Kitchen Boss

“Why not?”

Why indeed?

“Well, because lipsticks aren’t toys. I might have let you use mine, but that doesn’t mean you should play with one. Lipsticks are special. They’re like a girl’s secret weapon. You put them on and you feel better. You feel like you can do anything, face anyone.”

Maisie’s eyebrows go up. “Really?”

“There are hundreds to choose from, in many different colors.”

“Even purple?”

“Yes, all different shades of purple.”

“And blue.”

“I think so, though no one really wears blue lipstick.”

“Why not?”

That seems to be her favorite question.

“Well, because blue makes you… look like an alien.”

She laughs.

“But hey, you can wear whatever color you want,” I tell her. “Whatever you think looks good on you or makes you feel good. That’s why you should pick your own lipstick, and that’s why you should wait until you’re old enough to get your own.”

Maisie nods. “I understand.”

I smile. Well, that explanation sounded better than I thought.

I grab the comb and start combing her hair.

“Did I ever tell you that you have pretty hair?” I ask as the cinnamon strands flow through the teeth of the comb.

She just shrugs.

It’s better than mine. Soft. Silky. Shiny. Obedient. Often, I feel like my hair has a life of its own, which is why I’m rarely fond of it. Maisie’s looks like it could star in a shampoo commercial.

Just like Trisha’s.

That last thought comes out of nowhere, making me pause.

Why? Why do I always remember her even though I can’t remember what happened to her?

“When did you get your own lipstick?” Maisie asks suddenly.

So she’s still thinking about lipstick, huh? Well, I’m grateful for the distraction.

“Let me see. I think I bought my first lipstick when I was in college.”

“College?”

“It’s the school you go to where you learn to become… whatever you want to be, whether it’s a doctor or a lawyer or a manager or a businessman. I think I was around twenty-two.”

Maisie starts to count on her fingers.

I grin. “But my mom got me one for my seventeenth birthday. I tried one of her lipsticks, too, when I was about your age.”

Maisie looks up. “Really?”

“I think it’s something all little girls do. There was also a time I tried her lipstick with…”

Trisha. I almost say her name.

My mind just keeps going back to her, doesn’t it?

“With who?” Maisie asks me curiously.

I pause. Should I tell her about Trisha? Well, she is her aunt.

“With a friend,” I decide to say. “My best friend.”

I can’t keep avoiding talking about her forever, after all. And young as she is, somehow, Maisie seems to be the perfect person to talk to her about. Or maybe that’s why. Maybe it’s because Maisie’s a child and so this conversation doesn’t feel real.

“Another girl?”

“Yes,” I say as I keep combing her hair. “Just like you and me. She was pretty, just like you. And amazing. She could do all sorts of things.”

“What things?”

“Anything she wanted. She could play baseball and soccer. She could dance. She could do impersonations.”

“What’s im…per…?”

“Oh, it means she could sound like famous people,” I explain. “She could make everyone laugh. She was a clown, but she could also be serious. When she talked, everyone listened.”

“She sounds perfect,” Maisie says.

I smile at my reflection. “She was.”

Strange. I know Maisie never knew Trisha. I know she’s just a child. Still, I find myself talking about Trisha like it’s the most natural thing to do. And it feels… good.

“Can I meet her?” Maisie asks.

The question makes my chest tighten a bit. Still, I stroke her cheek as I smile.

“I wish you could, sweetheart, but some people just… well, they’ve gone somewhere else, somewhere we can’t reach them.”

“Like my mom?”

My chest tightens even more. Maybe I shouldn’t have started talking to her about Trisha after all. It’s too late now, though.

“Yes, like your mom,” I answer. “They’re somewhere far away where we can’t see them.”

“But Daddy says my mom watches over me,” Maisie says.

I squeeze her shoulder. “I’m sure she does. You can’t see her, but I’m sure she’s always watching over you.”

“But she can’t touch me?” Maisie asks. “She can’t play with me?”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

She frowns as her face drops. My heart sinks.

I lift her chin. “But hey, you’ve got a great daddy who loves you so much. And now, you’ve got me.”

“Are you going to be my new mommy?” she asks.

The question takes me by surprise. I decide not to take it seriously.

“No, sweetheart. But I can be your new friend.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “You’re already my friend.”

“Really?” I plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Then I feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

Finally, her smile returns. As always, it lightens my heart.

That’s it. That’s the way it should be.

“Can we keep playing until Daddy comes home?” Maisie asks me.

I brush my fingers against her cheek. “Sure.”