I blink back to the present. “Hmm?”
“Can you cut a few slices of cucumbers for me, please?”
With a nod, I open the fridge. “Why? Are you hungry?”I ask as I pluck the cucumber out of the veggie drawer.
“You’ll see.” She turns back to Bea and continues her make-believe shtick. “So, Miss Dolly. Where are you from?”
“Umm…” Bea thinks for a second, bringing a finger to her chin. “California.”
I chuckle to myself. My daughter has never set foot in California.
While she works in the shampoo, Claire really commits to her role. At one point they both start speaking in British accents and I have to bite my tongue to keep from losing it.
After a rinse, she follows up with conditioner, the sweet scent wafting through the kitchen.
“Two cucumbers, please.” She holds out her hand.
I pass over two slices.
Delicately laying them over Bea’s eyes, she asks, “Are you comfortable?”
Bea giggles, though the sound dies on her lips when Claire begins massaging her scalp. I swear my daughter’s whole body goes limp and she lets out the biggest exhale.
I can’t help but study Bea, thinking,Tell me, dear child, what ails you at five years old?
And wondering if this tactic will work again in the future.
After rinsing her hair once more, Claire wraps and secures a clean dish towel around Bea’s head, then helps her sit up. The cucumber slices fall, but she quickly plucks them off her lap and shoves them into her mouth.
“Gross.” I chuckle with a smile, scooping my daughter up and situating her on my hip.
“We’re not done yet,” Claire says. “We still have the blowout.”
She holds my gaze a second too long when she says it, then she turns on her heel and strides down the hall.
We follow, and I set Bea on the counter in the bathroom, where Claire has a round brush and a hair dryer ready. The space is small, plus it’s hot and loud, so I excuse myself and let the two of them finish up.
After the hair dryer shuts off, laughter and whispers float down the hallway, and a few minutes later, Bea runs out and tackles me on the couch. She’s dressed in her pajamas now, her hair straight and silky soft. She may have skipped an actual bath, but her giant grin helps convince me to let that go. At least her hair isn’t green.
“Does this beauty salon also do teeth brushing?” I wink at Claire. “I’ll gladly pay for the extra service.”
“Daddy,” Bea laughs. “I’m a big girl. I can brush my own teeth.”
Oh, now she wants to comply? I shake my head, scoffing. Kids never cease to baffle me.
After helping her floss, I snuggle with her in her bed while I read. Or, rather, I attempt to read. She mostly interrupts, chattering on about how much fun beauty salon is and asking if we can play again tomorrow.
If it means no green hair, we can play every day, kid.
I press a good night kiss to her head, and instead of being hit with the playful watermelon fragrance I’m used to, I’m engulfed with the comforting scent of vanilla.
Claire.
Fuck.
This roommate thing might not be such a good idea after all.
9
