Page 5 of This Broken Heart
I wrinkle my nose. “Like Mary Poppins?”
Darla slowly scans me from head to toe, saying nothing.
I’m wearing a vintage dress, a beret, and a red scarf.
Okay, Darla. Fair point. Sometimes I do dress like modern day Mary Poppins, but in my opinion, that’s so much better than being boring. And the kids love it.
Darla sits back, pointing at her computer. “I have some listings here that pay better than Sunshine Academy,andinclude housing.”
“Housing?” I put my hands up, warding off the idea. “As in, I’d be a live-in nanny?”
She shrugs. “You said you wanted a change.”
“A change of scenery, Darla. I’m not trying to turn into a governess.”
“It would be worth considering. All of my daycare listings are basically duplicates of the one you just interviewed with. I have a ton of nannying jobs available, though. From Omaha to North Platte.”
“North Platte’s too far. I don’t want to move too far away from my mom. She counts on me.”
“Okay, not North Platte. Would you be willing to move to a small town, though?”
My first impulse is to say no thanks.
I like shopping. And having takeout delivered. And sufficient internet connection.
But there is something compelling about getting out of the city and trying something completely new.
Darla sits back. “You said you wanted something new. How new are we talking?”
“I’d consider it—just so long as it’s not too far away from Lincoln.”
She nods, getting a second wind. “I’ve got a few listings from families in Fremont. Tecumseh. And Norris.”
I’m sure I’ve heard of those towns before, but I never really venture past Omaha and Lincoln. There’s not a lot out there. Just lots of cornfields. And cows. So many cows.
Darla shoves a handful of listings in my hands and instructs me to go home and think it over.
I go to lunch instead.
My mom and I always get brunch together on Thursdays at a cute little French bistro downtown. My heart flip-flops uncomfortably as we sit at our usual table.
I’m going to miss being so close to my mom.
Can I really give this up?
All over Matt?
She unfolds her napkin, watching me with sharp, blue eyes. “You’re making that face.”
“I am not.”
She tilts her head, her voice sing-songy. “You are.”
“I’m just having second thoughts.” I look up at her. “Am I being too hasty?”
She pauses, a hand automatically adjusting her hair. My mom has always fretted about her weight, but to me, she’s beautiful. She’s like a redheaded Marilyn Monroe.
Smoothing her hand over mine, she gives me an earnest look. “I’m glad you’re taking steps forward, Erin. You’ve been stuck. It’s good you’re moving on.”