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.”