I’m just going to let her think it, too.
“Ready to go to school?” She turns to her granddaughter, who’s stuffing toast in her mouth and nodding. “My goodness, Lillian, that’s not what you’re wearing is it?”
For a moment, I’m confused. Lillie is dressed in a sea green skirt, made of layers of thick, sparkly tulle and a white tee with a glitteryMake Wavesand a blue-green-lavender mermaid. On her feet are iridescent silver Uggs.
“Ruby said I could!” Lillie cries.
“I’m not surprised.” Eleanor sneers at my outfit.
“What?” I glance down at the flowing purple skirt I’m wearing with a white tee that saysStay Goldon the front and black converse tennis shoes. I put on light makeup, pink lips and mascara with just a touch of blush.
I’m very nanny-chic, if you ask me.
“I’m confused.” I look up at Eleanor again. “Is she not supposed to wear those boots to school?”
I imagine she’ll be running and jumping and climbing and doing whatever else little kids do all day with their friends. Maybe tennis shoes are more appropriate.
“I placed out a lovely smocked dress for her to wear last night, and her black patent Mary Janes and lace socks.”
“Oh…” I did see that. “I thought that was for Sunday.”
“Yesterday was Sunday.” Blue eyes level on mine. “Lillian has many nice dresses. At the rate she’s growing, she’ll hardly get to wear any of them before they’re too small.”
I pinch my lips together, thinking. When she got dressed this morning, Lillie was very excited about putting her outfit together.
I think she’s adorable in it.
Still… this is our first crossing of swords and how I handle it is going to set the tone going forward. I choose my words carefully, keeping my voice level, firm, and not aggressive.
“I imagine it’s hard to run and play in those dresses and shoes… And I don’t think they show off her personality.”
Eleanor’s gaze narrows. “Lillian is four. Her personality is still ours to mold.” That statement makes me bristle. “Besides, Oaklawn is a very prestigious school. She should look the part.”
Now I understand what she’s worried about, and I remember my mother’s complaint. Eleanor wants Lillie to look like a catalog model and not a real, live four-year-old. I also see what Remi vaguely referenced in our earlier conversations.
“I think Lillie’s outfit is adorable and perfect for a day at preschool.” I’m not backing down.
“She looks like a vagrant.” Eleanor’s annoyance is barely hidden.
Remi walks in the room at that exact moment, looking fine as always. “Morning, ladies.” He goes to the Keurig, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.
“Daddy!” Lillie rocks on her stool, finishing her toast, and seeming about as oblivious as her dad. “I’m eating toast.”
“What’s that? Peanut butter?” He tweaks her nose. “You’re a little peanut butter.”
“I am not!” She cries, giggling.
His smile turns to me, and damn, it’s the same as last night—interested, focused, irresistible. “Did you sleep well? Got everything you need?”
Hardly. I feel the heat in my cheeks, and I don’t want to respond to him this way in front of Eleanor. Especially not in the middle of a power struggle.
“I’m good.” I take a sip of cool coffee. “Everything is perfect.”
Eleanor takes advantage of our fizzy moment to reassert her power. “Lillian, go to your room and change. Now. We don’t have time to waste.”
Lillie whines and looks to me for help. My eyes go to Eleanor’s, and I pick up my car keys. “You’re right. We don’t have time if I’m going to meet her teacher. We need to leave now.”
“She willnotgo to school dressed this way. She looks like a… a—”
