Chapter 8 Jess
Jess
The school is one of those private Manhattan places where even the kindergarteners probably have better networking connections than I do.
I’m standing on the sidewalk outside the building labeled PS (Public School) whatever-the-fancy-number-is, and Jag is doing this thing where he scans the entire block like assassins might be lurking behind the organic juice bar across the street.
“When your first day as a nanny involves more security protocols than a presidential visit.”
“You’re making me nervous,” I tell him.
He doesn’t even look at me. “That’s the point, Miss Riley. Situational awareness.”
Miss Riley. Like I’m some kind of professional instead of the woman who AirDropped a meme to Marco, him, and half a bar last week.
Speaking of Marco... his Range Rover is parked at the curb behind us. He’s inside, watching through the window. Keeping his promise to be here while also giving me space to do my job.
The plan is simple. I go in. I get Ben. We leave. Jag maintains what he calls “protective triangle positioning” at the curb. Whatever that means.
What could possibly go wrong?
I spent the entire weekend preparing for this moment. Read every parenting article I could find. Watched YouTube videos about anxious kids. Texted Ethan approximately forty-seven times asking what Ben likes, what she hates, what makes her feel safe.
His responses were frustratingly vague.
“She’s great once she knows you.”
“Just be yourself.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Yeah. Super helpful, bro.
The only concrete intel I got was that Ben loves snails.
Specifically their shells. Collects them apparently.
So yesterday I dragged myself to three different stores until I found the perfect plush snail.
It’s sitting in my tote right now, soft and slightly ridiculous, and I’m putting way too much faith in a stuffed mollusk.
When your entire career hinges on a toy snail. Cut to me spiraling.
The school bell rings. Kids start pouring out of the building like a dam broke. They’re loud. Chaotic. Moving in unpredictable directions. But they mostly ignore me, thankfully.
Still, my chest tightens.
Breathe. Just breathe.
One, two, three.
I make my way inside to Ben’s classroom. The hallway smells like tempera paint and those industrial floor cleaners they use in every school. It triggers something in me. Some old anxiety I thought I’d outgrown.
Spoiler: I did not outgrow it.
Ben’s kindergarten classroom is at the end of the hall. The door is open. I can see kids grabbing backpacks, shouting goodbyes, general five-year-old pandemonium.
And there, in the back corner, is Ben.
Dark corkscrew curls. Piano-black lashes. Almond-brown eyes that are currently filling with tears.
She’s standing completely still. Like she’s frozen. Her teacher is crouched next to her, speaking in that overly gentle voice adults use with anxious kids.
“Ben, your new nanny is here to pick you up today. Remember? We talked about this.”
“No.” Ben’s voice is small but firm. “Matilda is supposed to come.”
Oh no.
No no no.
A meltdown already?
I take a breath and walk over.
As I pass through the doorway, I catch Marco’s figure in my peripheral vision. He’s standing just outside in the hallway, positioned where he can see through the open door. Far enough back to not interfere. Close enough to intervene if needed. His arms are crossed. Watching.
The teacher sees me and relief floods her face. “You must be Jessica. I’m Mrs. Chen.”
“Jess,” I correct automatically. “Just Jess.”
I crouch down to Ben’s level. I can feel Marco’s eyes on me. The weight of his trust. Or his doubt. Hard to tell which.
Ben won’t look at me. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides.
Think, Jess. Think.
“Hey Ben,” I say softly. “I know this is scary. New people are the worst, right?”
She doesn’t respond.
“I brought someone to meet you.” I dig into my tote and pull out the snail. “This is Frederick.”
Ben’s eyes flick to the plush. Just for a second. Interest wars with panic on her face.
I hold Frederick out to her. “He’s a little nervous about meeting you, too. First days are hard for everyone.”
She reaches for him. Her small fingers brush the soft fabric.
Then she grabs him. Like, really fast. And clutches him to her chest.
Victory.
But the victory is short-lived because she immediately drops Frederick on the floor and squeezes her eyes shut.
Oh shit.
Her lips start moving. She’s counting.
“One, two, three, four...”
Mrs. Chen leans in. “That’s good, Ben. Count to ten.”
But watching her count with her eyes squeezed shut and her whole body tense, I realize something.
This isn’t working.
Not really.
She’s just white-knuckling through the panic.
Counting without breathing? Who taught her that?
I pick up Frederick and set him aside. Then I do something probably against protocol. I pick Ben up. Just scoop her into my arms.
She’s tiny. Solid but tiny. And she smells like crayons and that generic kid shampoo.
“Shh, sweetie,” I murmur. “Let’s try something new. This is what I do whenever I get scared.”
Her eyes fly open. Wide and brown and so much like her father’s it makes my stupid heart clench.
Stop thinking about Marco. Now is not the time.
“You get scared?” she asks. “But you’re a grown-up.”
“I get scared all the time,” I admit. “Like, constantly. It’s exhausting.”
Her grip on my shirt tightens.
“But I learned a trick,” I continue. “We can be brave together. Want to try?”
She nods. Just barely.
I take her hand. Small fingers in mine. “Okay. We’re going to do a hand squeeze. One, two, three. Like this.” I squeeze gently with each count. “Feel that?”
Another tiny nod.
“Now we breathe. Slowly. Like we’re smelling hot cocoa. You like hot cocoa?”
“With marshmallows,” she whispers.
“The best kind. Okay. Smell the cocoa.” I breathe in slowly. She tries to copy me but it’s shaky. “Good. Now blow on it so it’s not too hot.”
She exhales.
“Now, let’s do it three more times. Squeeze one. Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam. Two. Smell. Blow. Three. Smell. Bow.”
After the third breath, her body relaxes against mine. Not completely. But enough.
“Better?” I ask.
“A little.”
“Want to try walking? We can bring Frederick.”
She nods again. I set her down and hand her the plush. She immediately presses him to her face.
Mrs. Chen is watching with an expression that’s half surprise, half approval.
We make it to the hallway.
Marco’s still there, leaning against the wall about ten feet away. When Ben spots him, her face transforms.
“Daddy!” She doesn’t run to him, but her whole body relaxes another notch.
He pushes off the wall, crouches down to her level. “Piccola. My brave girl. Go on with Jess, now.”
Ben smiles, then walks close to my side.
So close she’s practically attached to my hip.
I can feel Jag’s presence behind us as we exit the building.
He’s doing his security thing. Scanning.
Positioning. I can’t help but wonder if he’s contributing to her anxiety.
Then again, probably not much we can do about that.
She’s the daughter of a billionaire, and needs security.
Marco has somehow darted ahead and he’s already at the Range Rover. Same massive vehicle he picked me up in that night.
The night I’m absolutely not thinking about.
That ship has sailed. Or crashed. Or whatever metaphor works for spectacularly bad decisions.
He forms a protective triangle as we approach. Him, Ben, Jag.
“Ready to go home, piccola?” he asks.
Ben nods, still clutching Frederick. “Yes.”
I help Ben into her car seat. Check the straps like I’ve done this a million times instead of watching three YouTube videos about proper buckling technique. Marco watches, doesn’t interfere, just observes my technique. I’m hyper-aware of his scrutiny.
Marco takes the passenger seat while Jag takes the driver’s seat. I slide in next to Ben. In the rearview mirror, I catch Marco glancing back at us. At her. At me. Something unreadable in his expression.
Ben is still clutching Frederick. Her breathing is evening out but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
“You did so good,” I tell her. “That was really brave.”
“But Matilda didn’t come.” Her voice cracks. “She... she abandoned me.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Here we go again.
“I know,” I say carefully. “And that’s really hard. But I’m here now. Is that okay?”
She doesn’t answer. Just presses Frederick harder against her chest.
From the front seat, Marco’s voice is low and careful. “Matilda had to go away, piccola. But she didn’t abandon you. Sometimes adults have to make choices. It doesn’t mean they didn’t care.”
Ben just holds Frederick tighter.
We drive in silence after that. Well, not silence. Manhattan traffic is never silent. Horns and sirens and the general din of too many people in too small a space.
I count breaths without meaning to. An old habit. My own anxiety rising because what if I messed this up already? What if she hates me? What if Marco regrets hiring me?
When your imposter syndrome shows up on day one.
Cut to me being fired before dinner.
The townhouse is everything I expected and nothing I’m prepared for. Gorgeous. Historic. The kind of place that gets featured in magazines with titles like “Manhattan Living Goals.”
We pull into the private garage. Marco’s out first, opening Ben’s door himself. She won’t move.
“Frederick needs to see your room,” I try from my side of the car. “He’s never been here before.”
Marco shoots me a look. Surprised maybe. That I’m still trying.
My suggestion works.
Barely.
Ben slides out of the car seat and we make our way inside.
The kitchen is warm. Literally and figuratively. Herb garden past the window. Butcher block counters. That lived-in feeling that costs a fortune to achieve.
A woman I assume is Rosa is at the stove. Housekeeper and cook. She turns when we enter and her whole face softens.
“Miss Ben.” Her accent is thick and comforting. “Welcome home, my baby.”
But Ben just stands there. Frozen again. Her eyes are filling with tears.
“Where’s Matilda?” she asks, even though she knows. Even though we already talked about this.
And the panic is back. I can see it crawling up her spine.
Think fast, Riley.
“You know what?” I crouch down again. Getting real familiar with this position. “I think Frederick is thirsty. Want to make him some brave cocoa?”
Ben blinks. “Brave cocoa?”
“Mmhmm. Remember how we talked about smelling hot cocoa earlier? Well now we’re going to make it. Special recipe. Makes you extra brave.” I’m making this up as I go but I’m committed now. “Rosa, do we have cocoa?”
Rosa catches on immediately. Bless her. “Of course. The best.”
I guide Ben to one of the kitchen chairs. She climbs up, still clutching her plush.
I move to the counter where Rosa is already pulling out mugs. Cocoa powder. Milk. She works with the efficiency of someone who’s done this dance many times before.
“We need to breathe while we stir,” I tell Ben. “That’s part of the recipe. Want to try?”
She nods.
Rosa hands me a wooden spoon. I stir the cocoa slowly while Ben watches.
“Smell,” I instruct. “What do you smell?”
“Chocolate.”
“Good. Now blow on it. Gentle. Like we did before.”
She blows. The steam ripples.
We do this three more times. Stir. Smell. Blow. Her shoulders drop incrementally with each breath.
Marco lingers in the kitchen doorway. Silent. Watching. His arms are crossed but his expression has softened.
Rosa sets Frederick on the counter between us.
“So he can smell, too,” Rosa says, completely straight-faced.
I could kiss this woman.
When the cocoa is ready, I hand Ben her mug. She takes a small sip.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yeah.” But then she sits up straight, as if she’s forgotten something extremely important. “Wait! The marshmallows.”
Rosa produces a bag of mini marshmallows. I’m starting to love her.
We sprinkle several of the minis into our cocoas, and then we sit there at the kitchen table and drink. Frederick sits between us like a tiny chaperon.
Through the doorway opposite Marco I can see someone watching. A woman with a tablet and that efficient energy of someone who runs things. She catches my eye and nods once. Approval? Assessment?
Can’t tell.
Ben sets down her mug. Then she picks up Frederick and does something that makes my chest crack open.
She presses the plush against my chest. Right over my heart.
“He needs your brave,” she says softly.
I have to blink back sudden tears. “Yeah? Is he scared?”
“A little.”
“That’s okay. We can share.” I hold Frederick over my heart for a moment. Then I press him back to her chest. “Now you have extra brave.”
She smiles. It’s small. Tentative. But it’s real.
The efficient woman materializes in the doorway. “I’m Niamh. House manager. Nice work.”
“Just making cocoa,” I deflect.
“You made brave cocoa,” Ben corrects. “It’s different.”
Niamh’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
She glances at Marco, still in the other doorway. Something passes between them. An assessment. She nods once. He returns it.
“Welcome to the team, Jess,” Niamh says, and this time it feels official. Like I just passed some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking.
Day one.
Hour one.
And I somehow didn’t completely screw it up.
I watch Ben finish her cocoa. Watch her hold Frederick like he’s the most important thing in the world. Watch her breathe three times without anyone telling her to.
Ben just needed someone to show her that scared and safe can exist in the same breath.
Somehow, that’s far more rewarding than any algorithm ever was.
This might actually work.
When I finally glance back at the doorway, Marco’s gone. But I can feel the shift. He was here. He saw it work.
One step at a time.