“Hey. I’m here for Andy.”
The woman with a clipboard looks me over from my white Nike Air Force 1’s to my off-the-shoulder T-shirt. “Daniel said you’d be coming. Kitty, is it?”
“Kat.”
I ignore the man getting out of his car nearby who checks out my tits on the way past.
The woman is familiar, and so is the judgmental expression. “Do you have a kid at the dance studio?”
“Yes, I do.”
One of the moms from yesterday.
She squares her shoulder. “So are you, the new…?”
I bask in her eagerness like it’s the last summer day at the beach.
“Yeah. I’m the new.” I smile and look around her toward the crowd of kids milling about. “Andy?”
“Hi, Kat!”
He careens toward me.
Looks like he’s in one piece.
Nanny, 1. World, 0.
Wait.
Something’s missing.
“Shoes?”
He dives back into the crowd of kids and returns with a running shoe in each hand.
Nanny, 2.
I might actually be good at this.
We head out to the street, and Andy looks across the road where another little girl gets picked up by her mom.
I look between them, seeing his expression screw up. “Is she your friend?”
“She was. Not anymore.”
“What happened?”
“We planted these seeds in pots, but I knocked hers over by accident and stepped on it.”
He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a jagged piece of black plastic.
Poor kid.
“Don’t sweat it. If she’s a real friend, she’ll forgive you.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
We get to Daniel’s and I turn the door to realize it’s locked.
Even better, I left the key he gave me at my apartment.
Nanny, 2. World, 1.
“Does your dad keep an extra key?”
Andy lifts both palms.
I venture around the side of the house and find a clay pot on a windowsill. Underneath is a key.
Nanny, 3. World, 1.
I grab it and let us in.
He trudges ahead of me, shoulder slumped.
He was in a good mood until he saw that little girl. Now he’s bummed.
I get it. Even though I haven’t exactly lost friends, it feels that way the past few days.
I think of the shard of black plastic and an idea hits me.
I go back outside to the terracotta pot that hid the key.
“There are lots more.” Andy’s voice comes from behind me.
Sure enough, in the garage are lots more pots. All plain and boring.
“You know what this is?” I ask Andy.
He frowns. “Flowerpot.”
“A blank canvas,” I declare. “What if we make her a pot to plant her new flower in?”
“Like a friendship pot?”
“Exactly.”
There’s house paint there too, but that’s probably not great for kids. I pull out some colors from my bag that I packed.
Much better choice than textbooks.
We go inside and start to paint.
A while later, my phone rings and I answer. “Hello?”
“Kat, it’s Daniel. How are things going?”
His voice is low and a little rough, like he’s striding between classes.
“Peachy. Andy only had nine toes to begin with, right?”
He’s silent.
“It was a joke,” I go on at last.
Out of nowhere, I wonder if he’s wearing a tie or if the top button of his shirt is undone like yesterday.
“Right. A meeting on campus ran late, I’m going to be awhile getting home. Did you and Andy find something for dinner?”
Crap. Come on, nanny. Just because you can go all day without food doesn’t mean you can do that to the kid.
“We will.”
We hang up and I go to the refrigerator, pulling both doors open.
“I want French fries,” Andy pleads.
I make them for him, adding some deli meat on the side and cutting up celery sticks for good measure. He eats half of each and I call it a win, putting the rest in the fridge.
That’s when I notice the row of LaCroix neatly lined up down the door shelf.
I turn one. Grapefruit.
Way to go, single dad.
Daniel said Andy is usually in bed at eight thirty.
But when he goes to get his pajamas, a streak of blue paint rubs off his arm and onto the white dresser.
It’s not the only spot. In fact, he’s closer to a rainbow leopard than a little boy.
“Tell you what. Bath first.”
It takes twenty minutes to get the kid clean, especially when he wants to play with bath toys.
After, I get him ready for bed.
“I can’t sleep,” he insists when I tuck him in.
So, I read him a book about cows who get lifted by a tornado and have to find their way home. Then another about a little girl who has a magical pair of ballet slippers that change colors.
“Tell me a story?” he begs after.
I wave to the stack of books next to his bed. “What was all of that?”
“Other people’s stories. I miss made-up stories.”
“Is that what your dad tells you?”
He shakes his head. “Mommy used to.”
Ah, dammit.
I tell him my best story.
It’s almost nine thirty by the time Andy’s asleep.
Daniel didn’t say which room is mine, but I peek inside the room across the hall, which must be Daniel’s.
Of the two other rooms, one has a bed that’s not made up.
The room next to Daniel’s is large for an old house. Centered in it is a four-poster queen bed with fresh sheets and a sage green duvet.
Closet’s empty.
Drawers too.
That’s when I notice the yellow Post-it note stuck to the mirror.
Thank you.
Two words in big, tidy handwriting.
I open my suitcase and start to put my belongings on the bed.
Everything is beautifully decorated but it feels strangely impermanent, like I’m staying in a hotel. In the end, I leave them there and head down to the living room.
Homework time.
I don’t have my books, but I need to work on my psych topics project, and do some reading online.
I pull out my notebook computer. It looks wholly uninviting.
The couch, by contrast, is supremely comfortable.
This nannying gig is serious work.
I shift down so my head is on the pillow to search for more info on this group therapy thing. But when I flip open the computer lid, I don’t have the internet password.
Is Daniel the kind of guy who’d keep the standard one or change it?
Probably the former.
But just for fun, I take a few guesses.
Hotdad1234
Nope.
Bestsmileever
Also no.
My eyes drift closed.
Five minutes. I’ll study in five minutes.
6
DANIEL
“Kat?” I call under my breath when I step into the foyer.
The hall light is on, but inside, the house is quiet.
It’s been a long day of teaching, which I love, plus administration and department politics, which I don’t.