Fiction from The Literary Review

Karen Wunsch

Daddy's Girl

When Marty wondered aloud if their baby Beatrice was getting enough breast milk, Lily was insulted and they ended up having a nasty fight. Even after the pediatrician had assured them that Bea was doing just fine, Lily still felt uneasy at the memory of how their child had come between them. But mostly she and Marty were thrilled to have a baby. Lily decided she couldn’t bear to leave Bea and go back to work, and Marty joked that if he ever had a mistress, she’d have to also be a wet nurse.
           One day Marty brought home a fancy baby brush.
           I“But she has hardly any hair,” Lily gently reminded him, “and by the time she gets some, this brush will be too small.” It was from England and looked expensive. “I can return it for you . . . ”
           He seemed preoccupied, the way he got when he was brooding about one of his engineering projects.
           “Marty?”
           “I want her to have it, I don’t want you to return it, please!”
           Lily was taken aback.
           “Please, allow me this pleasure.”
           She was touched.
           When Bea was a few months old and still had only a few blondish wisps across her scalp, Lily impulsively bought her a frilly dress.
           “Doesn’t it look a little strange, with her short hair and all?” Marty asked.
           “I know, I probably shouldn’t have gotten it, actually I don’t think I can return it, but doesn’t she look sort of adorable?”
           Usually Marty was the one who tended to be frugal, so she was surprised when a few hours later and apparently out of the blue he said, “I think we should get rid of that dress.” And then, “Throw it out!”
           Although she didn’t like his tone and secretly vowed to have Bea wear it when he wasn’t home, she ended up forgetting about the dress until Bea had pretty much outgrown it.
           Still, it seemed strange that Marty had questioned Lily’s judgment about clothes, since part of their romance had had to do with what he liked to call her feminine wiles. Before Lily, he hadn’t been aware that there were things called spaghetti straps, like the ones on her silky nightgowns—apparently his previous girlfriends had worn only pajamas or tee shirts to bed. Before going out Lily would spray perfume in the air and then walk through it, creating a kind of flowery cloud around herself that he couldn’t get enough of. Blonde, she always wore pearl earrings, in various settings but always with a pearl. Marty loved the idea of someone having what she called a “signature.”
           After she got him to buy his first pair of sandals, he said that she’d given him summer.
           When they’d met in their mid-twenties, she had a promising job at an arts foundation but kept wondering if she should be getting a degree in art history, instead. She’d always been a top student, focusing on whatever test was ahead of her, but now she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Sometimes she’d worry she was one of those people who could never get over having been good at school. “It’s only a life!” Marty would say, and she’d be surprised at how this would comfort her. Although he was less sophisticated than her previous boyfriends and the only one whose family didn’t have money, he was the first she’d wanted to marry. She’d gotten pregnant sooner than they’d planned, but it hadn’t taken them long to decide that they were incredibly lucky. She’d been afraid that she’d obsess about whether she was doing everything she could to ensure a healthy child, as if pregnancy were some new kind of exam, but most of the time she’d felt surprisingly serene. And although Marty later admitted that maybe for a second he’d been disappointed that he didn’t have a son, Lily had immediately seen Bea as a gift from her mother, who’d died when Lily was ten. With each passing year Lily’s memories of her had faded until only wisps were left, like her shimmering memory of the soft folds of her mother’s fragrant, silky nightgowns.


Once a week Marty would come home early to baby-sit and Lily would go out to dinner with her friend Laura. They’d go to a nice restaurant, have several glasses of wine, talk about whomever Laura was dating, her architectural career; sometimes Lily would complain about Marty, usually minor things like that he had no close friend to complain to about Lily. She’d try not to talk too much about Bea, for whom Laura often brought a fancy present—a pink angora sweater, a Swiss toy so beautiful Lily imagined it eventually decorating their apartment. Although she’d scold Laura for spending so much money, she’d also be pleased. People in the restaurant would notice how pretty the young women were—Lily so fair, raven-haired Laura, like Snow White and Rose Red.
           Marty would usually wake up when Lily came in, and she’d be eager to show him Bea’s latest present. A little tipsy, full of expensive food, she’d urge him to tell her all about what he and Bea had done. “More!” she’d beg, as the homely domestic details became suffused with a kind of hazy glow.


Lily had worried that she’d feel competitive with the other mothers and their babies, but even when she saw children Bea’s age who were clearly more advanced, she passionately believed in her child. The problem that did arise, when Bea was about six months old, never would have occurred to Lily, she thought bitterly.
           But when she’d come into a room where Marty was doing something with baby like strumming “My Darling Clementine” on his ukulele or quacking like a duck, Bea would shake her head vigorously at Lily or indicate indignantly that she should leave.
           Not always, but definitely sometimes.
           Although Lily would tell herself it was a good thing that Bea was so attached to her father, tears would spring to her eyes and she’d feel the way she had in high school when two girlfriends would make her feel like the awkward third.
           Marty would be quick to hug Lily and tell her how much he and Bea loved her.
           He just about ordered Lily’s stepmother to stop always saying that Bea certainly seemed to be turning into a little Daddy’s girl.
           “We’re so lucky,” he’d tell Lily.
           For a while they’d think about the couple in their Lamaze class whose child had been born without an arm.
           Most of the time Bea just made them deliriously happy, the fat creamy cheeks, all the deep chuckles and dazzling smiles, the thickening curls slowly becoming brown like Marty’s. After Bea’s bath Lily was always eager to bring baby, all dewy and powdered, to her smitten Dad, and when Bea would clap her hands and pound her chubby legs with joy when “Da” came home from work, Lily would be happy for him.
           Bea was affectionate with her, too, primly offering her cheek for kisses, sobbing as if her heart were broken when Lily left her with a babysitter. And unlike a lot of other mothers, Lily rarely felt the need to get away from her.
           But then suddenly, after mother and daughter had spent many cheerful hours together, as soon as Marty appeared Bea would use her tiny hands to try to push Lily away.
           Ostentatiously, Marty would hug Lily first.
           She’d try to laugh at the tears that would spring to her eyes.
           “We’re so lucky,” Marty would say.
           Lily knew the luckiest thing was that she never held Bea’s being a Daddy’s girl against her.
           Occasionally, though, Marty’s delight in Bea’s ecstatic shrieks at the sight of him began to annoy Lily.
           And occasionally he’d be too preoccupied with giving his darling daughter a bear hug to notice Lily’s mood.
           Trying to be comforting, Laura would bring up their friend Jane’s husband who had to travel so much for work that he rarely saw their child. But Lily found it annoying that Laura—usually so sensitive—didn’t seem to realize that she always brought up Jane’s husband.
           Other mothers of daughters talked about various childrearing problems, but no one else seemed to have a Daddy’s girl.
           “You think this is bad,” a mother of older children told her, “just wait until she doesn’t get invited to a birthday party.”
           Lily immediately felt murderous rage at the very idea that someone wouldn’t invite Bea to a party.
           Since his remarriage her father never seemed to want to talk about the past, but Lily prodded him to try to remember if she’d ever been a Dad-dy’s girl. He didn’t think so.
           When she got up her courage to ask her busy pediatrician about Daddy’s girls, he muttered that it was just a stage and then rushed out to his next patient.
           “No Mama!” Bea learned to say—more and more often, Lily felt, although Marty insisted that she was exaggerating.
           Lily would brood that one day he’d leave her for another woman, a younger woman. Grimly studying her face in the mirror one day, she found a new wrinkle.
           Sometimes she’d wonder if in some sneaky way, it was all Marty’s fault.
           Then when he’d say things like, “You can make your body so rigid, did they teach you that at girl’s school?” instead of laughing the way she used to, she’d tell him to fuck off.
           Or she’d mutter that she was getting a little tired of all his little reminders about how lucky they were.
           Looking hurt, he’d ask if she was getting her period.
           Sometimes she was.


Bea started chanting, “Go Mama!”
           Not often, but definitely sometimes.
           Lily began to brood about her past: she’d been secretly proud of being a top student who was also very pretty; she’d pretended she’d studied less than she really had. Remembering various academic rivals, like Susie, also very pretty, Lily would imagine her old enemies lined up—Susie leading the pack—to watch her being rejected by her own child.
           Sometimes, thinking about how she’d married the only man she’d ever dated who hadn’t come from money, Lily would feel sorry for herself; then ashamed of her disloyal thoughts.
           Sometimes she’d feel sorry for herself because her father never wanted to talk about the past.
           Remembering her mother’s soft whistle, Lily began whistling. But sometimes, catching herself whistling, she’d feel like a motherless child.
           Marty began to bring Lily flowers and to practically scold Bea when she demanded, “Mama Out!”
           One morning when he was showering, Lily went into the kitchen where Bea was in her high chair, gumming Zwieback. It was going to be a beautiful day, and Lily looked forward to taking Bea to the playground. Sitting down at the sunny table across from her radiant daughter, she began to sip her coffee.
           Bea strained to turn towards the door, murmuring something Lily interpreted as “Da eat?”
           Wondering if the child were trying to be tactful, Lily was suddenly miserable.
           For a change Marty wasn’t sympathetic, complained that he was tired: teething, Bea had been up several times the night before, and he was the only one she’d wanted.


Bea had a new friend from the playground, Ezra, and soon Lily’s new friend was Ezra’s Dad, Jude. Mom was a lawyer who traveled to Washington a lot, so college professor Jude did most of the child care. In his late thirties, he had thick graying curls and a slightly stooped, professorial look. The gold stems of his glasses twisted around his ears so they sometimes looked like earrings, and Lily would have to remind herself that they were his glasses. Unlike many men, he actually asked her questions about her life—he liked to say that he was a frustrated novelist—and he was sweet with Bea, whom he always called Beatrice. Bea and Ezra played side by side in the sandbox, and he didn’t seem as wild as the other little boys.
           Lily and Jude were compulsive about going to the playground, even on nasty days. At first she was embarrassed to have him see her there, again—the way she’d felt being at the college library the minute it opened—but she began to look forward to his company. They had many satisfying conversations about child care, and he’d also encourage her to talk about her past. She was dismayed at how often she had to stop herself from bringing up some academic triumph.
           Jude mainly complained about his ex-wife, who’d recently bought a country house.
           He and Lily went from bringing special treats for Ezra and Bea, to occasionally including something fancier for each other. Jude introduced her to madeleines. They developed playground routines, like counting the number of people still wearing tee shirts from their Ivy League colleges. Lily could tell by the way he noticed her new hair-cut right away that he didn’t just see her as a wife and mother, but she didn’t think she was attracted to him. (And the time she’d mentioned that Marty had never tasted fresh asparagus until he’d met her, she’d immediately felt disloyal.) Still, sensing it would somehow make her seem less feminine, she never told Jude how Bea was a Daddy’s girl.


Marty’s galloping around with baby on his back when Lily comes in to put the laundry away.
           Bea, flushed with excitement, gestures imperiously for her to get out.
           Marty brings himself to scold, “No, Bea! You’re making Mama feel bad!”
           Bea says something Lily interprets as, “Good, then maybe she’ll stay away!”
           Marty argues that this wasn’t what she’d said, but Lily stalks out of the apartment, a first.
           Waiting for the elevator, she keeps expecting him to open the door and hold out his arms—she’s not sure how she’ll respond—but nothing happens. There seem to be a lot of cheerful families walking around the city, until suddenly there’s a sun shower and everyone disperses. Lily runs into a coffee shop. Sitting by the window, she orders what Marty calls “pretentious” coffee, and when she’s finished she orders another, “Grande.” Watching the rain, she remembers a morning on their honeymoon that had started out rainy, but then the sun had come out bright and hot. Near the entrance to the Louvre there had been a group of small, well-behaved French schoolchildren, still in their yellow rain slickers despite the heat, and Lily had been struck by how uncomfortable it must feel to be a child and have to wait for permission to take off your raincoat . . . As she drinks her coffee and watches cars moving slowly in the silvery rain, tears come to her eyes, she doesn’t know why . . . she’s taken to surreptitiously sniffing her wrists, as if to comfort herself with the smell of her own perfume . . . after a while, she goes home.
           Where Marty, ashen, is waiting for her, and when he holds out his arms, she runs into them.


One fall day, as soon as Lily and Bea got to the playground Lily started getting a headache. Although Jude urged her to go home and leave Bea with him and Ezra, Lily realized that she didn’t want to be in the apartment by herself. Finally she agreed to just sit on a bench with her eyes closed and let Jude “baby sit.”
           For a while Bea kept coming over to pat her forehead, her touch surprisingly gentle . . . a mother sitting nearby talked about how she’d had her daughter’s ears pierced . . . from all over the playground children shouted, “Look at me!” “Look!” . . . occasionally Lily could hear Jude’s “Beatrice” . . . a group of mothers joked about how they could no longer remember their natural hair color . . . at least two little girls seemed to be named Emma . . . Lily must have dozed, and when she woke up she felt better.
           Bea was shrieking and spinning around giddily, periodically falling and crying, but although Lily knew she needed a nap, she didn’t want to leave the park. She was trying to catch Jude’s eye so he’d notice a father wearing a raggedy Yale gym shirt, when Ezra began screaming that he was hungry, and before Lily quite realized what was happening, they were gone. Feeling at loose ends, she was watching Bea try to chase pigeons when the child stumbled and fell down, hard. Immediately there was a sickening amount of bright red blood all over her beautiful forehead.
           Bea was screaming hysterically and Lily was using her skirt to try to stop the bleeding, when they were surrounded by various women offering to help. Someone dialed Marty’s work number, but he wasn’t there. Lily suddenly couldn’t remember her pediatrician’s address, and it didn’t even seem strange to her that a mother whom she only vaguely remembered talking to, knew who her pediatrician was. In the taxi going to his office, Bea kept falling asleep; Lily, terrified that this was a sign of concussion, kept yelling, “Don’t go to sleep!” and shaking her, making her cry. The cabdriver was silent—no acknowledgement that mother and child were covered in blood; nothing. Underneath Lily’s terror that Bea would die or be disfigured, she was aware of feeling incredibly lonely.
           The doctor was reassuring: Bea wouldn’t need stitches, and he didn’t think there’d be a scar.
           Lily burst into tears of relief, terrifying Bea.
           It wasn’t until they got back to the apartment and she was in the tub that Bea finally seemed like her cheerful self. But soon Lily began to worry that in playing with her bath toys, Bea would wet the huge bandage across her forehead. “Stop splashing! Stop splashing!” she kept yelling, finally yanking Bea out of the tub and causing her—after a minute of incredulity—to scream for so long that Lily worried about neighbors calling the police. Eventually Bea sobbed herself to sleep, but after just a few minutes she woke up, incredibly cranky, and began to pick at her bandage. Head pounding, Lily tried to distract her. Finally, feeling she was going crazy, she kept screaming, “Stop picking! God damn it, stop!” Bea, exhausted and whimpering, looked at her as if she were some crazy lady. The afternoon seemed endless. Counting the minutes until Marty would get home, Lily didn’t see how she’d get through all the remaining years of her parenting.


He was later than usual. Although at first he kept sneaking brokenhearted looks at Bea’s bandaged forehead, after Lily told him about the pediatrician’s reassurances he didn’t seem particularly interested in how she’d fallen.
           He was worried about some complicated project at work.
           As the three of them ate dinner, Lily wondered if Bea’s fragmented sentences would manage to communicate to him that Jude had babysat while Mama napped . . .
           But Bea, delicately licking mashed potato from her palm, didn’t say anything.
           “What do you think about getting Ms. Bea’s ears pierced?” Lily asked idly, but suddenly she couldn’t wait to see tiny gold studs peeking through those glorious curls.
           Marty wasn’t sure he liked the idea.
           When Lily mentioned how Jude had “babysat” in the park, Marty only vaguely remembered meeting him.
           “Don’t you remember, tall with grayish hair . . . the stems of his glasses go around his ears so they sometimes look like earrings . . . ”
           He thought he knew who she meant. “Why doesn’t he get other glasses?”
           Lily was wondering why she’d never thought of that, when Marty, hesitating, asked if Jude had been there when Bea fell.
           Furiously, “Do you mean was I talking to him instead of watching your precious daughter?”
           “That’s not what I meant. You know what I think? I think we’ve both had a tough day . . . ”
           “Do you recall, by the way, that I never for a second wanted a son?”
           Furiously, “That’s not fair!”
           For a few minutes they didn’t speak.
           She turned to him. “Is it Jude? It’s Jude! My God, you’re jealous!”
           Suddenly Bea began grunting and wheezing.
           “Something’s wrong!”
           “Call an ambulance.”
           But then they realized—and almost burst into tears of relief—that the child was just trying to whistle.