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It was a quiet Friday evening, and Mark was stretched out on the king-sized bed in the master bedroom. He was in his typical attire for a Friday evening--slacks, a well-worn jumper, socks with no shoes--and in his hands was The Observer that he didn’t get to finish that morning. He skimmed the articles through the lines of his bifocals, hovering over the football score and wishing Will were home to talk to him about it.
Across the room, Mark could hear his wife and daughter clammering around in the en suite. His son had been invited to a sleepover by one of his school friends, so to avoid a pouting Mabel, Bridget had enthusiastically suggested a girl’s night. Bridget had painted Mabel’s toenails a horrid shade of hot pink and they had baked brownies after cleaning the dishes from dinner. Mark had tried to find some quiet in the bedroom, only to be followed fifteen minutes later by his wife and daughter.
They were now standing in front of the mirror of the en suite, Mabel balancing on a small stool next to Bridget while Bridget explained all of the little tubes, vials and pots that were scattered across the counter. Mark tried to suppress a grin as he listened to them.
“What’s this one for, Mummy?” he heard his daughter inquire. Mark peeked around the edge of the newspaper to see Mabel holding a silver-lidded pot in both hands, carefully holding it towards Bridget.
“That’s for wrinkles, my love. Hopefully you won’t need that for a very, very long time.”
“And this one?” There was a clatter as the silver-lidded pot slid across the counter and Mabel scrambled to grab another tube.
“Ah, that’s eye cream. Also for wrinkles.”
“Which one are we going to use?”
Mark knew that Mabel would sell her entire Enchantimals collection if it meant she could spend just half an hour in Bridget’s bathroom. She would often stand by and watch Bridget apply her makeup or blow dry her hair, a quiet reverence on her face with her hands clasped in front of her. Being allowed to rifle through all of Bridget’s potions and use them? He was surprised she wasn’t physically vibrating from excitement.
He now heard Bridget say, “We’re going to use this one!” as she held up a small black pot. Mabel clapped her hands excitedly, and Mark pulled the paper back in front of his face to hide the fond smile that was crossing his lips.
As he continued to scan the articles of the newspaper, he could hear the conversation between his wife and daughter. Mabel was asking her every possible question she could think of while Bridget answered each inquiry patiently. He peeked around the corner of the paper again to see Bridget swiping a vibrant blue face mask onto their daughter’s face, her tongue caught between her teeth with concentration as Mabel bounced excitedly with each swipe. Shaking his head, he resumed his reading.
It wasn’t long before he felt the edge of the bed dip down as Mabel bounced her way onto the mattress. Mark folded the paper neatly, making sure to crease it in all the right places, before setting it on his nightstand.
“Boo!” Mabel said loudly, holding her hands out on either side of her cerulean face.
“My, my,” Mark murmured, tilting his head back to better inspect her face. “You look quite blue. Are you feeling alright?”
Mabel burst into giggles. “Daaaaddyyyy! I’m fine! It’s just a face mask,” she said, the gap from her missing tooth on full display as she grinned at him.
“Oh, well, my apologies then,” he said, grabbing her around the waist and perching her on his stomach. She continued to dissolve into giggles, her hands grabbing at his as he tickled her mercilessly.
Breathless, Mabel propped herself up by placing both hands on Mark’s chest. She gave him a quizzical look before rocketing herself off of him and padding back into the en suite. Bridget passed by her, her own face blue and carrying a plate of sliced cucumbers in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other. She fondly watched their daughter as she pushed the small stool back up to the counter and began rummaging through Bridget’s things.
“Darling, what are you doing?” Bridget called as she placed the plate and wine glass onto her nightstand.
“I’m finding something for Daddy,” came Mabel’s reply, and Mark shot Bridget a look as she slid herself onto the mattress next to him. Bridget gave him an innocent shrug before reaching for her glass of wine.
Seconds later, Mabel emerged with the silver-lidded pot she had asked Bridget about earlier. She carefully carried it back over to the bed, placed it on the mattress, and then hoisted herself up after it. Mark now pushed himself up on the mattress, curious as to what his daughter had in mind.
Mabel climbed back onto his lap, the pot clutched in her hands. She started to unscrew the lid carefully, and Mark felt his brow furrow as he watched her.
“Mabel, what are you planning to do?” Bridget asked.
“You said this one was for wrinkles. Daddy has a lot of wrinkles.”
Mark couldn’t help the choked sound of indignation that came out of him as Bridget snorted into her glass of chardonnay. He watched in horror as Mabel placed the lid on his chest before dipping two of her small fingers into the white cream. She now leveled his gaze, holding up two goopy fingers.
“Take off your glasses, Daddy,” she said.
“Mabel, I--”
“Daddy, please?”
From the time Mabel was very small and shoved a soggy, half-eaten biscuit into his mouth, Mark knew he was putty in her hands. From tea parties to father-daughter dances to making daisy chains in his parents’ backyard, there were very few things that Mark refused his daughter. His relationship with her was different than his one with Will, but he loved them no differently. He just...couldn’t say no to Mabel.
As she now bounced on his stomach, the cream on her fingers threatening to drip onto the fabric of his jumper, Mark knew that refusing was futile. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his glasses off of his face and put them on the nightstand next the paper. He folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes, willing Mabel to start her work.
He felt her lean forward and start to slather the cool cream onto his face. Not that he would admit it, but it was actually quite soothing. She busied herself with swiping the cream onto all corners of his skin, getting precariously close to his hairline, before he suddenly felt her kneading and digging at his forehead and near his mouth.
“Mabel?” he said with some restraint. “What are you-- ow --doing?”
“Getting it in all your wrinkles,” she said matter-of-factly. He felt one of her fingers dig particularly deep into one of the lines by his mouth. Her fingers then flitted back up to his forehead where she tried pulling his skin smooth while simultaneously swiping more cream.
“Here, let me help you,” he heard Bridget said somewhere to his right.
Bridget’s cool hands settled on his temples and pulled his forehead taut while Mabel’s smaller hands began to slather his skin with the cream. He reminded himself to shoot Bridget a dirty look once he could move.
Clearly satisfied with her work, Mark felt Mabel sit back onto his stomach. Tentatively, Mark opened his eyes and glanced down at his daughter, who was still covered in her own face mask, but with her hands now covered in white and her eyes sparkling with confidence. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bridget chuckling into the rim of her wine glass.
“Daddy, you are going to look so good,” Mabel sighed. She clambered off of his chest, carefully holding her hands at her sides, and slid off the foot of the bed to go rinse the cream in the bathroom. As the water ran, Mark looked over at Bridget who was now openly laughing at him.
“I’m glad you find this amusing,” he murmured.
“I’m glad you’re such a good sport,” she replied. She offered him her wine glass, which he took. Taking a healthy sip from it, he couldn’t help smirking at her as he brought it to his lips.
Mabel now made her way back into the bedroom, climbing back onto the bed to settle herself between her parents.
“Mummy, what are the cucumber slices for?” she asked innocently.
“Ah, I’m glad you asked. They’re for your eyes.” Bridget took two slices, reclined against the pillows, and laid the cucumber on top of her eyes. “Just like this.”
Mabel shot Mark a look, and Mark couldn’t help smiling back down at her. His daughter rolled her eyes, miming the hand gesture for “crazy” next to her temple, and Mark had to stifle the laugh that bubbled from his chest. With a sigh, Mabel leaned across her mother and grabbed four slices of cucumber before settling herself back between Mark and Bridget.
Handing two to Mark, she then looked down at the slices in her own hand. Her gaze traveled back up to Mark, who hadn’t placed the slices on his own face yet. He looked at them, before bringing one up to his mouth and biting it clean in half. Mabel erupted into giggles as Bridget lifted a slice to glare at him.
“They’re not for eating , Mark,” she huffed.
“I prefer them on a sandwich,” he said thoughtfully as he crunched on the other half.
“Or with salt,” Mabel piped up, taking a bite out of her own cucumber.
“They’re also quite lovely in a salad,” he continued, biting into the second.
“Ohhh, or pickled!” Mabel said around her own mouthful of cucumber.
“I’m glad you two are enjoying yourselves,” Bridget muttered, shifting her weight to resettle herself against the pillows.
Mark winked at Mabel, before swinging his feet over the side of the bed. He looked back over his shoulder at her before nodding his head towards the bedroom door. He watched as her little eyebrows furrowed together, a mirror image of his own quizzical look.
“I hear there are brownies downstairs,” he said, standing up. Mabel’s eyes lit up with recognition before she bounced off the mattress after him. He felt her small hand slide into his, and he looked down at her face shining up at his with adoration. “Would you like one?”
“Oh, yes!” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Laughing, Mark led her out of the bedroom, her hand warm and small in his own.
From somewhere behind him, he heard Bridget said, “Oi! Bring one back for me!”