9. Is it ethical to watch my nanny on a feed she doesn’t know exist?
NINE
IS IT ETHICAL TO WATCH MY NANNY ON A FEED SHE DOESN’T KNOW EXIST?
A fter the fiasco of Vanessa’s first day, I called Pierce and asked him to install a camera in the living room. I really don’t want to be taken by surprise, and if I’m honest, I don’t fully trust her.
She might be nice and look sweet, but she still doesn’t have a reference letter from a previous job, and I only hired her because of Alana’s recommendation.
The weekend was over too quickly, and the kids couldn’t stop talking about her. Despite having been abandoned at school on her first day, Anton didn’t hold it against her and raved about her brownies until I got sick of hearing about them. I didn’t say that to him, but the fact that she thought it was a good idea to give them sugar a couple of hours before bed gave me a headache. Livia was too happy to tell me that I don’t play like Vivi —she couldn’t pronounce her full name—and that Vivi does a better impression of Barbie than I do. I sure hope so, but it still rubbed me the wrong way.
The good part, at least for me, is that they only asked where their mother was a couple of times. They still miss her, but the novelty of Vanessa has taken over their lives for now.
And mine.
It’s not every day that I let someone in. Last time I did, the person became the mother of my child, then my wife. I’m not ready to make a monumental mistake like that again. Once was enough to last me a lifetime.
And I’m not counting Pierce, who insists on spending lunch breaks with me when I know for a fact I’m not good company, especially since Monica left. My boss’s husband is dealing with his own shit with his half-brother acting like an idiot most of the time, but he made space for me in his life. Some days, I’m grateful for the quiet friendship we share and some days, I wish he’d just leave me alone to wallow in self-pity.
Like now.
We’re in our weekly Monday meeting to talk revenue, taxes and establish the priorities of the week and he won’t stop asking where my ex-wife is and why I’m not chasing her.
“If it were me, I’d be scouring the Earth to find her,” he says flippantly.
I know he tried to find Alana for three years before they reunited, but he was infatuated with her, and then he became obsessed. I don’t feel anything like that for my ex-wife.
“Drop it, Pierce,” I tell him, and he holds up his hands.
If there is one topic I have no desire to talk about, it’s my ex-wife and what I should do with her. I have no clue what to do about her and I don’t want anyone to pester me, asking for answers I do not have. Rational decisions are my forte, but when it comes to the mother of my children, I’m at a loss.
The meeting ends, but we’re slow to leave the conference room. I take my phone from my pocket, ready to distract myself and avoid the only friend I have. My thumb hovers over the newly installed app on the main screen. After a second of hesitation, I open it.
My living room comes into view on the small screen. The wide angle allows me to see the kitchen, the windows, and the street behind. But mostly, I see Vanessa. Vanessa crawling on all fours with a smiling Livia seated on her back. Her hips sway as she moves. It must be so impractical wearing that tight leather skirt.
I don’t close the app right away, even though I’ve reassured myself Livia is okay.
I keep watching.
“What are you looking at?” Pierce asks over my shoulder, and I immediately turn off the screen.
“Nothing. Just checking if the camera you installed on Sunday works. I didn’t have time to do it before.” My tone is cool and collected, but my palms sweat. I feel like I’ve been caught watching porn at work. Which is ridiculous. I’m just a concerned father who checked on the nanny.
Who doesn’t know she is being watched.
I ignore the voice in my head—with working in the mafia, it’s not too hard to silence morals like this one—and go on with my day until it’s time to go home.
T he problem with telling yourself something is not a problem is that it can get out of hand very quickly. I don’t mean to open the camera app again. I told myself I’d only watch it around the time Vanessa needs to go pick up Anton at school. But it’s 11 am and my thumb itches.
I watch as the living room comes into view again on my screen and look for where Livia is. She’s seated on the kitchen counter while Vanessa makes their lunch. She should not be seated on the kitchen counter. If she falls, she’ll break her neck.
I close the app and text Vanessa.
Me
Everything fine this morning?
I open the app again and watch as she picks up her phone and texts. A few seconds later, my phone chimes.
Vanessa Winfrey
Yes, Mr Marquesi.
I can almost imagine the attitude she has right this second. She thinks she hides it well, but she has a wild side. It’s obvious despite me not knowing her well. It’s obvious in the way she huffed her frustration before asking to be paid early. Why I find it endearing is a mystery to me.
Usually, nothing phases me, scares me or excites me. It’s been like this for years and I think it might just be a malfunction in my brain at this point. But observing Vanessa with my kids, seeing her pensive or frowning or smiling, it does something inside my chest.
Me
I hope Livia is being good. If she asks to sit on the counter, it’s a no.
I go back to the app once more and watch. She doesn’t disappoint. Vanessa rolls her eyes before taking Livia under the arm and bringing her down to the floor, where my daughter starts to throw a tantrum.
That backfired. I didn’t mean to make her job more complicated.
I scrub a hand over my face. My work completely forgotten, I watch as Vanessa lowers down in front of Livia. I don’t know what she says, but my daughter storms out of the room and Vanessa follows.
I close the app and swallow hard.
A strange sensation fills up my chest, and the noises in my head quieten.
I frown because such a curious reaction to a mundane interaction leaves me speechless. When I wondered why I was so numb, I scoured the internet and chronic depression was the answer that came up the most. I never did anything about it, just got used to it and kept on going, the only joy filling my life being the smiles of my son and daughter.
This app is giving me something I haven’t had in years and I don’t even have a name for it. This sense of floating and silence seems almost unnatural. I’m unsure if I like it or not.
At school pick up time, I watch Vanessa put on her coat and then help Livia put hers. She does a weird thing of putting the coat on the floor open with the top side facing Livia. My kid bends forward like Vanessa shows, sliding both her little arms inside the sleeves of the coat and flipping it up over her head until it settles on her shoulders.
It’s quite clever and though I’m sure she didn’t invent it, I have to commend Vanessa for her ingenuity and for teaching my kid independence.
The rest of the week happens much the same.
I tell myself to leave my nanny alone, yet I watch twice, sometimes three times a day. At lunchtime, I lock myself in my office and open the app while I eat the leftovers from the previous day at my desk. I could almost believe I was with them. I could almost believe I wasn’t so alone anymore.
Every time I close the app, I tell myself it will be the last time and yet I open it again the next day.
I justify it by pretending it helps me to get to know Vanessa better, but there’s more to it than that.
I didn’t pay enough attention to her before. The thrill was new; I wanted to make sure Livia was taken care of; I felt like I was infringing on Vanessa’s privacy. Now, it’s like an addiction.
I finally looked it up online. What I feel when I see her on the screen and see that all is well in my children’s world is peace . Except, I’m not just at peace knowing my children are well. The feeling comes from knowing she is, too. That in my employ, she thrives.
I want her to. I want her happy and safe. Fulfilled even.
But the purple under her eyes that has only grown darker over the week is concerning. It’s Friday now, and Vanessa looks exhausted. Her skin doesn’t glow like it did last week. And today, she doesn’t even wear any makeup. If I know something about Vanessa Winfrey is that she always wears black eyeliner with pink on her cheeks and shiny lipstick on her lips.
Unfortunately, when I come home, we barely talk. She tells me about the day and what the kids did, but she doesn’t linger and I don’t do anything to make her stay. I have no right to ask, but I want to. I want to know why she’s tired, if it’s because of the kids and she’s going to quit. Or if it is because of her financial situation.
There isn’t a good way for me to ask, so I don’t.
“Hi, Mr Marquesi,” she greets me when I enter my well-lit house. All the lights are on, which means she’s distracted.
“Hi, Vanessa. How was today?” Her name slips off my tongue and I clench my teeth, hoping she doesn’t notice.
“Wonderful. Since Anton ends school earlier on Fridays, we went to the park and played with the cutest puppy.”
“Can we have a dog, babbu ?” Anton asks and I lift my gaze to the sky then back down just in time to catch Vanessa pulling her lips into her mouth like she’s trying to avoid smiling.
“A dog is a responsibility, picculinu .”
“I know, but I’m a big boy now. I’d take good care of it. I would walk them and then they would pee outside and I would play with them and run with them and feed them too. Please, babbu ,” he begs.
I look to Vanessa, who just shrugs like she didn’t start the discussion of the century.
“We’ll talk about it. Go wash your hands, we’ll have dinner soon.” He leaves and I turn my attention to Vanessa. My eyes must tell the story of my displeasure because her smile disappears. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t convince my kids to make life-changing decisions right now. They need stability.”
“Sir, it was perfectly innocent. We went to play in the park and a dog was there. They petted it and that’s it. They’re five and two, of course they’re gonna want a dog or a cat or any cute thing they see.”
“And I have to be the one to tell them no.”
“Well, yes, you’re their father. That’s your job,” she snaps, stunning us both, before widening her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That was extremely unprofessional. What I meant to say is that boundaries are healthy for kids. They won’t love you less if you tell them no.”
“Thank you for the wisdom, Miss Winfrey,” I answer tightly because she’s right, but I refuse to acknowledge it. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
I clench my jaw, frustration awakening my body in a way I thought long buried. My heart beats faster and I want to massage my temples with how annoyed I feel, hoping to dispel it.
I was hoping to ask her why she’s so tired and dulled when she was so vibrant and alive last week. I was just good at being a horrible person.
The door closes behind her, and from the window, her silhouette disappears into the night air.