Page 53 of The Devil You Know
Leah obediently stands up and goes with Mila to the small bathroom in the back. I watch as Leah pulls down her pull-up diaper, takes the little toilet seat and puts it on the toilet, sits down and does her business. Then when she’s done, she wipes herself and pulls up her diaper. She then takes a little stool and drags it over to the sink so that she can stand on it to wash her hands. With soap.
I am utterly speechless.
“You see what she is able to do, Jane?” Mila says to me.
This is not possible. Leah did not just do that. Mila has obviously replaced my child with some sort of toilet-trained robot. That’s the only explanation for what I just saw.
“That’s… that’s wonderful, Leah!” I explain as I hug the robot, who feels soft and squishy like she actually is my daughter. “You did such a good job!”
“She is able to do toilet, Jane,” Mila says. “You must train her to do it at home though. She is too old for diapers.”
“I know,” I say.
“You say you know,” Mila sighs, “but every day she comes to school in diapers.”
“I bought her a princess potty!” I cry. “It plays a song when she pees! But she won’t use it.”
“She does not need a princess potty.” Mila gestures at her little bathroom. “Does this look like princess potty? No, it is not. What she needs is for you to take the diapers away and say that shemustuse the toilet.”
God. She sounds just like Ben.
I look down at Leah in her pull-up. I fantasize about putting her in panties, but then the thought of her car seat being soaked in urine brings me back to reality.
“It’s not a good time for that right now,” I mumble.
Mila studies my face. At first, I think she’s going to scold me further, but she decides against it. “Maybe not. But soon.”
“Yes,” I say. “Soon.”
Chapter 19
There’s nothing quite like taking a five-hour drive with a preschooler.
We’re on hour four en route to Ben’s mother’s house for a long weekend. I was driving for the first two hours and now it’s Ben’s turn. He let me listen to pop music for half an hour before making us switch to classical. Then half an hour ago, he killed the music entirely, saying it was giving him a headache. Now he’s just staring at the passing road with the knuckles of his right hand completely bloodless, his jaw twitching slightly every few minutes.
Leah hasn’t gotten the memo that all we’re supposed to be quiet. “The wheels on the Mommy go round and round, round and round…”
“Leah, Daddy’s head hurts,” Ben says.
“The Daddy on the Mommy says, ‘My head hurts, my head hurts, my head hurts…’” Leah sings. Despite everything, I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
Ben grits his teeth. “Can’t you keep her quiet back there, Jane?”
“Oh, sure,” I say. “Do you want me to put a gag on her?”
Leah pauses her song to ask, “What’s a gag, Mommy?”
He takes his eyes off the road to glare in my direction. “Just… I can’t deal with her complaining. Can’t you just…?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Do what, exactly?”
“Mommy, what’s a gag?”
“I’ve been driving for two hours with no break.” He tugs at his sweatshirt. “I’ve got a headache.Please.”
“So do you want to pull over at a rest stop?”
“No, I just want to get there already.”
