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She looked at me and tapped her teeth with her fingernails. That was her tell. I was sitting on her right and she was partnered with Will. Another day, another epic game of 42 was underway. We were out for blood.

Papa- well, you would know he had something good because he started gloating four plays before he actually laid down his “cards.” Mimi was deadpan, choosing to do her talking with her eyes and fingernails.

Which were always manicured to perfection. I loved those nails. They were strong and she always painted them with a milky/opal enamel. I never saw them chip.

She laid down her domino and looked at me… waiting for me to realize what she had done. It was only after I internalized her sneaky, underhanded method of running the board did she have the slightest smile tug at the corner of her mouth. Then she started squealing and celebrating.

But Mimi wasn’t competitive.

At all.

The grandkids would take turns partnering with both Mimi and Papa because they were equally fun to play with. And we didn’t get to win because we were young. We won because we fought for it.

We played on the card table in the Holy of Holies- the formal living room with the pink carpet. There were no drinks or food allowed in there, but we knew how much Mimi loved us because she let us play dominoes for hours in there.

Mimi loved being a grandmother. That same squeal when she beat everyone at 42 was the same squeal we heard when we pulled up to their house after a long drive or a long plane flight. Regardless of the travel mode, it was always a long trip as we never lived closer than 2,000 miles away. Our time with the grandparents was precious and we savored it… and so did they.

As a teenager I remember a conversation with Mimi. “Mimi, listen. I’m here for almost a month and I know you and Papa have a life. You can just go on with your activities. I can entertain myself.” She looked at me and said, “Oh no. We’ve canceled everything. We always have those activities but we don’t always have you.”

One of those activities that all the grandkids looked forward to was decorating Christmas cookies. Mimi would bake the cookies ahead of time. We all knew that the baking was off limits because it would just be too much for her to have a bunch of cooks in the kitchen. Now that I’m a mom, I know exactly why she did it herself. She would give us the finished cookies and we would decorate them. And then we would eat them.

She loved to take me out and do “special things.” I was her living doll to dress up. Too bad I was mostly a Tomboy. But I tried for my Mimi because I know it meant a lot to her. I tried not to complain too hard about the hairdos and pretty dresses. I genuinely loved going out with Mimi. She would take me on magical adventures to tea rooms and my favorite: The Magic Pan, a former Galleria upper-crust establishment. I always ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich. It was a big sandwich for such a little girl, but Mimi gave me permission to try all the things.

Aesthetics were always Mimi’s strong suit. She had a discerning eye for the three F’s- fashion, food and furnishings. She and I liked going to Canton to see the miles of vendors and their wares. Mimi had a running commentary on everything and she was never short on opinions. Nor was I. She knew her stuff from years of research on antiques and collectibles. She could tell me who was overpriced and why a particular piece was worth as much as it was.

Guys, I detest antiques. And I thought she was nuts for filling her house with terribly impractical and breakable things. And pink carpet. I know she sweated bullets when the Hawthorne grandchildren rolled in with all their energy and mischief. OK, mostly me. The boys were good. I was the troublemaker and we all know it. Which is also why Mimi liked me so much.

“Pretty is as pretty does….,” she used to say to me. She wanted everything to be beautiful. And I get that. In a way, I always have too. She wanted everything to be in order and make sense. To bring stability to her adult world that she severely lacked in her childhood. Mimi was an artist and experimented (quite successfully) with oils. She was more talented than she ever knew or gave herself credit for.

One semester in college I stayed over a long weekend in Hideaway and I brought my pencils to do some homework for a drawing class. Mimi had a Roman bust that I sketched and I brought the sketch back to be graded. Mimi asked me to send it back to her when I was done with it. I sent it to her and forgot about it. The next time I visited, I saw the simple sketch hanging on her wall in a dramatic professional frame. It was one of the highest compliments anyone has ever paid me.

As a little girl, I would look up at Mimi and listen to her sweet vibrato as she sang “Just A Closer Walk with Thee.” It was hers and Papa’s favorite hymn. I bet you she’s singing it in heaven right now. Or redecorating her mansion for the third time. At the very least, she’s telling Papa he needs to get out the vacuum for the tenth time that day because as we all know, cleanliness is next to Godliness.