Chapter 8 #2
“Uh-huh.” Joe’s smirking now. “So what you’re tellin’ me is you hired a girl—”
“Woman,” I correct automatically.
“—a woman who you got into a physical altercation with over cab access, who your hostile daughter miraculously doesn’t hate, and you didn’t notice a single thing about what she looks like?”
“I noticed she has two arms, two legs, and a head. The standard configuration of a human body.”
Maria nearly chokes on her soda. “The standard configuration?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t think I do,” she says, wiping her eyes because she’s laughing so hard.
Allison’s watching me with that knowing look that mothers and pregnant women seem to develop, like they can see right through whatever bullshit you’re trying to sell them. “So when does she start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“And you’re not the least bit nervous about this?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Like, at all?”
“Of course I’m nervous, but Emma likes her, which is the only thing that matters.”
“Uh-huh.” Allison exchanges a look with Joe that I don’t like at all.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” Joe says, but he’s still grinning. “Just that this is either gonna work out great or it’s gonna be a complete disaster, and either way it’s gonna be entertaining as hell to watch.”
“I’m so glad my life is entertaining for you.”
“Hey, we all gotta get our kicks somewhere.” He takes another drag. “Speakin’ of which, we still on for next week? The girls have been askin’ about a playdate.”
I think about my schedule, about the lecture I need to prep and the grant proposal that’s due and the stack of papers I still need to grade. “Yeah, we’re on. Emma could use the time with Lauren.”
“How’s she been doin’?” Allison asks, and her voice has gone softer, gentler. “With everything?”
“Better some days than others.” I don’t really want to talk about this, about Rebecca leaving and the aftermath and the behavioral issues and all of it, but Allison’s asking because she cares, because she’s Emma’s godmother and actually gives a shit.
“The last couple months have been rough. Hence the nanny situation.”
“Well, maybe this Annie girl will be good for her,” Allison says. “A fresh face, you know? Someone new who doesn’t know all the history.”
“Maybe. I guess we’ll see.”
I hope she’s right. I really hope she’s right, because I don’t know how many more nannies I can go through before Emma’s pre-school starts suggesting therapy or medication or some other intervention I’m not ready to think about.
“So what’s the plan?” Joe asks. “She just shows up tomorrow and you throw her in the deep end?”
“Essentially. I’ll be around for the first hour, make sure everything’s okay, but then I have to get to campus.” I’m already mentally running through everything I need to tell Annie, all the instructions and schedules and emergency numbers. “I made a list.”
Maria snorts. “Of course you did.”
“A comprehensive list,” I continue, ignoring her. “With Emma’s schedule, her routines, things she likes and doesn’t like, emergency contacts, everything.”
“How long is this list?” Joe asks.
“Four pages.”
“Four—for fuck’s sake, Leo!”
“It’s important information! Clarity prevents error.”
“She’s a four-year-old, not a space shuttle.” But Joe’s still smiling, shaking his head. “Poor girl’s gonna take one look at that and run.”
I steal one of Joe’s fries even though I know he hates that. “If she runs, she runs. Better to find out now than three weeks from now when I’m in the middle of the semester.”
“Where’s she from?” Allison asks. “Is she a local?”
“No idea. Vegas? California, maybe? She had that kind of…I don’t know, West Coast thing about her.” I’m realizing as I say this that I know virtually nothing about Annie beyond her name and the fact that she needs a job. “I didn’t really ask.”
“You didn’t ask?” Maria looks at me incredulously. “You hired someone to take care of your daughter and you didn’t even ask where she’s from?”
“It didn’t seem relevant. I was more focused on whether Emma would try to stab her with something.”
“Fair point,” Joe concedes.
“I’ll find out more tomorrow. Or I won’t. As long as she keeps Emma safe and happy, I don’t really care about her life story.” I finish my soda, the ice rattling in the bottom of the glass. “Although she did make me promise not to micromanage her.”
All three of them burst out laughing again.
“What?” I ask, even though I know exactly what.
“You?” Joe manages between laughs. “Not micromanage? That’s like asking a shark not to swim.”
“I can delegate.”
“Leo, you color-coded Emma’s schedule,” Maria reminds me. “By activity type.”
“Okay? That’s just organizational efficiency.”
“You have a system for how the dishes should be arranged in the dishwasher,” she continues. “And you’ve explained it to me multiple times.”
“There’s an optimal loading pattern that maximizes space and water distribution—”
“See?” Maria gestures at me like I’m proving her point. “This is what I mean. You’re gonna drive this poor girl insane within a week.”
“I’m going to give her space to do her job,” I say firmly. “I can control my natural inclinations toward efficient systems and processes.”
Joe and Maria exchange a look.
“We’ll see, buddy,” Joe says, stubbing out his cigarette. “We’ll see.“
I take a sip of my Coke, letting the carbonation burn slightly on the way down, and decide it’s time to redirect this conversation before they spend the next hour dissecting my entire life.
“Enough about me,” I say, pointing at Allison’s very prominent belly.
“Did you two finally pick a name for her?”
Joe and Allison look at each other, one of those silent married-people conversations happening in the space of a glance, and then Allison’s face breaks into this huge smile.
“Alyssa Jean,” she says, practically squealing.
“Alyssa Jean Carmichael,” Joe adds, like he’s testing how it sounds out loud.
“Oh my God, I love it!” Maria beams. “Alyssa sounds so chic.”
“I wanted something that kind of went with my name, you know? Allison and Alyssa.” Allison’s rubbing her belly absently, like she’s trying to communicate with the baby through touch. “And Jean is after Joe’s mom.”
“Ma’s gonna cry when she finds out,” Joe says, and there’s genuine affection in his voice when he talks about his mother, who I’ve met exactly twice and who, both times, tried to feed me enough food for a small army, much like my own mother.
“I’m gonna get your names confused on a daily basis,” Joe continues, shaking his head. “But it is what it is.”
Allison nudges him playfully. “You’ll figure it out.”
Joe leans over and kisses the top of her head, casual and affectionate, a gesture that’s so automatic it’s clear he does it all the time without thinking. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Oh, but you wanna hear something that pissed me off?” Allison’s green eyes light up with that particular gleam that means she’s about to go on a tangent.
“So I told Deborah—you know Deb from Labor and Delivery? The one who’s been pregnant basically the same time as me?
I told her we were naming the baby Alyssa, and you know what she said?
She said she might put that down as a name she’s considering.
Like, excuse me, bitch? I just told you that’s my baby’s name and now you’re gonna steal it? ”
Joe sighs, like he’s heard this tangent one too many times. “Babe, she said she’s considerin’ it—”
“That’s basically stealing it!” Allison’s getting worked up now, her hands moving as she talks. “And now there’s gonna be like five Alyssas in kindergarten together and everyone’s gonna think we just picked some trendy name when we actually had a whole reason for choosing it.”
“You really think there’s gonna be that many?” Maria asks, amused.
“Oh, absolutely. Mark my words, twenty years from now Alyssa’s are gonna be everywhere. It’s gonna be like Jennifer in the eighties.”
Joe’s just looking at her while she rants, and there’s something in his expression that makes my chest tighten.
He’s looking at her like she hung the moon, like she’s the most fascinating person he’s ever encountered, even though she’s complaining about baby name theft and probably being slightly irrational about the whole thing.
But that’s the point—he loves her even when she’s being irrational, maybe especially when she’s being irrational, and she knows it and he knows it and they’re just… solid.
I used to look at Rebecca like that.
I used to think she was the most beautiful woman in the world, that she got me in a way no one else did, that she didn’t mind my brain and the way I dissect everything and see patterns where other people just see chaos.
I thought we were building something permanent, something that would last. I proposed because I genuinely believed we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, that Emma would grow up in a house with both her parents, that we’d figure out how to navigate the hard parts because that’s what people who love each other do.
But apparently it was all bullshit.
I can’t pretend I was innocent in all of it.
I know I worked too much. I know I got lost in my research and forgot to ask about her day or notice when she got her hair cut or remember that she wanted to go to that gallery opening she’d been talking about for weeks.
I know I have a tendency to lecture instead of listen, to try to solve problems with logic when what she needed was just for me to be present.
But I wish she’d come to me. I wish she’d said something, anything, before it got to the point where she was looking elsewhere.
I wish we could have fixed it together, gone to therapy or had the hard conversations or whatever it took, because I would have tried.
I would have changed, or at least tried to change, if I’d known how bad things had gotten for her.
Instead, she ran toward someone else. And now, no matter what, I could never take her back.