Page 3 of Falling for the Nanny

McMann was pissing me off, but I couldn’t focus on him anymore. Not with that damn waitress/ hostess/bartender, whatever she was, judging me for being on the phone.

“Get it done, McMann,” I said through my teeth in a way that made Lily’s eyebrows shoot up. Before he could respond, I disconnected the call and pulled the Bluetooth free of my ear. It felt strange, like something was missing. “Sorry, Lils, I’m done working.”

My daughter widened her dark green eyes–the only thing she got of mine–and made a big show of reaching out, turning my wrist over to stare pointedly at the face of my watch. I knew she couldn’t read it from her upside-down vantage point, but I got the point. It was definitely after 4:30, and that was my cut off time on Fridays. I wasn’t supposed to even look at my email until she went to bed at 8:30.

“How about a second chocolate milk,” I said.

“How about two more chocolate milks.”

“How about a second chocolate milk and we split the brownie for dessert.”

Lily’s grin spread across her face. Two parts sweetness, one part smug. An expression that was purely her mother’s, wherever she was. “Deal,” she said, letting go of my wrist and sticking out her hand.

We shook on it, then Lily waved eagerly in the direction of the bar and sat back, satisfied. She’d gotten one of the bartender’s attention. I couldn’t see who was approaching, but I hoped it wasn’t the smaller one with the long golden-brown hair and the bright blue eyes, the one that always had a streak of paint or glitter on her somewhere. I preferred the other redhead who looked like she knew the tax law by heart and didn’t try to make friends with my kid.

But like most things today, I didn’t get my way. The glittery one appeared, her perky ponytail swishing as she put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to grin down at Lily. “I thought you only got one,” she said, picking up the empty chocolate milk glass.

“I negotiated,” Lily said.

“Smart girl.”

Irritated without quite knowing why, I said, “If you’re not our waitress, why are you the only one who has been by since we sat down almost ten minutes ago?”

That knocked the playful smile off her face. She glanced back toward the kitchen at the girl she had tapped on the shoulder after seating us. The girl had clearly forgotten she had a table or maybe even a job–she was too busy laughing it up with the manager.

“I–you know what? I can be your waitress. I’m so sorry about that.” She yanked the pad of paper out of her apron pocket and clicked a pen. “What can I get you?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say the manager, but I caught Lily’s eye and relented. I might not have liked this place with its red vinyl booths, weak drinks, and tacky decor, but it was her favorite. And I’d do anything for my daughter.

* * *

When we got home after dinner, Mrs. Barnes was waiting at the door. As always, she had a smile on her face that got bigger when she saw Lily. She’d been with us since Lily was born, and she was more of a mother to Lily than my ex-wife ever had been.

That was why, later, after Lily was in bed and Mrs. Barnes sat herself across from me in my office, I wasn’t worried at first. I wasn’t even worried when she said, “Mr. King, it breaks my heart, but I have to give you my notice.”

In fact, I laughed. Then I looked up from my computer and saw Mrs. Barnes’ face. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her mouth was puckered with the effort it took to keep them from falling.

“Wait, you’re serious?” I demanded, shutting the lid of my laptop.

She nodded.

“But…why?”

While she composed herself enough to speak again, I racked my brain for a reason. I knew it wasn’t anything to do with Lily, they adored each other. I didn’t think it had to do with her pay; I paid her well above the average salary for a live-in nanny. “Am I working too much again?” I asked, seizing on the one complaint she’d had over the years. “I’m putting too much responsibility on you? Is that it?”

“No,” Mrs. Barnes said, then corrected herself. “I mean, yes, you’re working too much. But you know I love Lily like a daughter.”

“Then what is it? Do you want a raise?” I opened my laptop again and searched the documents folder for her contract. She was due for a cost-of-living increase anyway, and if I had to throw another ten thousand dollars on top of her salary, I’d do it.

“It’s not about the money, Mr. King.” Mrs. Barnes sounded offended now. Her eyes were still wet, but her chin was up and her spine was ramrod straight. “I’m moving to California.”

I almost laughed again. Maybe this had been one prolonged, deeply unassuming joke. Who the hell wanted to move to California? They had a different natural disaster every other week, not to mention the inevitable Big One. But then I remembered that Mrs. Barnes’ daughter had wanted to live in California. Did live in California, in fact, as a screenwriter if I remembered correctly. And she’d just had a baby.

I groaned out loud, the reality of it finally hitting me. This wasn’t a joke or a negotiating tactic. Mrs. Barnes was really going to move to California. I was going to lose her. I’d never begged a woman to stay in my life, not even my ex-wife, but I took a deep breath, prepared to do so now. “Mrs. Barnes, please. Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay? This is going to break Lily’s heart.”

I didn’t say it to be manipulative. It was a fact. A few years ago, my daughter had taken the defection of her mother with remarkable aplomb. She’d asked where her mommy was almost every day for six months, cried a few times, and then seemed to forget that her mommy had ever existed outside the four boundaries of her iPad screen. I credited Mrs. Barnes with getting her through it.

Mrs. Barnes knew as well as I did that Lily wasn’t going to handle this defection as well. Her tears finally broke through her defenses, slipping down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook and her nose turned red, and she grabbed the box of tissues off my desk. “I’ll come back and visit her all the time,” she swore. “But my daughter needs me, Mr. King. I’ve been taking care of other people’s children for the last twenty years, and now it’s time for me to take care of hers.”