The Nanny

You know, eventually you’re going to have to stop moping.”

I raise my head from the aged velvet of Wanda’s couch, glaring at her from the living room. “Shouldn’t you be more sympathetic?”

“Why?” she scoffs at me as she stirs her soup. “I’m not the one who told you to go and act like a dummy.”

I groan as I press my face back against the couch, the place where I’ve been sleeping for the past two weeks. It’s been more than two months since I last wallowed here, and after everything that’s happened, it feels like some awful irony that this is where I find myself. Sometimes I catch myself wondering if it might be better if I could somehow go back and stop myself from ever taking that job to begin with.

At least then I wouldn’t be so miserable.

Lying to Aiden and making him think that I didn’t have time in my life for him and Sophie will go down in history as the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I know that ultimately it was necessary, that they will both be better off without me in their lives—but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. I don’t think I will ever get his heartbroken expression out of my head. And I have definitely tried.

I can’t even let myself wonder how Sophie might have reacted when she’d learned I was gone—dwelling on that for too long makes me feel like complete garbage instead of mostly garbage. There’s no way a ten-year-old can understand complicated nonsense like sacrificing for the greater good. Hell, after weeks of obsessing over the decision, even I think it’s bullshit. Nothing for the greater good should make you feel so shitty.

“You haven’t talked to him since then?”

I shake my head against the couch cushions. “I’m sure that they both would be happy to never see me again.”

“Oh, horseshit. There isn’t anything you could have said that can’t be fixed with a good romp in the hay.”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said.”

“Everything I say is brilliant.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not even sure where you would find hay in San Diego.”

“You know what I mean.”

“He hates me, Wanda,” I whine, burying my face. “And he should. I was a real asshole.”

“You were doing what you thought you had to,” she offers. “Even if it was stupid as hell.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I did try to talk you out of it.”

“I know.” I close my eyes to keep from crying for the hundredth time since I left Aiden’s house. “But it’s better this way.”

Wanda makes a noise that suggests she has a lot to say about that but blessedly says nothing. Not that she hasn’t said plenty since I brought her home from the hospital. I’ve been trying to throw myself into school and the useless endeavor of looking for more work; I would like to say that I’ve been making myself useful to Wanda while she recovers, but it only took about twenty-four hours after she came home for her to decide she had no desire to be “coddled.” Stubborn as a mule, that one. With all the sulking I’ve been doing, it’s more like she’s been taking care of me.

“Why don’t you get out of the house?”

I shake my head. “Don’t want to.”

“You’re haunting this damned place like a ghost. If you don’t go outside soon, you’re gonna start collecting cobwebs.”

“I’m fine, Wanda.”

“Tell that to your hair,” she snorts. “When’s the last time you brushed it?”

“Really great to have you in my corner,” I deadpan. “I feel very nurtured.”

“You want nurturing, get out of my house and go tell that big pretty man that you love him. I bet he’ll give you all the nurturing you want.”

I push up from the couch, rolling my body to the side and getting to my feet. “Okay. I’m going out.”

“To Aiden’s?”

“To the store.”

“Stubborn ass,” she grumbles.

“Yeah, I love you too.”

I shuffle into my shoes by the door, not bothering to brush my hair like she suggested. As I grab my keys, I catch sight of myself in the little mirror hanging by the front door and notice that I really do look like shit. My auburn hair is sticking up every which way, my normally nice-looking skin sallow—made worse by the bags under my eyes from the lack of sleep. Plus, there’s the overall look of general misery I can’t seem to wipe from my features. I make a mental note to force myself to take a long, hot shower when I get back from the store as I use a hair tie from my wrist to throw my hair up.

“Get some bread,” Wanda calls after me.

“Yeah, yeah,” I toss over my shoulder as I shut the door behind me.

—

Ihaven’t been outside other than to my lab last weekend, and even then, I had done my very best to avoid conversation with actual people as much as possible, especially Camila. The trip to the store is a short one—just a few blocks from Wanda’s house—but it’s the furthest noneducational journey I’ve taken in weeks, so I’m going to chalk it up to a win.

I don’t actually need anything from the store. Truth be told, I just wanted to show Wanda that I am capable of doing things without crying—but I throw a candy bar (two, actually) onto the conveyor belt at the last second along with a hastily snatched peach tea before the cashier rings up Wanda’s bread. Maybe the snacks will help me remember what endorphins feel like.

I sound like a less cool Wednesday Addams lately.

It’s still light out when I leave, not quite enough time for Wanda to have finished dinner, and as I start to walk back, I consider finding a bench to squat on for another twenty minutes or so to give the illusion of me getting out and about. Maybe that will get Wanda off my back. Although I doubt it. I open my drink as I walk, turning the lid over out of habit to read whatever is written on the other side.

Cherophobia is the fear of happiness.

I pause on the street, frowning with disdain at the offensive little circle. I really can’t make this shit up. If Aiden were here, he’d probably accuse me of lying. Thinking about him only makes my heart hurt more. I put the lid back on aggressively, tossing the bottle in my plastic sack as I continue on toward Wanda’s, planning to toss the drink in the first available trash can.

There’s a café I like on the way back to the apartment, the familiar smell of freshly baked pastries assaulting my nostrils when I pass and giving me the first real hit of endorphins I’ve had since I left Aiden’s. I linger outside the door as I weigh my options. A cheese Danish sounds a hell of a lot better than a random bench, now that I think about it.

I have to push the fact that I look like I’ve been living in a cave for the last few weeks far out of my mind to find the courage to go inside, telling myself that these people have surely seen weirder things than a hot-mess grad student who looks like she might burst into tears at any minute. That’s probably par for the course for us, anyway. It’s not very busy inside, at least, and I say a quiet thanks for small blessings.

I pull my phone out of my pocket as I fall in line to order, staring at the empty notifications with an increasingly familiar feeling of melancholy. Aiden hasn’t reached out since I left, and why would he? I practically told him I didn’t want him. Something that is so far from the truth it might as well be in the National Enquirer. Right next to the bit about some pop singer keeping an alien in her basement.

I don’t even know how many times I’ve wondered whether or not I’ll ever stop loving him at this point.

The line moves, and I shuffle along, peeking around the café to see how many people I’m subjecting to my rough appearance. Most of the tables are bare save for a few along the back wall; there’s an older man sipping something from a mug while he reads a paper, a young couple chatting across the table from each other animatedly, and in the very back corner, typing furiously at a laptop and looking less than enthused about her lot in life is—

I can’t help but stare.

I know exactly how large this city is, and therefore I am fairly aware of the odds of seeing someone at random you don’t want to see. I can’t rattle off a percentage or anything since I don’t care about population study and I don’t work for the Census, but I can still conjecture that it is a very small number.

But there sits Iris, tucked in the corner of a café I’ve visited a hundred times like a regular.

She doesn’t notice me as she glares down at her laptop screen, and I catch myself wondering what she’s focusing on so intently. Despite my desperate attempts to mentally detach myself from Aiden and Sophie, seeing Iris is a harsh reminder that I have made absolutely no progress. Seeing her irritates the hole they left behind, making it feel as raw and as fresh as the day I carved it into my own chest when I walked out on them.

It’s not a conscious decision, going to her; I don’t think I even realize I’m walking over to her until I’m nearly at her table, my feet moving on their own as they carry me one after the other to where she’s sitting. She doesn’t even notice me until I plop down into the seat opposite her in the little booth, dropping the sack with Wanda’s bread beside me as Iris’s eyes widen with surprise, like she’s trying to process the fact that I’m here.

“Hi,” I say.

She still looks out of sorts to see me. “Cassie? What are you doing here?”

I don’t know how to answer that. I’m not entirely sure myself.

“I . . . I saw you sitting here, and I just . . .” I notice for the first time the dark circles under her eyes, looking hardly any different from mine. I notice how much she looks like Sophie—same cheekbones, same nose—and I realize I barely know anything about this woman, and now she’s uprooted my entire life. I realize at this very moment how much I need to know why it had to come to this. “Do you hate Aiden? Do you really want to take Sophie away?”

She rears back, looking incensed. “Excuse me?”

“I need to know,” I urge. “I need to know that I didn’t have any other choice.”

“You’re not making any sense,” she snorts, slamming her laptop closed. “And I don’t owe you or Aiden a damned thing. So you can tell him—”

“I can’t tell him anything,” I inform her softly, feeling that familiar sting in my eyes. I silently beg them to stay dry. “I left. The day we saw you at the hospital.”

Iris snorts. “What, did it stop being fun when you realized how inappropriate it was?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I left because Aiden is a good dad.”

“Because that’s a real reason.”

“It is,” I say matter-of-factly. “He’s a great dad, and he loves his daughter, and I wasn’t going to be the reason someone takes her away from him.”

“Your leaving doesn’t change the fact that he left her with an elderly stranger and then went radio silent when she needed him because he was with you.”

“And I can’t change that,” I tell her. “I know that. It was a mistake. I can’t take it back. But I can make sure I don’t cause them any more pain. Even if it means hurting them to do it.”

Iris looks at me for a long time, her blond brow knitted and her mouth pursed while she studies me.

“Why exactly are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to hear it,” I insist. “I know that Aiden’s schedule is crazy, but he’s been working so hard to find a balance for Sophie. He adores that little girl. All he wants is what’s best for her. I don’t understand why you would try so hard to take her away when she wants to be with him.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Iris says a little quieter, averting her eyes.

“I think she does,” I argue. “I saw it every day for weeks. How much she wanted to be with her dad. You have to know that it would hurt her if you separated them, so why the hell are you trying so hard?”

“Because I have to,” she huffs, running her fingers through her hair. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“And why should I?”

“Because I’m offering to listen, and I’m starting to think there isn’t anyone else in your life who has.”

“You don’t know anything about my life,” she scoffs. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like to lose your only family.”

I smile at her, but it’s hollow. “You might be surprised.”

“Oh? You know what it’s like to wake up one day and your sister is just . . . gone? Your other half, the most important person in your life”—she snaps her fingers—“gone. Just like that.” Iris looks up at the ceiling, her eyes shining. “She was all I had. Our parents are dead. Did you know? Since we were teens. I basically raised her, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. You can’t possibly know what that’s like.”

“You’re right,” I tell her truthfully. Unfortunately, I was subjected to my parents for a very long time before I was able to get away. “I don’t know what that’s like.”

“And then my niece, the only part of Rebecca I have left—suddenly she’s ripped away from me too. Days after we buried Rebecca.” Iris runs her fingers through her hair, looking lost. “My sister was suddenly gone, and then some guy who only saw her once or twice a month comes and takes her? Just because he shares her DNA? How is that fair? I watched Sophie come into this world. I held Rebecca’s hand while she pushed. I cut Sophie’s cord. Me. Not Aiden. Me. And now she’s . . .”

Her eyes are red, a wetness there that threatens to spill, and for the first time since I met Iris, I don’t see the guarded woman that she’s been every time we’ve met. I see a scared, grieving sister, a lonely aunt—someone who doesn’t know where she’s going or what to do next. For the first time since I met her, she seems . . . sad. Not any different than I am right now, really.

“I can’t lose Sophie too,” Iris whispers, a quiet sob in her throat. She wipes her eyes. “I’m sure you’re enjoying this.”

I shake my head. “I’m not. I’m just thinking that we all could have avoided a lot of heartbreak if you and Aiden could have a real conversation.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?”

“But have you?” I give her a pointed look. “Listen, I know Aiden. He’s a good man. He’s definitely not an unreasonable one. He wouldn’t keep Sophie from you out of spite. Look at how these last few months have been. Haven’t we been finding ways for both of you to be in her life?”

Her mouth snaps shut, a guilty look in her eyes as she stares down at the table. “That wasn’t Aiden. That was you.”

“I’m glad to hear that at least some part of you still believes I cared about Sophie.”

“Listen, I’m sure you do, but you have to understand—”

“You have to understand that Aiden is going to make mistakes. With or without me in his life. I don’t think the measure of a parent is the mistakes they make. I think it’s how hard they work to fix them.”

Iris stares at me with a bewildered expression, turning her head slightly like she’s trying to figure me out. “I don’t get why you want to help so badly. You said you left.”

“Yeah.” I laugh bitterly. “And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Now I wonder if it was even the right thing.”

“So why are you trying to help me?”

“I’m not,” I correct. “I’m trying to help them. I want Aiden and Sophie to have every bit of happiness that they deserve. If that means spelling out to you how to have an actual conversation like a normal human being . . . well. It’s worth the awkward conversation.”

Iris blinks. Then the wrinkle in her brow softens, her eyes following suit as she looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You love him. Don’t you.”

“I—” I swallow, just the thought of it rustling up a fresh wave of pain that I suspect won’t ebb for a long time to come. “Yes.” I nod slowly, looking down in my lap. “I do. Both of them.”

Iris doesn’t say anything, and really, I don’t think there’s anything left for either of us to say. I nod awkwardly at the table before I lay my fingers on the top to drum them absently.

“I’m going to leave you alone now,” I tell her. “Just . . . think about it. There’s no reason for any of you to keep hurting like this.”

Iris nods dazedly, still looking at me like I have a second head growing out of the side of my neck. I guess I can’t blame her, since this is the strangest encounter I’ve ever had in my life. I can’t even say if it will do any good, but at least I can say I tried.

“Cassie,” Iris calls as I move to slide out of the booth.

I pause at the edge. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “For the things I said. I was hurting.”

Another dry, hollow laugh escapes me. “Yeah, well. There’s plenty of that to go around.”

I don’t say goodbye as I leave Iris sitting at the table, and I don’t look back. I step out of the café with Wanda’s sack of bread still in my hand and my Danish forgotten. I have no way of knowing if anything will come from what I’ve done, but the hole in my chest feels smaller, less raw. Maybe it will never close. Maybe this will be the best I can hope for—that Aiden and Sophie will find happiness.

Even if it’s without me.