“Hey Lil, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so how do I put this?” Marlene closed the kitchen door behind her. “Gracie, well, she’s ten now, and she still hasn’t destroyed her Barbies.”

“Oh.” Lillian poured the bowl of potatoes into the pot. “Yes, that is a bit odd.”

“A bit odd? Lil, we were straight-up mutilating our Barbies way before then! Do you remember when you staged a full-on island sacrifice with your Barbies? The Kens strapped helplessly to Lincoln logs, frozen in mid-scream as we chanted ooga-chaka and torched the Barbies from the legs up? All the melted plastic in the pyre? The fire alarms? The dresser ablaze?”

“Yeah, uh, that one might not fly today.”

“Point is, you were nine, and I was, like, seven! When was Harper shaving and decapitating her Barbies with your power tools?”

“She was nine?”

“When did Bailey broil hers?”

“Eight? And a half?”

“You see? And Gracie’s ten, almost eleven! Her birthday’s in like three months, and has she defaced even one Barbie? Held one Barbie’s hair up to the fan? No!”

The potatoes were now boiling; Lillian opened the window to let out the steam. “Mar,” she said, “you can’t force character development. Every girl develops at her own pace. And maybe it’s taken Gracie a little longer, but she’ll get around to it soon enough. Just wait another year, and she’ll be trepanning her Barbies like trepanation’s going out of style.”

“I have been waiting! I’ve been so patient for the past few years. I’ve let her have her innocent playtime. I’ve even left little hints. Nails lying around, used razor blades. VCRs of slasher movies knocked off the shelf, trashy teen magazines opened to suggestive pages. But not once, Lil, not once have I seen any hint that she’s ever going to decide that Barbie’s a terrible role model for girls and finally take the hammer to her in an ecstasy of plastic destruction, which is a metaphor for her growing up!”

Lillian removed the pot of potatoes from the stove.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“No, of course you’re not crazy! But Mar, you can’t force this anymore. You’re acting like growing up is a race, and it isn’t! When Gracie grows up, she’ll grow up, but until then, you can’t make her vivisect her Barbies.”

“Yes, she has to do that herself.”

“Maybe it’s time you consider taking her to a psychologist?”

“I know what’s best for Gracie, but that ain’t it.”

“Mar,” Lillian said, “please. I’m only trying to help.”