Desperately Seeking Epic

by B. N. Toler

  “Shh, Clara,” he warns me as I mew with pleasure. I pull a pillow over my face knowing I need to be quiet because Neena might hear, but not sure I can. It feels so good to be touched like this. By him. When he dances his tongue over my clit, quick and soft, my hips buck up, my body begging for more. His large hands hold me still, working his magic, humming deeply, and just as I’m about to hit that sweet, sweet moment of release . . .

  “Mom!” Neena shouts. Her voice sounds like she’s close to my room. Paul practically hits the ceiling as he jumps up and flips so he’s sitting beside me, yanking the blankets over us. I hurriedly run my hands over his beard, slick with my arousal, before trying to smooth the blankets as the bedroom door flies open.

  “Where’s my purple scarf?”

  “Dryer,” I tell her, a little too eagerly. Her gaze darts between me and Paul, then falls to the floor where Paul flung my panties moments ago. Her eyes widen with realization. She quickly shuts the door and her heavy footsteps taper off down the hall.

  “You think she knows?”

  “I’d say so . . .” I mumble. “She looked pretty freaked out.”

  “Damn.” He rubs his face with both hands. “So this is what it feels like to be cock-blocked,” he chuckles, handling his erection under the blanket.

  Smiling at him, I lean my head on his shoulder. “Welcome to fatherhood, Paul.”

  I’m standing in the bathroom, shaving my neck, where my beard has grown down to. Neena has been watching me, oddly fascinated with the task. A part of me wonders if this is just her hanging out with me, or if she needs to talk.

  “Something on your mind, princess?”

  She fidgets a little from where she sits on the edge of the tub. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Shoot,” I tell her.

  “It might upset you. It really upset Mom when I tried to talk to her about it.”

  Crap. Is this about finding Clara’s underwear on the floor? Placing my razor on the sink, I kneel down and give her my undivided attention. “I promise. I won’t get upset.”

  She licks her dry lips. “I want to be cremated.”

  My face falls. I’m not expecting this. This topic hits me right in the gut, mostly because it’s a reminder she will leave us one day not too far in the future. And that destroys me. Secondly, because it’s unfair a twelve-year-old is trying to discuss her funeral arrangements. Neena knots her fingers in her lap and looks down at them.

  “I told Mom. She got so upset, we never really discussed it.”

  I fall back on my ass and rest my arms on my knees. “Your mother just . . .” I let out a long breath. “That’s hard for a parent, Neena.”

  “I know,” she assures me. “But I need someone to know, and acknowledge what I want. You told me I could tell you anything and you wouldn’t make me feel bad about it.”

  “I did. And I mean that. But I hope you know Clara doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, hon. She just loves you so much.”

  “I know. I do. But . . . that doesn’t make it easy.”

  I sigh deeply, bracing myself. This won’t be easy to listen to. But I have to. Neena needs me. “So tell me what you want, princess,” I whisper.

  She leads me through her wants, the plans she’s made by herself, and asks me to make sure they’re fulfilled. Her plans are touching, and there’s meaning behind each step and action. Some things hurt more than others to hear, but I stay strong and listen intently. There’s a part of me that feels immense guilt. I’m promising Neena something that Clara will no doubt want control over. She’ll be grieving her loss and then I’ll be trying to take over Neena’s funeral. Maybe Clara will be okay letting me handle it. After all, she’s already done so much. Maybe she will let me do this for our daughter. But a part of me suspects it won’t be that easy.

  When she’s finished, I tell her, “I’ll do my best. I promise you that.”

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  I stand and brush off my pants, and bending, I wrap my arms around her and we hug before returning to my shaving. The whole time, I was careful not to get cream on her.

  “What’s it like to shave?” Neena inquires, still on the edge of the tub.

  I rinse my razor in the sink full of water and look at her. “You’ve never shaved?”

  She shakes her head no. “Haven’t had any hair in a while. And the baby hairs I have on my legs aren’t even noticeable.”

  I want to smack my forehead. I should have thought of that. “It’s not my favorite thing to do.”

  “Do you like having a beard?”

  I snort. “It’s okay. I’ll probably shave it soon.”

  “Can I shave it? I mean, when you’re ready to?”

  I tilt my head, meeting her gaze. “Sure, princess. Let’s do it now.”

  “Really?” she asks, her features perking giddily.

  “Why not? It’s about time to take it off anyway.”

  I give her the electric trimmer and take a seat on the toilet. “Let’s shorten it before we shave it so it’s a little easier.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

  Neena stares at the trimmer a moment before she shakes her head. “No. I’m afraid I’ll cut you. I haven’t done it before.”

  “What you need is practice,” I mention. I widen my eyes as an idea hits me. “Clara!” I shout like a madman. “Clara, help me! Help me!”

  Loud stomps rush up the stairs and Neena looks at me, her eyes wide as saucers. “Ooh, you’re in trouble. She’s going to murder you.”

  I grin. “I know.”

  Clara flies into the bathroom, the front of her shirt soaked with something, breathless, her eyes filled with fear. “What’s wrong?” She grabs Neena and runs her hands over her. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  Oh, shit. My stomach drops. I didn’t think she’d think I was calling for Neena. I thought she’d think something was wrong with me.

  “Nothing,” Neena whines, pushing her hands off. Then she points at me. “Dad was just playing a joke.”

  Clara’s gaze fixes on me, the wrath of hell burning in them. “Are you serious?”

  I back away with my hands up. Almost as if waving the proverbial white flag. “Have mercy,” I beg. “I wasn’t thinking you’d think it was her. That was dumb. I’m so sorry.”

  “It was just a joke, Mom,” Neena insists, tugging at Clara’s arm. “Please don’t be mad at him.”

  Clara spears me with a look that says, if she wasn’t here right now, I’d remove your balls. She lets out a long breath, plastering on a tempered smile, attempting to gain her composure. “Please don’t do that again,” she tells me.

  “Promise.”

  “Was that all you two needed? Just to give me a heart attack this morning? You scared me so bad I spilled coffee on my shirt.” She looks down at her soaked front and twists her mouth. “I think it burned my skin.”

  “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.”

&nb
sp; “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.”

  For the next twenty minutes, she trims my beard. Then she slathers shaving cream on and slowly shaves my face. At some point Clara walks in, and as she strolls to us she’s armed with Neena’s camera and tapes us. I never even noticed her picking up the camera. She’s smooth like that. There’s shaving cream everywhere and when Neena finishes, she towels off my face and smiles. “You look really handsome, Dad.”

  “I agree,” Clara adds.

  Neena looks from me to Clara. “This feels . . . good.” She grins. “Like a family.”

  Standing, I hug her and reach one arm out for Clara, who joins us. “We are a family, kid.” I kiss the top of Clara’s head as it rests on my chest. Then Neena’s. These two. They’re my world. I never imagined I could find such peace in this type of life. I never imagined feeling like a family would satisfy me. But it does. It’s everything. They are everything. And that’s what I tell them when I whisper, “Everything that matters is right here in my arms.”

  “I heard the Chinese feast night last week had an interesting turn of events,” Ashley mentions casually as Mills clips my mic on. I narrow my eyes. She’s talking about the fight between Clara and me.

  “Who told you that?” I ask, unable to hide the annoyance in my tone. We may be here sharing our past with her, but that doesn’t make her privy to every detail of our lives.

  Without batting a lash, she replies, “I have my sources.”

  “What sources?” I question suspiciously. “You’re fifteen.”

  “Seventeen,” she corrects me.

  Mills clears his throat loudly, turning away from me. “He’s all set.”

  I twist my mouth in thought. Did Neena tell Mills about our fight that night? Are they talking on the phone? I decide to wait until Ashley is done with me before I try and figure out what’s going on. A high schooler has no business messing with my daughter.

  “Clara told us about the race.”

  I scratch at my stubble, wondering if my expression shows my shock. “She did?”

  Ashley tilts her head, watching me carefully. “She did.”

  “Where’d . . . she leave off?”

  A small smile breezes across her lips. “The part where you got jealous when she flirted with the guys.”

  A husky laugh escapes me. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  “Did it surprise you?”

  “What? That I got jealous?”

  “No,” she laughs. “Men are idiots.” From behind her, Zane raises his head and rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing surprising about that,” she continues. “Did it surprise you she could flirt so well?”

  “Maybe,” I admit, leaning back in my chair.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d never seen her do it.”

  “Flirt?”

  “Yeah,” I confirm. “With anyone. Not with the guys that worked for us. Or any of the male clients that came in.”

  “Not with you,” she adds, her tone speculative. Nosy little brat. “Did it surprise you she never flirted with you?”

  I let out something between a laugh and a snort. I know what she’s implying, but I play dumb anyway. “What do you mean?”

  Ashley shoots me a look that says, you know exactly what I mean. “Because you were you. Paul James. Epic. You’re an attractive man,” she goes on and Zane narrows his gaze at the back of her head. Interesting. “Women, on the norm, flocked to you. Did it surprise you Clara didn’t?”

  I stare at her blankly. Oh.

  “Come on, Paul,” she grumbles. “Don’t be coy. You were a hotshot, an adventurer with good looks. Women loved you. They probably threw themselves at you.” Does that mean I’m lame and look like shit now? I ponder it for all of two seconds. Then holding one finger up as if to emphasize her point, she adds, “Except for Clara.”

  I grin with insult. “You make me sound pretty damn vain, Ashley.”

  “Because I’m describing you accurately?”

  Jesus. This kid shows no m
ercy.

  Turning my head, I scratch my stubble again, buying myself some time. If I’m being honest, it did surprise me. Even though my initial thoughts were that Clara was just a stiff and incapable of flirting, but after I challenged her at the race, I knew differently. She could flirt. She could show a man she was interested. But she hadn’t dropped me any signals.

  Finally, I decide, fuck it, I’ll be honest. “It surprised me,” I admit. “But I think that kind of made her more attractive to me.” And it did. Because once I saw her draw every man’s attention in that group by simply rubbing a cold can of beer over her chest and neck, I never wanted her to flirt with anyone ever again.

  Except me.

  Ashley smiles wide and jots something down in her notebook. “Why the smile?” I ask.

  “I just love this story.” She chuckles. “Okay, let’s move on. After the race, how were things? Not just with you and Clara, but in the office, too. Was the atmosphere still volatile?”

  That’s an understatement, I think to myself.

  Two days later, I’d strolled into the office for my afternoon jumps. While I’d initially hated Clara and fought her on the changes she was trying to implement, I had to admit, life was pretty good for me. Marcus handled all the financials while Clara handled scheduling and advertising. That meant all I had to do was the only thing I wanted to do. Jump.

  When I walked in, Bowman was heading out, giving me a wide-eyed look in warning as he passed by.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s like World War III in there, man. I swear this is like an everyday occurrence now.”

  I froze, and let my head drop back in frustration. That could only mean one thing. Marcus and Clara were fighting. Again. Sometimes my job required wearing another hat. Referee.

  I could hear them shouting as I approached the office.

  “Clara. Fucking. Bateman.” Clara seethed. “It’s clear as day on the envelope.”

  “You are the one that assigned me the duties of opening the mail,” Marcus argued.