“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.”