Page 9 of The Fake Husband Play
Three
ELLY
“Mama,I can’t find my purple crayons! Not a single one! They’ve all disappeared!” Mimi’s voice carries from her bedroom, followed by the sound of what I can only assume is her entire art supply collection being dumped onto the floor.
I sigh—observing a moment of silence for the thirty minutes I just spent cleaning—before calling back, “Try green, baby. That jade you used on your alligator yesterday was so pretty.”
“No, it has to be purple,” my strong-willed offspring insists. “Purple is the royal color. If Princess Nutria’s dress isn’t purple, no one’s going to believe she’s the king’s long-lost daughter, and the entire comic book will be ruined!”
“Can’t you make green the royal color?”
“Mama, I picked the royal color five pages ago,” Mimi huffs, the righteous indignation in her tone enough to make me smile. “I can’t go back and change it now. I don’t have a magic wand.”
Hard to argue with that.
I don’t have a magic wand, either, kiddo.
If I did, I would magic a better organization system into place because this closet is one ugly old blazer away from being declared a crime scene…
“Okay, hold on, I’ll help you look in a second,” I call back. “I just have to find something to wear to work.”
I shove at the clothes jammed into the coat closet by the front door. Mimi and I share her closet for everyday things, but my dress clothes live here. With the coats. And the rain gear. And Mimi’s old Halloween costumes.
And, apparently, an ancient, bug-eyed mylar frog balloon that’s still partially inflated, though I honestly can’t remember buying the creepy-looking thing.
“Excuse me, sir,” I mutter, pushing the frog to the top shelf as I continue my search for something that doesn’t scream ‘unemployed single mother who was too busy applying for jobs to make it to the laundromat this week.’
I mean, I guess it doesn’treallymatter what I wear—my friend, Makena, said the catering client wants us in cocktail uniforms this time—but I can’t show up at a swanky hotel in jeans and a “Will Work for Gumbo” T-shirt.
Though I would.
Work for gumbo.
Hell, at this point, I’d work for toilet paper. We’re down to two rolls, and I can’t add a single thing to the grocery list, not untilsomeoneresponds to my flurry of resumes. But so far, there’s no sign of reemployment in sight, so every penny has to stretch as far as possible.
Settling on a pair of black faux leather pants and a short-sleeved red blouse, I head for Mimi, only for her toshout just as I reach her doorway, “Never mind, I found it! I’m good at finding things, after all.”
I laugh as I stick my head inside her room. “Of course, you are. When you actuallylookinstead of dumping everything on the floor and yelling at the mess.”
Mimi flashes me a “you do know me, don’t you?” grin from her drawing table. “But colors are easier to find when the crayons are on the floor, Mama.”
I arch a brow as I echo in her same lilting tone, “But they need to go back in the art box when you’re done, okay? Nancy will be here soon, and I don’t want her to know we live like feral animals in a nest of crayons.”
“Okay.” Mimi giggles, that bubbly, infectious laugh that always reminds me of her dad. She inherited Johnny’s artistic talent, too.
Those are the only things my ex has ever given her—we’ve never seen so much as a birthday card, let alone a child support check—but I don’t blame him for bailing anymore. He was only seventeen when we got pregnant. If I’d had the luxury of moving to Canada withmyparents and skipping out on the terrifying prospect of teen parenthood, maybe I would have, too.
But I’m so glad I didn’t.
Mimi is my little buddy, my sweet, sassy bug, and the most fantastically creative, kind, magical kid in the world. I can’t imagine my life without her.
I never want to, not even when times are tough.
“I can clean up now, actually,” she says, sliding out of her chair. “I got Princess Nutria’s dress done, and I’m too tired to draw a pelican in a raincoat tonight. I have to concentrate really hard for that.”
Fighting a smile, I nod as I observe seriously, “Imean, obviously. You don’t want to jump into drawing a pelican in a raincoat without your wits fully about you.”
Mimi pauses, cocking her head as she narrows her eyes my way. “Sarcasm?”
