your world travels and fucking adventures?” She pulls a dish towel off the counter and wipes angrily at her hands. “While you’d been skydiving in Brazil and backpacking through jungles, and screwing exotic women, I’ve been running a business, which by the way, funds your fucking adventures. Oh, and I’ve been raising a child by myself . . . who happens to be dying. Don’t you think that destroys me? Occupies all of my time? Yes, you missed some pretty amazing times in her life. I won’t lie. She has been my world and I wouldn’t trade a second of it. Those moments are more valuable than anything to me.” She places a hand over her heart.

  I wince as her hand trembles. But her words are like a knife in my chest. I should have had those moments, too.

  “But you also missed the blow of finding out your eight-year-old child has cancer. You missed watching her go through radiation, chemo. You missed the nights when she was so weak she couldn’t get out of bed and puked all over herself. You missed watching your healthy, vibrant daughter lose her hair and cry when people stared at her. You missed watching her fall behind in school, unable to keep up with her peers. You missed having to choose whether to do more chemo or let things go. You—”

  “Wait,” I cut her off. “What?”

  Clara pauses, unsure of what I’m asking.

  “More chemo was an option?”

  She sighs, exhausted by our argument. Tears are streaming down her face and she uses the dish towel to wipe them away. “Not to cure her. It may have bought us more time with her.”

  I back away from her and fist my hair. “And you didn’t do it?”

  Clara’s head snaps up, her narrowed gaze fierce with fury. “We decided together what was best.”

  “You let a child decide this?”

  “We decided together,” she growls at me.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout. “Why would you decide to not have more time with her?”

  “Because I’d be miserable,” Neena cries from the kitchen doorway. Her makeup is smeared from her own tears and she’s holding her wig in her hand. Watching your kid slowly dying has been fucking awful. But watching your dying kid cry tops the list of the worst things ever.

  “Oh, baby,” I whisper, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

  Marcus is behind her and he gently pulls her arm, trying to lead her away. “Come on, Neena.”

  Neena weakly jerks her arm away and steps into the kitchen. “What would more time mean if I’m too tired and sick to live?” she asks through trembling lips. “They said my heart and kidneys would suffer. And chemo, Dad, it’s awful. I would have done it again if they’d said I’d live . . . but I wouldn’t. It would just . . . delay my death. I’m so sick and tired of dying. Can’t you understand that? I’m tired, Daddy.”

  My eyes are burning with tears. Clara is holding her fist to her mouth, and she says nothing as her body shakes. She’s trying to contain herself. But Neena isn’t done with me yet.

  “She should’ve told you about me.” Then she looks at Clara. “You could’ve tried harder, Mom. I needed my dad.” Clara eyes well up more and she nods in confirmation.

  “I could have,” she manages, her gaze meeting mine.

  But then Neena looks to me and my heart stills. She’s disappointed. My own eyes are staring back at me with offense. “You can be mad at her for not finding you sooner. But, Paul . . .”

  I stop breathing. She called me Paul. Not Dad. Not Daddy. “Do not ever yell at her again about what is happening to me. It’s not her fault I’m sick.” Tears are steadily falling down her face and I want crawl into a deep black hole. I did this. I’m such an asshole. I pull on my hair some more. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “She hasn’t lived because she’s been trying to save my life. She’s done everything for me. Please . . . don’t yell at her.” Then she goes to Clara and hugs her. These two ladies that I love more than anything in the world are crying and hugging, because of me . . . well, I am officially the biggest piece of shit in the world.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice husky. “I need . . . I need to get some air.” Marcus calls after me, but I don’t look back. I’m out the back door in a flash. As soon as the night air hits my heated face, I gulp deep breaths. What the fuck just happened in there? Am I insane?

  “Well that was fun,” Marcus mumbles from beside me. I didn’t even hear him follow me.

  “Shut up, Marcus,” I groan.

  He shifts beside me. He has no idea what to say. No friend likes telling another friend that they’re an idiot. Normally he’d come out with it anyway, but I guess with the subject matter being a delicate one, he’s holding back. His voice lowers. “You okay?”

  “Other than making my sick kid cry on what was otherwise a perfect night? Yeah, I’m okay. Just fucking peachy.”

  He pats the lower part of my back because that’s as high as he can reach. “Okay. You had a moment. We all do. Now it’s done. It’s out of your system.”

  “I feel horrible for what just happened in there. I just feel so . . . gypped. It’s not fair.”

  Marcus snorts. “I know you’re hurting, brother. I’m sure you feel gypped. You feel slighted. You feel like you were denied something you should have had.”

  “Exactly,” I exclaim loudly.

  “I’m sure Neena can relate.”

  And there it is. Like a truck to the face. The only one who should get to act like a giant jerk because they feel robbed is Neena. Because she is getting robbed; she’s getting deprived of life, of time. I nod a few times, letting Marcus know I’ve heard him loud and clear. It was exactly what I needed to hear; a hard punch of reality to the nuts.

  “So let’s go do the dishes since you’ve made all the ladies in the house cry tonight. Even Mei-ling has joined in.”

  “When I fuck up, I go all out, don’t I?” I jest even though the humor isn’t there.

  “We all have our gifts, my friend.”

  Clara and Neena never come back down, even when Marcus and Mei-ling leave. Marcus and I had taken down all the pictures and lanterns, cleaned the kitchen, and put away the leftovers. Now the
house is silent. As I finish climbing the stairs, I see Clara is in her room, lying on her bed. Her eyes are open as she stares ahead, lost in thought. I gently tap my knuckle on the door and her head pops up.

  “May I come in?”

  “Yeah,” she says as she clears her throat. “Shut the door behind you. I don’t want to wake Neena.” I do as she says and move so I’m standing in front of her where she’s now sitting on the bed.

  “How’s Neena?”

  She inhales and lets it out slowly. “She’s okay. She just hated seeing us fight. She’s asleep.”

  Her red and swollen eyes meet mine and my chest aches so fucking bad. I drop to my knees and grab her hips, pulling her to me. Her hands find my shoulders and hold me so I can’t pull her closer.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “I’m getting on my knees and begging you to forgive me for being a giant asshole.”

  She snorts.

  “Not just tonight. But thirteen years ago. When I left.”

  Her mouth tightens as she looks down at me. “I’m sorry, Clara. I love you. I loved you then. I love you now. I love Neena. And all I want, more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life, is to love you both and be with both of you. I know you’ve fought for her—that you’re still fighting for her. I know you’ve done everything you can. Please forgive me.”

  She looks away and I wonder if she can’t. Could I blame her if she couldn’t forgive me? But then, she sniffs once and pushes me back gently as she slides off the bed to her knees. I scoot back to give her room.

  “I’m on my knees, with you, Paul. Neither of us are perfect. We’ve both made mistakes, and . . . I can forgive you. I do forgive you. Can you forgive me? For not finding you sooner.”

  My eyes widen in shock.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I forgive you.”

  Our eyes lock as we watch each other, our chest heaving up and down slowly. When her eyes move down to my mouth and her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, I can’t stop myself. I lean in, wrapping her in my arms, pressing her lips to mine. Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders until her fingers are threaded in my hair and she holds it in her fists as I push her back against the bed and kiss her. When her hands move to untie the belt on my Hanfu, I grab her wrists, stopping her. Her brows furrow and her eyes are instantly filled with confusion and embarrassment.

  “I want to,” I tell her. “So fucking badly.” I let out a frustrated breath. “But not tonight. I don’t want it to happen like this.” I do want it. But I want her to be happy, not with red eyes and a puffy nose because I’m a dick and I made her cry.

  She nods a few times in understanding. I stand first, then hold a hand out, helping her to her feet. When she pulls at my shirt, I hold her wrists, questioning her with my eyes.

  “No sex. Just sleep with me. Please.”

  Releasing her wrists, I hold my arms up, and awkwardly we get my Hanfu shirt off. We take our time, removing each other’s clothes until I’m in nothing but my boxers and she’s in her panties and a white tank top. Her body hasn’t changed much, still lean, her skin still like silk. We climb into bed and she lays her head on my chest, just above my heart. We don’t speak as I hold her. There are no more words. Because there isn’t a need for any. Too much has already been said tonight.

  “Mom,” Neena whispers my name. When I open my eyes, she’s standing beside my bed, a grin on her face, the camera on and pointing at me. I give a small wave to the camera before throwing the pillow over my face.

  Mumbling through the material, I announce, “I look like a mummy. Don’t I look fabulous?”

  “You’ve looked worse,” she laughs.

  I poke my head out. “Thanks. Turn it off, Neena,” I groan.

  Smirking, she flips the screen closed, and sets the camera on my nightstand. She’s still wearing her favorite pajamas; fleece yoga pants with a ratty AC/DC T-shirt of mine she’s now the proud owner of. I roll over slightly. There’s a weight on me and it takes me a moment to realize it’s Paul’s arm.

  Neena waggles her brows. “Sleep good last night?”

  I decide not to react. She’s already caught us in bed together, even though technically nothing happened, I won’t bother trying to explain. At closer examination of her, I notice she seems quite pale this morning. More than she did last night. This worries me. She isn’t wearing her scarf, so the dark fuzz that covers her scalp from where very little of her hair is starting to grow back adds a deep contrast against her pale skin. “You okay?” I ask. I try not to pester her, since my one goal now is to keep her as happy and healthy for as long as I can, but every day it seems she fades more and more.

  “I’m fine,” she dismisses me as she turns and walks to my dresser, grabbing a tray. “I made you guys breakfast.” Oh. The tray is actually a metal cookie sheet covered with one of my less-stained dish towels to hide the burn marks on it. She even added a little flower in a tiny vase.

  My brows perk up. “Oh, honey . . . You did?”

  “And coffee, too.”

  “Did I hear coffee?” Paul grumbles, not bothering to lift his head.

  “Breakfast in bed, Mr. James. Aren’t we the spoiled ones?”

  Paul rolls over, his eyes squinting against the morning light. “You made us breakfast, princess?”

  “Dadddd . . .” she moans.

  “Your mother doesn’t count as other people,” he grunts as he sits up. “Pretend she’s an inanimate object.”

  “You know how to make a lady feel real special, Paul,” I say, sardonically, as I sit up, pulling the blanket to my chest.

  “Okay, Mom doesn’t count,” Neena confirms as she sets the tray on the end of the bed.

  “Aw, thanks, honey,” I remark with a smirk.

  Neena places paper plates on our laps with two pieces of almost-burnt, buttered toast and paper napkins. “Here’s your coffee.” She hands us each a mug. “I made it the way you both like it.”

  Paul’s mouth quirks up slightly as he looks down at his mug. There are little coffee grounds floating on the top, with chunks of creamer that didn’t dissolve. Taking a sip, he moans as if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Neena grins with pride, picking up the cookie tray.

  “I have to get dressed,” she informs us as she sets the tray on the nightstand after removing her camera. “Yell for me if you need anything.” She exits slowly, the slight limp noticeable again, and my heart hurts a little. My baby is in pain. Millions of dreaded thoughts fill my mind. Mostly, is this the beginning of the end?

  “Thank you for breakfast, sweetheart,” I tell her as I bite into my toast and feign a smile of enjoyment.

  When she leaves, as I chew, I glance at Paul. He’s holding his burnt toast, his mouth twisted to the side. “Clearly she gets her cooking skills from you. But you know what? It’s the best damn breakfast I’ve ever had, because it was made with her little hands.”

  I smile genuinely. This is as hard on Paul as it is on me. He continues to chew and I can’t help but chuckle a little, but when I do, I choke on the toast in my mouth and start coughing. Taking a sip from my coffee, I get it down, but then there’s the issue of the coffee itself.

  “I know,” Paul murmurs, taking in my expression. “It’s awful. Her own original recipe,” he adds and laughs.

  He is having way too much fun pointing out Neena gets her culinary skills from me. I shush him as I giggle quietly, worried Neena might be listening. “You seem to be getting it down just fine.”

  He shrugs one shoulder before taking another sip. “My little girl made me breakfast in bed. If she’d bought me a burnt turd and a cup of toilet water, I’d choke it down.”

  “Eww. Nice, Paul. That’s almost poetic.” I’m giving him a hard time, but what he said, although disgusting, melts my heart. He loves her. And making her dad breakfast is just as special to her as it is to him. Shaking my head, I add, “A turd and toilet water. Really?”

  “Sorry, your morning breath ma
de me think of it.”

  I smack his chest before plopping my plate on his and flinging the covers back as I set my mug on my nightstand. But Paul is quick. He grabs my arm and tugs me back, managing to keep the coffee in his mug from spilling. As he holds me in place, he twists his other arm back and places the cup on the other nightstand closest to him before moving the stacked plates there as well. In a flash, he has me back in bed, pinned beneath the weight of his body. I don’t fight too hard; it feels too good to have him on top of me like this, his mouth now dancing kisses along my shoulder and neck. But when he tries to press his mouth to mine, I twist my head.

  “Sorry, but my breath smells like a turd. Remember?”

  He laughs haughtily. “I was just kidding. It doesn’t smell like a turd.” Then with an apologetic smile, he adds, “Toilet water, maybe. But that nice floral-scented water.”

  “Dick,” I mumble. He laughs some more.

  Taking my face in his hand, he turns me so my eyes meet his. And though I’m pouting, our gazes lock and we watch one another, both of us recognizing what’s happening. We’re coming together again. But why? Is it that there’s something really here? Is there real chemistry? Or are we both afraid to be alone as we watch Neena leave us? I don’t think I realized I needed someone to help me get through this. Not until Paul came back. Of course, I’ve had Marcus and Mei-ling and the guys at work, but maybe I needed more. There’s something to be said about the distraction of a budding romance. And maybe that’s what this is. Or maybe it’s only two people seeking solace in one another. One thing’s for sure. It’s scary as fuck. There’s so much history, yet there’s a big gap in it. Neither of us are who we were thirteen years ago, but we’re not entirely different either. He wants me. I can feel it. His erection is pressing against my leg, his dark eyes are rich and hungry with desire. This time, when he leans in to kiss me, I let him. It starts off slow and I moan in his mouth as his hand slips down and finds my breast, groping it gently. But then, we’re frantic. In seconds he has slipped my panties down my legs and has my legs over his shoulders. With the first flick of his tongue, I moan again, pleasure shooting through me like a bullet.