Lily had to carry Mimi to the bathroom and show her her tattoos in order to convince the little girl that the pristinely dressed, carefully coiffed creature before her was indeed her mother.
When Lily returned to the place she and Ben grudgingly called home, Ben took one look at her and cried, “Shit! Shiiit. Shi-it.”
Lily flopped down on the sofa. “Hey, now, no profanity in front of the baby.”
Ben shook his head like a wet dog. “Good god, you look like the president of the Junior League, and you say things like no profanity in front of the baby. It’s like you’ve turned into a...a...”
Lily put on a mock Cockney accent. “A real laydee? Just call me Eliza, Professor Higgins.” She kicked off her shoes and began unceremoniously peeling off her pantyhose. “We got any beer?”
Mordecai emerged from the hall and eyed Lily suspiciously. He approached her, sniffed her, and, satisfied as to her identity, settled down for an ear-scratching. Ben backed out of the room, still fixated on Lily’s transformed appearance. “I’ll...I’ll get you one.”
“Thanks,” she said. “You’re a good husband.”
Ben returned with their beers and sat down on the couch. “Say, why don’t I drive over to Callahan and pick us up a pizza for dinner? You can’t be in the kitchen cooking, looking like that. You’ll feel like fucking Harriet Nelson.”
Mimi looked up from her shape sorter and joyously exclaimed, “Fuckin’!”
“Mimi, that’s a grown-up word.” Lily leaned back on the couch and sucked down some beer. “A lot of good it’s gonna do me to change my entire image if my daughter’s gonna have the vocabulary of a longshoreman.”
“Don’t worry; she won’t have to testify.” Ben flipped through the Versailles/Callahan phone book.
Ripping that phone book would be no feat of strength, Lily thought. Mimi could probably do it.
“So...” Ben said, “mushroom, green pepper, and black olive?”
“Sure.” Lily was astonished at the tiredness in her voice.
After Ben went to fetch the pizza, Lily made a bowl of oatmeal and a slice of toast for Mimi, whose idea of good eating was breakfast three times a day. Lily tied on Mimi’s bib, sat down with her, and began to spoon the warm cereal into the little girl’s mouth.
“No, Mama,” Mimi said. “Feed self.”
“Well, okay, grown-up girl.” She handed the spoon over, and Mimi took it into her tiny fist. Mimi shoveled away, managing to convey about sixty percent of the food into her mouth. Overall, she was doing a better job than Buzz Dobson.
Every day Mimi was getting more independent, learning to do more things for herself, adding more words to her vocabulary, including some she’d be better off without. Colorful vocabulary or not, Lily was proud of Mimi, and she loved watching her grow and learn. She thought of the other steps Mimi would be taking in the next year or so — moving from a crib to a bed, learning to use the potty — and hoped she would be there to help her daughter with these difficult milestones.
