Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Before I know it, we’re all sitting at nail stations, getting pampered and prettied, and somehow, Grace manages to talk all of us into getting baby blue. Even Miranda, who keeps looking at her nails and laughing airily. Apparently, she usually sticks to a classic French manicure, so this is quite unusual for her. Once we’re all polished, we circle up, putting our hands in the middle, to take a picture from above to showcase our matching nails.
I’ve entered new schools, new houses, and new families countless times in my life, and never have I felt so instantly a part of something. I inhale deeply, the scents of nail polish and cucumber filling my nostrils, but more importantly, filled with a striking sense of belonging. Today is already a good day, and we haven’t even gone to lunch yet.
“You made Cameron—the tall, cold, robot asshole guy?” Samantha holds up a hand to indicate how tall Cameron is and then perfectly imitates Cameron’s scowl to make sure we’re talking about the same man, “Race through a corn maze, pose with a scarecrow, and drive” —she looks at Grace’s outstretched phone as if she doesn’t believe what’s right in front of her eyes— “an actual tractor?”
I nod with a wide grin, looking around the tableful of women who are staring at me in awe like I did something unbelievable. “Well, I didn’t make him, so much as encourage him to let his hair down and have a little fun.” I dramatically flick my hair over my shoulder like Cameron could do that despite his hair being perfectly trimmed and coifed at all times. “And he didn’t actually drive the tractor. They just let him sit behind the wheel and pretend for a picture.”
“Important distinction.” Kayla laughs, obviously disagreeing that it matters at all.
“Yeah, and she got Dad to go thrift shopping, do a fashion show with these awful pants, and he even sang karaoke around the kitchen while we made… what was that steak roll-up thing called?” Grace cuts dancing eyes to me. She’s been downright thrilled to tell everyone the silly, fun, outrageous things we’ve done over the last few weeks and is giggling as she watches their shocked reactions.
“A roulade.”
“Cameron sings?” Miranda asks, barely believing the words she’s hearing. “I haven’t heard him sing since he was probably four years old, not even Happy Birthday.”
Grinning, I drawl out, “No one said he sang well.” I glance around quickly to make sure they know I’m only kidding, and the whole table bursts into laughter.
Still catching her breath from laughing so hard, Miranda gasps out, “Oh, my goodness, you are a delight, dear.”
“Yeah, Cam needs a woman who’ll call him on his bullshit.” Kayla’s declaration makes it sound like we’re much more than boss-nanny, and though I wish that were the case, it’s very much not and I feel like I need to correct her so there’s no misunderstanding.
“I wouldn’t go that far. Don’t want to get fired.” I force a teasing brightness to my voice so they know I’m okay with our employment status.
There’s a heartbeat of silence, and then another, as the women look from me to each other, a private conversation in each of their glances that doesn’t include me. A pit opens in my stomach. In clarifying my relationship with Cameron, I’ve effectively reminded them that I’m not one of them, but rather the hired help—Grace’s nanny, Janey’s mother’s helper. It’s a role I’m used to filling and I’ve seen how this goes, so I prepare myself to be pushed to the outside of their easy camaraderie, knowing it’s coming.
It's okay. I know my place. In some families I’ve been with, they invite you to meals, parties, and vacations, and you begin to feel like you’re a part of something bigger and deeper, but there’s always an end date to the placement, the job, the relationship. Everyone leaves me at some point, and this family, no matter how amazing and welcoming they may be, are no different.
Eventually, it’ll be time for me to leave here too, either because they ask me to or when I see the time is right so I don’t overstay my usefulness.
“Dad would never fire you. He loves you,” Grace asserts.
I choke on my tongue and force a laugh, the sound too high-pitched to be natural. “No, he doesn’t.” Grace’s smile falls and her brows slam together. Wanting to soothe her, I rush to add, “He likes me. How could he not? I’m the best nanny you’ve ever had.” I lean her way, bumping my shoulder against hers.
“You are,” she agrees, but her eyes are filled with questions. “But that’s not why Dad loves you. It’s because you make him smile. He never used to do that, and he smiles all the time now because of you.”