Page 49 of Play With Me

“He did? That’s odd. My uncle doesn’t usually like to talk about his brother’s kids.”

That’s because none of my brothers had kids, and it looked like my kid had learned to be a smart-ass, just like her real uncle. She looked like she was taking pleasure in taunting me. I was afraid she was taking well to her spunky grandmother’s qualities.

“Of course he did. But what he didn’t mention was that you’re cool. I love your overalls.” Lola tugged at the front clasp, and Sophie’s smile widened, this time into a real one, and just like that I felt guilty for hiding the fact that she was my daughter. No one had ever made me more proud than she did.

“Thanks. I’m allowed to wear them when Mommy’s not here because she prefers dresses.”

I threw Sophie a sharp look of dread, setting my lips into a thin line. She was supposed to make herself scarce. She was supposed to keep their conversation to minimal, almost non-existent, yet here she was, on the verge of mapping out our fucked up family tree.

“Well, it’s a good thing that you have great taste. I’m sure your Mommy means well, but it’s just so much better to be you, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. I like your hair, Lola. I want to cut mine, but Mommy wouldn’t be able to braid it for special tea parties.”

Instead of taking the hint that she should leave, Sophie grasped Lola’s hand and led her into the living room. I followed them, listening to their conversation.

“Tea parties. Right. Well, I got to—”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sophie continued, as Lola tried to wiggle her fingers out from my daughter’s locked grasp. “Tea parties aren’t fun. But they are when Grandma adds sherry to the tea. And I like to put gum in the ladies’ shoes.”

“Gum?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I wash it after I chew it, so it’s clean, and then I stick it in their shoes before they leave. Grandma gets mad when I do that.”

“Oh, I get it. You like to pull pranks.”

“They make the tea parties much more bearable. It’s not as much fun as rock climbing would be. Or an animal party.”

“Why don’t you have one of those?” Lola asked her, and I cringed. Last time I’d agreed to an animal party, Evie – or as my daughter liked to refer to her mother, Barbie – had a fit when one of the tarantulas escaped its enclosure.

Sophie, on the other hand, had a ball.

“I’m only seven and a half, and Mommy doesn’t like animals. She says they’re gross and messy. Maybe I can ask her again when I’m eight. That’s not far away. Three months, to be exact.”

I saw Lola pause for a moment, as if the timeframe meant something to her.

“You look like you’re old enough to have a rock climbing party.”

“Mommy says that’s dangerous.”

“So is texting and walking.”

Sophie giggled. “I don’t have a phone — not yet, at least. I have a funny feeling that I’ll earn one with my good behavior for my next birthday. If you talk to Daddy, please mention that all kids need phones for safety reasons. What if I get lost?”

Hint taken.

“Or, I could just use all that money from my swear jar to buy myself a phone. But I’m not ready just yet. I worked hard at earning that money. Climbing under tables isn’t as easy when you’re almost eight.”

Listening in on conversations she wasn’t supposed to and popping up just as one of us swore wasn’t exactly the definition of working hard.

Lola didn’t seem to mind Sophie’s chatty nature. For someone who hated kids, Lola definitely seemed comfortable with my daughter and interested in what Sophie had to say.

“Does your uncle Brook like animals?” Lola asked, peeking back at me with a smile.

“He loves them. It’s one of the reasons I love him so much.”

“That’s good. What about your daddy?”

After a quick flash of confusion, Sophie replied, “He loves them too. We’re an animal kind of family. I think it’s because we never had a pet.”

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