time to eat. This will be a huge act of kindness. Plus, we wandered for a half-hour and only found one homeless guy. I don’t think this is a homeless-guy kind of place. Let’s just unload these and—”
“No,” Jess said, her voice quiet but determined. “I’m not going over there.”
“Okay,” I said, a little startled by her vehemence, but unwilling to give up that easily. “That’s fine. You can wait here. I’m unloading these things.”
I dashed across the street to the park before she could say any more. When I arrived at the picnic bench, a frail, redheaded harried mother shouted, “Hannah! Don’t put that in your mouth!” then turned to look at me.
“Hello.” She sounded even warier than the Dumpster guy.
“Look, see that girl across the street?” I turned and waved at Jess, who gave a small wave back. “It’s a really long story, but she’s making me give away McGriddles and I was just hoping you guys could act like you’re hungry. Or... something.”
Red sniffed and turned up her nose. “Do you know how much saturated fat is in one of those things?”
“I’m not saying you have to actually eat them,” I said through clenched but smiling teeth. “I’m just asking you, as a favor to me, as a random act of kindness on your part, to pretend that you’re hungry and grateful.”
Another harried mother, who seemed blissfully unaware of the spit up on her collar, said, “Who are you again?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. There were times in life when a girl had to do what a girl had to do, dignity be damned. I opened my eyes again and smiled. “Have you ever seen Baby of the Family ?”
The redhead looked confused. I didn’t blame her. “What, that sitcom from the sixties?”
“Yep.” I cleared my throat. “You know Twinkie?”
Spit-up’s eyebrows knit. “Was that the dog?”
“No,” I said. “The daughter. The adorable little blonde girl who did this—” I did the beatific shrug—”all the time?”
Another mom, a pudgy woman with hair in long Laura Ingalls braids, approached and glanced at the McGriddles. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m her daughter,” I said.
“Whose daughter?” Braids asked.
Red shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted up at me, then smiled. “Oh, wow. You do look a bit like her.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to bear the comparison as a compliment. “But back to that woman who’s forcing me to hand out food to strangers—”
“Twinkie’s daughter!” Spit-up mom clapped her hands. “Oh, my God. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Now if you could please, just—”
“Wait!” Spit up reached into her purse and pulled out a pen, then continued riffling through her bag. “Does anyone have any paper? I want an autograph.”
I had to raise an eyebrow at this. People rarely wanted Mom’s autograph unless she was at an opening for a mall or something. These west-edge-of-the-fifth-ring-of-hell people must be truly desperate for celebrity. Lucky for them, I was desperate, too. I reached into a McGriddle bag, pulled out a sandwich, unwrapped it, and set it in front of Spit-up. Then I pulled out a napkin and took her pen.
“Make it out to Sandra,” she said, giggling.
“Who are you?” Braids asked, then turned to Red. “Who is she?”
“She’s Lana Lorraine’s daughter,” Red said. “You know. Twinkie, from Baby of the Family . Can you believe it? All the way out here!”
I didn’t bother to tell her the name was Lilly, not Lana. I didn’t care. I was already knee-deep in the muck of my mother’s faded celebrity; I wasn’t going any deeper by pretending I had pride. I scribbled my name on the napkin and handed it to Spit-up. “Okay, so, McGriddles for everyone, then?”
“Wow,” Braids said, reaching to shake my hand. “Lana Lorraine’s daughter.”
“‘Sandra, all the best, Emmy James,’” Spit-up read, then glanced up at me. “Who’s Emmy
“No,” Jess said, her voice quiet but determined. “I’m not going over there.”
“Okay,” I said, a little startled by her vehemence, but unwilling to give up that easily. “That’s fine. You can wait here. I’m unloading these things.”
I dashed across the street to the park before she could say any more. When I arrived at the picnic bench, a frail, redheaded harried mother shouted, “Hannah! Don’t put that in your mouth!” then turned to look at me.
“Hello.” She sounded even warier than the Dumpster guy.
“Look, see that girl across the street?” I turned and waved at Jess, who gave a small wave back. “It’s a really long story, but she’s making me give away McGriddles and I was just hoping you guys could act like you’re hungry. Or... something.”
Red sniffed and turned up her nose. “Do you know how much saturated fat is in one of those things?”
“I’m not saying you have to actually eat them,” I said through clenched but smiling teeth. “I’m just asking you, as a favor to me, as a random act of kindness on your part, to pretend that you’re hungry and grateful.”
Another harried mother, who seemed blissfully unaware of the spit up on her collar, said, “Who are you again?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. There were times in life when a girl had to do what a girl had to do, dignity be damned. I opened my eyes again and smiled. “Have you ever seen Baby of the Family ?”
The redhead looked confused. I didn’t blame her. “What, that sitcom from the sixties?”
“Yep.” I cleared my throat. “You know Twinkie?”
Spit-up’s eyebrows knit. “Was that the dog?”
“No,” I said. “The daughter. The adorable little blonde girl who did this—” I did the beatific shrug—”all the time?”
Another mom, a pudgy woman with hair in long Laura Ingalls braids, approached and glanced at the McGriddles. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m her daughter,” I said.
“Whose daughter?” Braids asked.
Red shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted up at me, then smiled. “Oh, wow. You do look a bit like her.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to bear the comparison as a compliment. “But back to that woman who’s forcing me to hand out food to strangers—”
“Twinkie’s daughter!” Spit-up mom clapped her hands. “Oh, my God. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Now if you could please, just—”
“Wait!” Spit up reached into her purse and pulled out a pen, then continued riffling through her bag. “Does anyone have any paper? I want an autograph.”
I had to raise an eyebrow at this. People rarely wanted Mom’s autograph unless she was at an opening for a mall or something. These west-edge-of-the-fifth-ring-of-hell people must be truly desperate for celebrity. Lucky for them, I was desperate, too. I reached into a McGriddle bag, pulled out a sandwich, unwrapped it, and set it in front of Spit-up. Then I pulled out a napkin and took her pen.
“Make it out to Sandra,” she said, giggling.
“Who are you?” Braids asked, then turned to Red. “Who is she?”
“She’s Lana Lorraine’s daughter,” Red said. “You know. Twinkie, from Baby of the Family . Can you believe it? All the way out here!”
I didn’t bother to tell her the name was Lilly, not Lana. I didn’t care. I was already knee-deep in the muck of my mother’s faded celebrity; I wasn’t going any deeper by pretending I had pride. I scribbled my name on the napkin and handed it to Spit-up. “Okay, so, McGriddles for everyone, then?”
“Wow,” Braids said, reaching to shake my hand. “Lana Lorraine’s daughter.”
“‘Sandra, all the best, Emmy James,’” Spit-up read, then glanced up at me. “Who’s Emmy
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