by B. N. Toler
“Well, I think I’ll be heading home,” Marcus announces as he stands and rubs his stomach a few times. “Excellent pizza, as always,” he teases, smirking at me. Tossing the dish towel in my hands at him, I stick my tongue out.
“Paul,” he says. “If you need a place to stay, let me know.”
“Will do, buddy.” They shake hands and as Marcus leaves, he kisses Neena on the cheek. “Night, kiddo.”
“Night, Uncle Marcus.”
When I hear the front door close indicating Marcus has left, I look to Neena. “Neena you should go get ready for bed, honey.”
“Moommm,” she whines.
“Neennnaaa,” I gripe back.
“I want to talk to Paul some more.”
“Maybe I could come hang out with you tomorrow if that’s okay with your mom?” Paul offers, cutting his eyes to me.
“I’d love that!” Neena practically squeaks. “Can he, Mom?”
As I gaze at both of them, their matching brown eyes watch me, waiting for my reply, I can’t help the feeling of dread that hits me in the gut. I don’t do babies and white picket fences. Neena said she could handle his rejection—if that’s what he gave her, but looking at her wonder-filled gaze, I’m not so sure. Paul has a way about him. It’s hard to explain. He draws you in and sometimes you don’t even realize it’s happened until it’s too late. That’s how it happened to me. But what if he’s sincere? What if he really does want to get to know her? How could I deny my daughter, who may leave this world so tragically soon, this opportunity to get to know her father? I’d be a monster if I did that.
“Sure, we can work something out,” I manage through a forced smile. Neena grins and looks at Paul, who is wearing a matching grin.
She stands and says, “Thanks for coming to dinner. It was really nice to meet you.” Then she reaches out her frail little hand to shake his. Paul glances at her hand, his expression somewhere between pain and happiness, before he takes and shakes it.
“Thanks for taking the time to meet me, Neena. I hope we get to know each other a lot better.”
“Me, too.” Turning to me, she walks toward me, almost skipping, and hugs me. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I squeeze her once. “I’ll come up to say good night in a bit.”
With a small wave to Paul, she exits the kitchen, leaving the two of us in yet another bout of awkward silence.
“You’ve done a great job with her,” Paul finally says. “She’s a wonderful girl.”
“Thank you. I got lucky.”
He stands and takes his beer bottle to the trash, dropping it in. “And you’re okay with me seeing her tomorrow?”
Spinning around, I place my hands on the counter and take a deep breath. “I’m trying to be,” I admit. “But honestly . . . I’m scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of you making her fall in love with you then jetting off.”
He sighs and moves to the counter beside me, leaning against it, facing the opposite direction. “I mean it. I want to know her, Clara.”
“Please be careful with her, Paul.” He nods once in agreement.
“So how do we find out if I’m a match?”
“I set up an appointment for you. Tomorrow at nine. Are you staying with Marcus? I can text him the address.”
“Wow. Okay, that was fast,” he sighs. “I’m not sure where I’m staying just yet.””
“Well we’re running out of time,” I state. “I’ve spoken to the office on the off chance you’d show up.” I grab a notepad and pencil out of a drawer and shove it into his hands. “Here. Write down your number. I’ll text you the details and meet you there.”
He jots down his number and watches me for a moment after, his eyes fixed on me. I wonder what he sees. Does he see the woman he once shared a bed with; the youthful and determined Clara? Or does he see the shadow of that woman he used to know? Can he see my fear and worry like a map across my face?
“Okay, I’ll meet you there. And, Clara?”
Crossing my arms, I ask, “Yes?”
“Thanks for letting me come over tonight. Will Neena be with you tomorrow?”
“No,” I answer. “She’ll hang with Marcus at the office until we’re done.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He pushes off the counter and I follow him to the door and hold it with one hand as he steps out. He stops and puts his hand against the wood, just as he did when he’d arrived tonight. “This door should go down in history.”
I smirk slightly. “Should it?”
He drops his eyes a moment before raising them to meet mine again. “I think that kiss was the first time I ever thought about forever.” Wait, what? He’s down the porch steps and in his car before I snap out of it. Did he just say that or did I imagine it? Closing the door, I lean my back against it and raise my fingers to my mouth. It may have happened over thirteen years ago, but standing here, remembering it, reliving it in my mind, I can almost feel the tingle on my lips. And there it is. The suck. It’s been one day and he’s already sucking me back in.
After I leave Clara’s, I drive around for a bit, trying to digest the evening. I have a daughter. It still stuns me every time the thought travels through my mind. I drive for what feels like hours, thinking of Neena and her dire situation, and thinking of Clara and . . . well . . . her beauty. She’s definitely held up well after all these years. I can’t deny that in the thirteen years I’ve been gone, I’ve wondered about her—often. How was she? Had she found someone else? Had she returned to her old life in Texas?
Before I know it, I’m parking my truck in front of Marcus’s place and heading inside. Fuck it, I need to unload on a friend. He did offer after all. Marcus lives in a double-wide behind the office that my uncle left to him after he passed away.
When I open the door and step inside, I freeze. There’s a tiny Asian woman with huge fake tits sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Her head is back, her mouth open, and she’s moaning . . . pleasurably moaning. The couch is blocking her lower half, but her dress is pulled down, revealing her sizable chest held up in a purple, lacy bra.
“Good,” she cries out in a thick accent. “So good.”
The door slams closed behind me and her eyes fly open as her head whips in my direction. She proceeds to spew words I don’t understand, a million miles a minute, as she tugs her dress up with one hand and the skirt part down with the other. I’m holding my hands up, about to leave, when Marcus’s head pops up just above the top of the couch.
“Paul,” he groans, before he runs his forearm across his shiny, wet face.
“Holy shit!” I laugh. “Were you just going down on her?”
The woman continues to yell at me, her arms flailing as she turns to Marcus and starts yelling at him.
“It’s Paul,” he tries to explain, but it’s to no avail. She yells at him some more, then shouts at me one more time before stomping off to the back and slamming a door. Marcus, with his hands on his hips, walks around the couch toward me. He’s shirtless and his belt is undone, with his hair disheveled.
“That was Mei-ling,” he informs, his tone calm yet edged with anger.
“That’s your girl?” I question. “Damn, bro. She’s hot.”
“And to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” He ignores my compliment as he walks to the fridge and pulls out a beer.
“You said if I needed a place to stay, to let you know.”
“Yeah . . . let me know,” he points out as he twists the cap off and tosses it at the trash can, missing it by inches. He shrugs and takes a long swig from the bottle.
“That’s why I came by. This is me letting you know.” I smirk.
“Ever heard of a phone call?” he questions sarcastically.
“If I’d known you’d be going down on your girl like your life depended on it, I wouldn’t have just barged in.”
“Well from now on, don’t barge in.”
“Noted
.”
He does a little backward hop on the couch, careful not to spill his beer, and shimmies back until he’s comfortable. “So . . . ?”
“So?”
“How are you? Big night for you.”
With a loud sigh, I point to the fridge and he nods. I get myself a beer and return taking a seat on the recliner. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” I admit. I take a long pull from my beer and add, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, man.”
His head jerks up, his forehead creased with furious wrinkles. “Are you serious?” he asks.
“Yeah. Why didn’t one of you come and look for me if you couldn’t get in touch with me?”
Marcus slides off the couch, and places his bottle on the coffee table with a thud, causing the liquid to fizz out over the rim and dribble down. He marches to the front door, pushing it open. “Get out.”
My head rears back slightly. “What?”
“You heard me. Get out.”
“What the fuck, dude? Why?”
He stomps to the kitchen and grabs his T-shirt off the floor, jerking it on. “You left all of us. Not just Clara with a baby on the way. All of us, without one fucking word.”
“I’ve always just left without a word,” I defend. “It never pissed you off before. And I had no idea she was pregnant.”
He rounds the couch and stands in front of me. “You’d leave for a few months, a year at most. Not thirteen fucking years, Paul!”
I can’t look him in the eye so I stare at the beer in my hand. Marcus may be a little man, physically, but when he’s angry, he’s huge. There are truly very few people in this world whose opinion of me matters—to me anyway. Marcus just happens to be one of those few. Taking in a deep breath, I exhale loudly and give a little shrug. “I’m sorry.” It’s not much, but it’s all I got. “But if you think I’m such a dick, why are you still my friend?”
He drops his head for a brief moment and when he raises it again he has this smile on his face, one that anyone, whether they know Marcus well or not, can plainly see whatever he is thinking. “Neena.”
Something about the way he says her name hits me hard, causing my chest to ache. He loves her. He loves her like a man loves his daughter. He loves her like I should have been here loving her for the past twelve years. My jaw tightens and my teeth clench as I struggle through the fire burning in my belly. What is this? Jealousy? Am I seriously jealous? If I couldn’t be here to love and care for Neena as her father, why not Marcus? He’s my best friend and one of the best people I’ve ever known. But still. I hate that he’s been here watching her grow up while I didn’t even know she existed.
“She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to my own daughter.”
Fuck. His words are like a bolt to the chest that jerks me to stand. Stalking over to the trash can, I chug the rest of my beer before tossing the bottle in the can. “Yeah. I gotta go,” I mumble through a hoarse voice caused by drinking too fast.
“I thought you were staying?”
“Well, I was, until you decided to announce what a shitty friend and father I am.”
Marcus’s face scrunches up as he snorts in disagreement. “Shitty friend, yes,” he confirms. “I didn’t say anything about you being a father.”
“Which equates to shitty father,” I yell back. “I wasn’t here, therefore I’m a shitty dad.”
“Paul,” he starts, his voice laced with frustration. He rubs his forehead with his short fingers. “I’m sorry for what you’ve missed. Truly. I only meant that I’m grateful for the time I’ve had with her.”
“Do you think that makes me feel any fucking better?” I snarl. “I find out in one day I have a kid just to turn around and find out she’s dying!”
He presses his lips together in a flat line and nods once. He hears me. “Well,” he finally says, “you’re here now. Make the most of it, Paul.”
I snatch open the front door, more than ready to leave, and he calls, “Paul. Stay.”
“Don’t worry about it, Marcus.” Even after I get in my rental car, he watches me with his arms crossed as I back out of his makeshift driveway. I know I’m being a dick. I know it’s not his fault. But it’s not really my fault either. I wouldn’t have left if I had known. Right now, it’s best for me to be alone. I need time to think. So it looks like I’ll be finding a cheap hotel for the night.
After Paul’s appointment, he asks if we can chat for a few minutes. He follows me to a small coffee shop not too far from the office. We order our coffee and sit down at a tiny table in the back corner.
As he sips from the white plastic lid, his features are tense; his brows furrowed and his shoulders bunched up. He has something on his mind, but I decide to wait him out. I won’t push him. I learned a long time ago Paul James can’t be pushed. As I sip my own coffee, I watch him, hating that the years have been so good to him. His skin is still perfectly tan, golden even, he is Italian after all, though his dark hair is painted with the softest and subtlest hints of gray. I can’t fathom how it’s possible that he’s better looking with age, but he is. Over the years, when I’ve thought of him, I imagined him drunk and looking sloppy—the result of too much booze, drugs, and brothel living. I guess it made me feel better to imagine he was doing horrible.
“What happens if I’m not a match?” he begins.
Clearing my throat, I scoot up a little in my seat. “I don’t want to think about that. But if I must . . . We do our best to make her comfortable and make her last days happy.”
“Why, Clara?” he asks, his dark gaze fixed on me.
I shrug. It’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times. “I wish I knew that answer, Paul. I’ve asked myself that many times. Some kids just get sick.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
I stare at him blankly as my chest tightens. I now know what he’s asking, but I’m going to make him clarify it anyway. “Then what are you asking?”
He sips his coffee. “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
I fight the urge to snap at him. We’re adults. Well, one of us is anyway. “I already told you I tried. Several times,” I almost bark.
“You didn’t really try though,” he argues.
“Yes, I did,” I growl through clenched teeth.
“No, you didn’t. Not really. You could have gotten to me if you’d really wanted to.”
Setting my cup down on the table, I lean forward, working hard to keep my voice down. “You told me you didn’t do babies and white picket fences. You also told me you didn’t do happily ever after. You left, Paul. You left without a word to anyone and you think I should have embarked on some worldwide manhunt to tell you that, I, a woman you didn’t want or love, was pregnant with your child? Why would I do that, Paul? So you could come home just to abandon her, too?”
“I wouldn’t have abandoned her,” he clarifies. “I would have come home.”
“For how long?” I snap.
“You had no right to keep that from me,” he snaps back, pointing a finger at me. “She’s my kid, too, Clara. I had a right to know!”
“Well you know now, Paul.”
He watches me for a moment before leaning back in his seat. “Listen. I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. I am.”
I choke back fresh tears—angry tears. I won’t cry in front of him . . . not over this. I want to tell him how crushed I was. How when I woke up and naively thought he had just gone in early, how devastated I was when I realized he had simply left as if the time we’d spent together hadn’t meant anything. Not one damned thing. But I won’t tell him any of that. “What’s done is done,” I say, instead.
“She looks like you, ya know?”
“No, she doesn’t,” I disagree. “She looks exactly like you.” The last part comes out as a whisper.
He smiles softly. “The eyes for sure, but the nose and mouth are you.”
“She has your wildness in her.”
He grins. �
��And your sassiness. She’s quite feisty.”
I snicker as my gaze falls back down to my coffee cup. “She is amazing. I know I’m partial, but she really is, Paul.”
“I want to know her. I’m not going to run off. I promise.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips and nod once. I’m not sure if I believe him, but what can I do at this point? Neena wants to know her father. So I give the only reply I can, praying it’s not a mistake. “Okay.”
I follow Clara back to Sky High, and when we walk in, Marcus is sitting at the table in the front area, tiny glasses on the bridge of his nose, looking at paperwork. He leans back in his chair as we enter.
“How’d it go?”
“Good,” Clara answers as she slips her cardigan off. She’s wearing this blue, sleeveless top underneath that’s fitted to her body. Her jeans are tight, showcasing her ass, which I have to admit looks pretty fucking awesome for any woman, more so since she’s almost forty. Her hair is tied up in a loose bun, little pieces falling around her face. She’s beautiful. No doubt about it.
“Should find out something in the next week or two,” she adds. Marcus nods, his mouth in a tight, flat line. He’s worried, too. What if I’m not a match? “Is Neena in my office?”
“Yeah. I logged her on to PornHub. That should keep her busy for a few hours,” Marcus says, earning a scowl from Clara. “What?” he questions. “It’s all-you-can-watch anal.”
Clara arches an unamused brow.
“She’s watching The Goonies,” he finally admits.
“I’ll go check on her and let her know you’re here,” she tells me.
“Thanks for the time today, Clara,” I call out after her. She turns, her gaze meeting mine, and gives me a half smile.
“You’re welcome.”
When she’s out of sight, I look down at Marcus, who is still leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, watching me. “You know she’s the only woman I ever saw you with that I thought might actually have a chance at keeping you.”
“She was the only one,” I correct.
“Yet, you left anyway.”
I rub my hands down my face. “I had my reasons.”