Page 43 of Spoiling Lillian
I watch her from the side. She’s not looking at me. She hasn’t since she started absently exploring as if she’s never seen any of these things before. It’s odd. I’m curious to know what’s got her so clammed up.
“We weren’t allowed to be kids long enough. Simone and me,” she murmurs. “I didn’t realize it until recently. I think Simone knew she was Little from about the age of sixteen because she wanted to play. I suspect I have some of that in me, too, which is why we both have Little tendencies.”
I swallow hard. I shouldn’t be shocked, and I’m not. She’s told me they had an odd childhood. I’m just sad for the girls who weren’t really allowed to be young when they were.
“There were always lessons,” she continues. “Piano, tennis, ballet… Even when we were really young. There was no running around outside, getting dirty, playing in the mud. There was no laughing and fingerpainting. No board games and coloring books. I suppose we must have had some of those things when we were super young, but I don’t remember them, which means they were taken away from us too soon. We were supposed to be proper young ladies in elementary school.”
I fist my hands on my thighs, trying not to react strongly and interrupt her.
She picks up a doll, sits on the floor, and proceeds to take its dress off before choosing another outfit from the shelf and putting it on the doll. “There’s something so satisfying about toys,” she muses. She’s not fully Little. Her voice is adult. Her words are insightful. This isn’t a giggly playtime. It’s a purging of time lost.
I want to hold her, but I don’t move.
“Coloring… It’s so simple. But it helps me relax. It takes me out of all the shit in my head. Shit that tells me I need to sit taller, keep my elbows off the table, cross my legs just so, smile slightly but not laugh, not fidget, keep my voice at an acceptable volume, speak minimally, pretend to be interested in other people…” Her voice trails off as she removes the second outfit from the doll and starts putting jammies on it.
My heart hurts. I’m humbled that she’s sharing this with me. I know it’s huge.
“It’s taken me all this time to relax, let my shoulders sag, eat on the couch, suck through a straw. Do you know how satisfying it is to make that slurping sound at the bottom of a fast food cup?” She finally turns to look at me.
I smile. “It is pretty satisfying. You’re right.”
“If you wait a few minutes for the ice to melt, you can do it again.”
I chuckle. “True.”
“I love those sounds. Forbidden sounds that would make my mother gasp. I never disobeyed her often enough to know what she would have done. It wasn’t a thing in her house. We did as we were told, and that was that. I was jealous of Simone when she left, but I secretly grinned for hours that night. Lucky bitch got the fuck out.”
I’ve never heard Lillian cuss this much. She’s really angry. “But you stayed another four years.” I’m curious why she did it.
She shrugs. “I didn’t think I had Simone’s strength. Her spine was always straighter than mine. Emotionally, I mean. She also took more shit than I did because she was the firstborn. My parents put so much pressure on her. I mostly tried to stay out of the way and be quiet. After she left, I’ll admit there was a honeymoon period when, for once, I felt important to them. It didn’t take long for me to realize that wasn’t a good thing, but I still didn’t have the guts to leave.”
“What changed your mind?”
She stops playing with the doll and sits very still before finally turning to look at me. “I told you about Herman, right?”
I frown. “Herman?”
“The man they wanted me to marry.”
My brows lift. “They had someone specific picked out?” On our first date, she mentioned her parents wanted her to get married, but she breezed through that as if it weren’t that important.
She sets the doll down and crawls across the room until she’s in front of me. Kneeling. If this situation weren’t so serious, I would be in a far different headspace. Lillian has no idea how submissive she is, kneeling in front of me. She sets her hands on my thighs and tips her head back to look at me.
“Herman Westheimer. He’s the most boring man I’ve ever met, and…”
My jaw is tight, but I manage to say, “And?”
Her expression changes. Softens. She bites her lip playfully for a moment before releasing it. “Don’t take this the wrong way… Well, there’s no way for you not to take it the wrong way, actually.”
“Lillian…” She’s freaking me out a bit.
“He’s too old for me.” She winces. “And before you ask, age is a number. It’s not that. It’s his behavior. He acts like he’s sixty.”
“How old is he?”
She cringes.
I start laughing. I can’t help it. I know what she’s going to say. The guy is probably younger than me.
