Page 40 of Husband of the Year
“Let’s brush your teeth!” I say and scoop her up and place her on the edge of the vanity.
Maria lets out an enormous sigh and opens her mouth like one ofthe Hungry, Hungry, Hippos. This is the part where I’m supposed to brush her teeth. It can’t be that different from brushing my own. Or Gonzo’s. I tried once with chicken flavored toothpaste and he kept chewing on the brush, making it almost impossible to get any actual brushing done.
“Okay, let’s start in the back,” I say.
I maneuver the brush carefully, making slow circles on her back teeth before moving toward the front. The brush slips onto her gums and she pulls back, her small mouth erupting into giggles.
“Tickles!”
“Oh sweetheart, I didn’t mean to tickle you. But you know, you really should brush your gums too! Gum health is the root of tooth health. If your gums are sad, your teeth are basically like, ‘We’re just trees without roots.’ ”
Maria looks at me like I’ve got two heads, but opens her mouth wide again. When I resume brushing, I try to keep the bristles on her teeth and only scrub near her gumline.
“You’re so patient,” I say, remembering to praise her. “Letting your Uncle Marvin brush your teeth.”
After what feels close to two minutes, I pull the toothbrush out and Maria spits into the sink.
“Water please,” she says, and I fill the small plastic cup halfway and hand it to her. She takes a tiny sip, rinses her mouth, swallows, and then smiles.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drink that, but we’ll let it slide.”
Maria lifts her arms and, taking the hint, I pick her up and carry her into her bedroom.
“You’ve gotten so big,” I say. “I bet you weigh as much as a turkey now.”
“Tookey?”
“Yeah, like for Thanksgiving. I’d say you’re at least twenty pounds. Maybe twenty-five. You could feed a lot of people.”
Maria’s eyebrows scrunch up like a tiny caterpillar attempting to sprint, and I realize I’m probably confusing her.
“Anyway, let’s get you tucked in and I’ll read you a story.”
I carefully place Maria on her bed, and she crawls right under the covers, slams her head on the pillow, and shouts, “Gorilla!”
There’s a copy ofGood Night, Gorillaon the bedside table and I’m aware of Maria’s current obsession with the book from Jill’s many stories at school.
“Ah, a classic. I know it well.”
The story, about a tired zookeeper who whispers good night to every animal in the zoo, is told with minimal words. A cheeky monkey steals the keys and lets all the animals out of their cages. They all follow the zookeeper home, attempting to climb into bed with him and his unamused wife.
I sidle next to Maria, and she leans on my stomach, pats gently, and says, “Soft.”
Yeah, no washboard abs here. But Olan never objects. He grabs on to my belly when he’s spooning me, rubbing me like a magic lamp. Olan—my brain quickly whisks away to his face. His smile. His lips. The tooth gap my tongue adores nesting in. I let out a sigh, open the book, and begin telling the story, pausing for Maria to take part.
She knows all the animals’ names and whispers good night to each of them, while I point and narrate the action. Honestly, she couldn’t be more adorable. She giggles at the naughty monkey, stealing the zookeeper’s keys and assisting his friends to escape their incarceration.
When the story ends and the monkey sneaks back into bed with the zookeeper and his wife, Maria shouts, “Again!”
I dip my chin and give her my best teacher look, but she doesn’t budge.
“Again! Gorilla, Daddy!”
I’m not sure if she’s calling me a gorilla daddy, confusing me with Nick, or simply asking for another reread. I’m going with the latter.
Glancing at my watch, I notice it’s almost eight—way past Maria’s bedtime. I need to get her off to dreamland, stat.
“One more time and then you’ve got to go to sleep, okay?”
