Cold Comfort

#1 comes in and plops herself on the couch with a pout. I smile, kiss her forehead and continue with my conference call to China. She makes exaggerated signs of thirst and mouths the word 'water'. I indulge her, going to the kitchen and pouring her a cold glass of water from the refrigerator, all the while keeping up my dialog with my Chinese counterparts.

It is 10:00 pm and my call has already lasted an hour. I return to my makeshift office on the coffee table in my living room to find that she has typed 'naked girls' into the search engine of my browser. A slew of thumbnail sized naked images fills my screen. I slap her hands away from the computer, and sit between her legs in front of the couch. Scrolling down to the next item on my open issues list, I try to get my point across with slow precise words. There are five people on the other end of the line but everyone is silent when I ask if they understand.

I idly stroke her foot while I talk. Content for the moment with her water, 1# flips through a book of short stories from the coffee table and waits for me to finish my call. I end the call feeling a bit dejected. I expected more things to be resolved. I rollover, wrap my arms behind her back and rest my chin on her stomach.

"I'm sick," she states tilting her chin up as if to expose some obvious sign of her condition. She is wearing a white tank top over a pair of low rise jeans. One pink bra strap is peeking out on her shoulder. Her store bought tanner hides any sign of being pale or sick to me.

"I know," I reply anyway, reaching up to feel her forehead. She does feel warm.

I offer to make her some soup. She rejects the idea by sticking out her tongue in revolution and announces she hasn't eaten all day. We go back to the kitchen but nothing in the cabinets appeals to her.

Turning around to face me she says,"ready...one, two, three," then jumps enthusiastically into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck and burying her face in my shoulder.

I wrap my arms over her legs and lock my fingers together supporting her butt. She begins bemoaning her condition.

"I'm tired, and sick and my head itches." She sounds pitiful, her words lacking her usual sharp edge.

"You are a hot mess, you know that?" I say, gently rocking her back and forth.

"Boy you are a dad. No one ever rocks me."

"Don't complain, it's nice isn't it."

We remain together in silence for a while. It's moments like this that I cherish. There is no invisible barriers between us. I -- an escape from her problems. Her-- my comfort at the end of a long day.