CHAPTER 7
Jason
A pologizing, admitting fault, seeking reconciliation are all monumental challenges. Yet, as we drive home, the boys’ excitement about their time with Valentina and the soccer lessons they anticipate outweighs my grievances. Then a flowery perfume permeates the car.
“What’s that smell?” I crane my head to the back.
“Eden sprayed her new perfume.” Atticus sniffs exaggeratedly. “Valentina gave it to her.”
“She gave her a dance skirt too,” Felix adds.
Just great. I never considered Eden might be at the age where perfume and stylish skirts would catch her interest. I thought a Gabb phone would suffice for someone her age, but it remains idle unless she’s expecting a rare call from her mom.
I signal right onto West Street. Traffic is light, thank goodness. I hadn’t even paid attention to Eden’s clothes when I greeted her with a kiss as she was reading. Maybe I can engage her now. “What color is your skirt, Eden?”
“Pink.” She speaks over one of the boys’ yawns.
“Is it something you can wear to dance?”
“I wore it to practice today.”
Her brief responses end our conversation. I refocus on the road. Soon, the soft sound of deep breaths fills the car—a couple, if not all three, of the kids have fallen asleep. They need stability. They should be able to come home at a decent hour on days without after-school programs, to a house that feels like home—a refuge from bustling Manhattan. I’m glad we have our place in Meadowbrook. It’s refreshing to have a place to lay low on weekends and connect with friends in our community.
Two hours later, after tucking the kids into bed, I retreat to my bedroom, shower, and change into my pajama pants. The house I had designed with a family in mind has eight bedrooms—all on one level for easy access to the kids, except for the laundry room and gym in the basement.
Stifling a yawn, I slip under the covers. Sleep should claim me quickly given the day’s events, but as I close my eyes, Valentina’s face, her stern expression, and her words— people like you and Grumps —haunt me.
A wry smile tugs at my lips. I consider myself a happy person, but is that how I come across? Perhaps I have a hard time relaxing when I’m moving from one task to another, but my initial encounter with Valentina might have painted the image of a grumpy boss.
The bedsheets whisper against my bare chest as I turn. If the roles were reversed, would I consider forgiving Valentina if she dismissed me so abruptly? Unlikely.
What’s with all the restless energy? I roll to my side. The thin light from the security lamps slices through the blinds. The digital clock glows 9:55 p.m. The silence is too heavy and the need to reach out is overwhelming.
Ethan’s kids are likely in bed by now. As the local pastor and one of my closest friends, he’s often the pillar the community leans on, yet he manages to keep our friendship free of any moral grandstanding. We met in a support group for single dads in Manhattan. His proposal to move here and build our lives anew incited me and two other guys to join him in buying sprawling land to construct our homes close to one another.
Ethan exemplifies what it means to live with integrity and grace. I should embrace better values, especially being close friends with someone of his moral stature. But I’ve barely a moment to embrace anything new. Still, he’s the one person who knows my background enough to help me navigate this mess with Valentina—maybe even help me align my actions with the better judgment I misplaced.
I reach for my phone from the nightstand and squint against the bright screen in the dark room. I scroll to his name and hit call.
He picks up at the second ring. “You never call on weeknights.”
I picture him sitting in his living room, Bibles and research books open for his Sunday sermon preparation.
“Did I wake you?” After all, he might’ve chosen to go to bed early tonight. I shift to lie on my back, the ceiling invisible in the darkness.
He laughs, a comforting sound. “Since when did that stop you guys from calling?”
“Your fault for being the pastor and inviting me along.” I try to keep the mood light. His commitment to his role and to us, his friends, makes Meadowbrook a better place. Though my faith is shaky, he often reassures me that God meets me wherever I am.
“Remember how my mom has been helping me find a nanny?”
“If you find a perfect one, I can’t wait to meet her.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Apparently, Mom found the one.”
“But?”
“I brushed her off because she was a TV host.”
“Are we talking about a nanny or a host for your show?”
“Same person.” I drag out a breath, then recount the saga, omitting my rash dismissals. “Imagine me walking into Mom’s house and going to the backyard to meet the nanny.”
“The same person you misjudged.” Ethan’s voice is cautious yet kind. “God’s always teaching lessons. Keeps us humble. After the boardroom incident, maybe He’s giving you a second chance to make things right.”
“You mean to say this encounter is God’s way of humiliating me?”
“You can call it that if it fits.” He goes on, reflecting on the coincidence of it all.
“She called me Grumps.”
His rich laugh bounces through the phone. “And an egomaniac,” he reminds.
Not her exact words. “Worse yet, my mom wants me to plead with her to watch the kids.”
“Your mom is leaving for a month.”
“Three months.” I roll onto my stomach, my elbows sinking into the mattress.
“It’s wise to do as your mom asks.”
“You mean go and plead with this woman?”
“You know the thing a person says to another when they’ve made a mistake?”
“Mistake?”
“It’s called an apology, Jason.”
I blow out a breath and stare into the encompassing darkness. “I thought you’d have better advice,” I grumble into the phone, though deep down I recognize the truth. Mom was right, but I’d hoped to sidestep swallowing my pride and making amends—not just for my kids, but perhaps as a step toward healing my own bruised spirit. But still, maybe if Ethan understood my real reservations...
“She used to be the host of that show.” I bite my tongue at Mom’s reminder that Daisy made her own decision to leave. It’s easier to blame someone else for the unraveling of our marriage after the twins were born.
“What about the show?” Ethan probes.
I shift. “That’s not important.”
“Great.” He snickers. “I can’t wait to meet this nanny. Congrats!”
“You can laugh now, but wait until you need a nanny.”
“I’m not as particular as you.” He’s smiling. I know it. He benefits from a network of church grandmothers eager to dote on his kids.
After I hang up, reality sinks in. If Valentina agrees to reconsider the job, I’m committed to three months with her, as per Mom’s request. I put the phone back on the nightstand and flip onto my back again. Tomorrow is Thursday. Maybe I can stall, wait one more day in hopes Mom might change her mind and find another nanny.
Closing my eyes, I pull the covers up to my chin and try to settle into sleep. But Valentina’s image invades again. Her words echo persistently— Grumps. People like you .
Valentina Diaz. She’s getting under my skin if I can’t close my eyes without her popping into my thoughts. I flip onto my stomach again and bury my face in the pillow to block her out. Her appearance, her scent, her lush dark hair... She’s beyond attractive. Definitely, one of the most beautiful women I’ve seen in a long time. That admission forces me to slide off the pillow and cover my head with it. Sleep, Jason, sleep.
Her question from the interview interrupts my efforts. “Have you ever watched any of the clips from my show?”
I toss the pillow aside and reach for my phone again.
Who is Valentina Diaz? There’s way too much information on the internet. Before I can get through it all, exhaustion takes over. When I sleep, I dream about her.