“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.