Dr. Haseda opens the fridge. “Here
are her bottles.” They’re all lined up on the middle shelf.
“Always heat them in warm water,” she says
just like a teacher.
“But she just ate
and shouldn’t be hungry. In fact,
she’ll probably sleep straight through for you.”
“So I won’t get to play with her?” I ask.
“Not tonight, but maybe next time,
if you want to come back.”
Her husband, Rick, is a sculptor,
who works in their garage.
He has long hair and a bushy beard.
At first, he and Dr. Haseda didn’t seem to fit.
But after five minutes I knew they were perfect for each other.
They’re going to a movie at the college.
“We won’t be late,” Dr. Haseda says,
and shows me a number next to the phone.
But I say, “I’ll be fine . . . we’ll be fine.
Kate and I are best friends. Don’t worry. Have fun.”
After they leave, I go to Kate’s room
to check on her. She’s lying on her side
and her mouth is open just a little.
She smells like milk and baby shampoo,
and her lips are moving like she’s chewing.
She has kicked off her blanket, so I pull it back over her,
and I go back to the living room and look at the magazines.
Then I get a Fudgsicle
and turn on The Dating Game.
The show is almost over
when Kate starts to cry—low and soft
and building up.
I run to her room. She’s standing in her crib.
She sees me and stops crying
but looks dazed.
Then she wails and grabs the railing of her crib.
“Mama mama mama!”
“It’s okay, Baby Cake. Remember me? I’m Mimi.
We blew bubbles together,” I say,
wishing I’d brought bubbles tonight.
“Can I pick you up?”
She shakes her head and cries more.
“I’ll be right back,” I say,
and bring a bottle from the fridge.
But she throws it to the floor.
“Mama mama mama,” she cries louder.
“Kate, you’ll wake up the neighbors,”
I say, even though it’s only eight o’clock.
I help her lie down again, but she stiffens
and pops up, pulls on the crib railing.
So I take her out of the crib
and carry her to the living room.
She wants to get down
and cries more.
Now I don’t feel like babysitting.
I’m no good at it,
and I want to cry, too.
I try holding her and feeding her
and rocking her and putting her back in her crib,
but she cries all through My Three Sons.
I can’t take anymore,
so I call the number by the phone.
It rings and rings, but no one answers,
and I drop the phone back into the cradle
and look at the clock. Maybe they’ll be home
in an hour, or two hours. Or three.
I’m thirteen now and should be able to handle
things like this on my own, but I can’t handle this,
and I call home.
When Mama answers, I can only talk
between Kate’s screams and my sobs.
I feel like I’m drowning, but when Mama says,
“I’ll come soon, Mimi-chan,”
I know I’ve found a rowboat to roll into
and rest.
When Mama comes, she picks up Baby Cake
and coos to her. “What a good girl you are.
Why are you crying for Mimi?”
Mama takes her back to her room
and changes her diaper.
“Where’s her bottle?” Mama asks,
smoothing Baby Cake’s soft hair
as she drinks,
watching Mama. And blinks.
“She’s tired. That’s all,” Mama says,
and picks her up, sways in place.
Kate’s eyes close and she looks heavy on Mama’s shoulder.
I take the bottle from her limp hand.
Mama lays her gently in her crib.
Baby Cake sleeps on,
and Mama waits with me in the living room,
watching Hogan’s Heroes until we’re sure
Kate will stay asleep.
“I’ll go now,” Mama says. “You’ll be fine.”
I know why Mama is leaving
instead of staying with me—
so Kate’s mom and dad will see
that everything went fine
while I was in charge.