Chapter Two #2
This wasn’t just a case of “oops, sorry!” betrayal.
Tracy executed her power-play with the subtlety of a caffeinated badger.
I’d brought her along for moral support, imagining us dazzling the chef as a dynamic duo.
Instead, she went full secret agent—deploying hair flips and kittenish purrs while throwing me under the bus, all in one swift maneuver.
Apparently, kitchen knives weren’t the only things besties sharpened.
“CATE!”
“Gah!” I puffed, jolting upright. “I’M COMING!” I barked back, channeling my inner startled squirrel. Clutching my backpack, I glanced around at my old room and whispered, “I miss my apartment.”
Not that Egyptian cotton sheets and unicorn posters could ever fill that void.
Closing my bedroom door, I hurried down the stairs to find my parents sitting at the kitchen table. Mom looked up slowly, shaking her head as she spoke. “You are going to be late,” she warned, her tone gentle but firm.
Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I muttered, “I don’t see how, with you screaming my name every five minutes.”
“Dr. Lyon is a very nice man, Cate. He just needs someone reliable. He’s not had the best of luck with nannies,” Mom said, pouring herself another cup of tea.
I reached for an apple out of the bowl on the table and groaned, “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing, and his daughter is just lovely. I think the three of you will get along splendidly... if you’re not late,” Mom replied, her eyes softening.
Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “Fine, Mom. I’m leaving. Don’t want to get stuck in the morning commute.”
Dad chuckled, flipping the page of his newspaper.
“Don’t encourage her, Dale,” Mom scoffed, swatting him with her tea-towel. “Cate would be late to her own funeral if she could.”
Dad winked at me, folding his paper as he stood. Leaning over, he kissed Mom’s cheek. “That would never happen, dear, because she would have you there to get her to the service on time. I need to get going myself. Traffic is horrible on Mondays. I’ll see you tonight, my love.”
“Miss you already,” Mom said as Dad headed for the door.
As Dad left, I couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky I was to have parents like them. Watching the easy affection between them always reminded me of the kind of love I hoped to find someday.
They were my ultimate goal.
Thanks to my parents, I had a perfect childhood.
They did everything they could to give me a life they thought I deserved.
I couldn’t remember a single time when I didn’t feel loved.
I would be forever grateful for the life they gave me; they taught me what it meant to be kind, considerate, independent, and strong.
My parents meant everything to me. Without them, I wouldn’t be the strong, independent woman I was today.
Okay, so I moved back home because my former BFF seduced the sous chef over a chocolate soufflé, but you know what I meant.
“Come on, Cate,” Dad called, grabbing his briefcase. “You can walk me to my car. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’ll be a traffic jam.”
After walking Dad to his car, I crossed the driveway and hopped the fence to the house next door.
Hefting my backpack higher, I trotted across the perfectly trimmed lawn and headed straight for the front door.
Not wasting any more time, I knocked and muttered, “Let the babysitting job begin,” just as the front door flung open.
“You’re late,” the tall, gruff man barked, spinning on his heel before I’d even managed a half-hearted ‘good morning.’
Charming, right?
If this was his way of a welcome, I’d hate to see his warning.
Rude much?
Still clutching my dignity and, honestly, my last hope that this job might be normal, I followed him into the dining room.
There, at a massive table, sat a little girl.
Megan, soon to be the star of my new reality show, “How Long Can Cate Last?” as Dr. Lyon scooped up his coat and bag, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to his daughter’s head.
“Be good, baby. Daddy will see you later.”
And then—exit stage left, Dr. Lyon.
Or, more accurately, he thundered past me in a storm of irritation, punctuating his departure with a door slam so aggressive I half-expected the windows to rattle out Morse code for “run.”
Not just a regular slam, mind you. A slam of mythic proportions.
Somewhere, carpenters shed a tear. My first thought? Was seismic insurance included in the nanny contract? Because WOW!
Daddy’s temper?
Yeah, that tracks.
“Uh, excuse me,” I mumbled, half out the door already, catching a wind-blown glimpse of his perfectly styled hair now mussed with righteous fury.
There he was, sliding into a car so shiny, I was convinced it ran on pure frustration.
I wanted to fire off a sharp retort about parenting and the unfairness of life, but he was gone—engine roaring, dust swirling, ego untouchable.
“Fucking damn it,” I breathed, and it was exactly at that moment I heard a tiny giggle behind me.
Oh, right. The kid.