Chapter 29 – Dinner Interrogation
Rosalie
If I thought it was awkward eating dinner with people who ignore me unless the kids need something, I should have waited for this dinner.
Mrs. Campbell has all sorts of questions for me.
Some I swear I’ve told her before, but this time she’s paying attention.
She wants to know where I went to school, how many siblings I have, and what I like to do for fun.
Mr. Campbell is listening and nodding at my answers like this is the most stimulating dinner conversation he’s ever heard.
I know that’s not true, because he regularly eats with politicians and former sports pros.
I’m pretty sure both of those categories are filled with people who are better at talking about themselves than me.
When I mention that I like to read, she wants titles.
Titles! I am not about to name drop Second Sons and Hot Cross Buns or Lassoing a Lady.
The last book I read was called The Curvy Waitress Gets the Quarterback.
I know these authors want us to know exactly what we’re getting into, but maybe they could tone it down a little.
I’m sweating, and this stupid sundress suddenly feels too short, even though my legs are hidden under the table.
“I like romances and classics like Heidi,” I tell Mrs. Campbell. I read it when I was ten, but who’s counting?
“Oh, I loved that book,” she says. “I read it when I was ten.”
I’m dying.
Liam’s sitting next to her, across from me. His gaze keeps moving from his mom to me and back again, and he looks slightly worried every time Mrs. Campbell asks me something before physically relaxing after I answer.
Jack just looks pleased. If I didn’t think I’d get caught, I’d reach over and pinch him.
I didn’t want this. I was dealing with my hurt feelings by accepting that Liam and I were better off as friends, and tonight was the evidence of that. It was time to return to my role as a regular nanny without longing for something else. No more dropping hints that get me nowhere.
Maybe I’m the one with a status quo problem, because I don’t like this free-falling feeling in my stomach. It feels too much like hope and fear cooked into an anxiety soup.
I don’t like knowing that not only does Liam see me differently, but now, so does his family.
I’m mad at him for saying something to them, and I’m also mad at him for not making this change the first time I met his parents, when I was holding a diaper bag and juggling a kid on my hip. That would have been a good time to set a precedent.
Of course, back then, Liam wasn’t talking to his parents much at all. He acted grumpy and distant at family events. Eventually, he warmed back up to them, but I didn’t. Except for talking to Jack, I stayed in the background where I belonged.
That’s why this feels so wrong. I should be invisible, and therefore able to relax and just observe. I want to know what Liam said to them tonight to change that. But I also don’t. I wasn’t a part of the discussion. I was sitting with the kids.
During a lull in the questioning, my phone rings and I dive down for my bag under my chair and fish out my cell phone to silence it. Trey’s calling me. Of course it’s him. He hasn’t given up, despite my lack of interest.
“Who’s Mr. Emoji?” Jack asks, having peeked at my screen. If a conversation had been going on around us, nobody but me would have heard him, but even the kids perk up at his question.
“Mr. Emoji?” Callie asks. “I want to talk to him.”
“I already declined the call, Callie-Bear. Eat your broccoli.” She’s 100 percent not going to eat her broccoli, even though it’s deliciously seasoned.
I know Mrs. Campbell didn’t make any of this, but she likes to give the impression that she’s an amazing cook.
There are worse crimes. Like drawing unwanted attention to your nanny/friend without giving her a heads-up.
I lock eyes with Liam across the table. He gives me a small amused smile. Smiles from him are banned, I’ve decided.
“I’m sorry. I should have silenced my phone before dinner,” I tell Mrs. Campbell.
“Not a problem,” but she says it like it’s a problem. Somewhere, an etiquette book has a rule about not moving the dinner conversation in a new and embarrassing direction.
“Who’s Mr. Emoji?” Wyatt whispers to Jack. “Is he a YouTuber? Do YouTubers have phone numbers you can call?”
“I’m not that connected, Wyatt. We’ll have to ask Rosalie about it later. Maybe she won a fan contest and they hit it off.”
Wyatt’s eyes go big. He totally thinks this is plausible. And strangely, that makes me relax a little.
This isn’t a job interview. I already have the best job in the world. And as mad as I am at Liam right now, I know I’ll still have my job after tonight, regardless of how this dinner goes. He’s never given me a reason to doubt that.
“Do you ever add contacts with silly names?” I ask Jack.
He thinks about it for a minute before pulling out his phone and showing me the C names in his contact list. Mrs. Campbell frowns in our direction, but it’s the indulgent frown she saves for Jack. He could probably order a pizza right now, and she’d get over it.
Jack has some interesting C contacts. There’s Candace Hot Tech, followed by Candace Jace’s Sister, followed by Candace the Coach Do Not Mess With.
“How many Candaces do you know?” I ask.
“Three, obviously. And you do not want to mix them up. I learned that the hard way.”
I’ll bet.
He turns and asks his dad a question about the Denver Broncos, giving me a reprieve to eat and keep my eyes on Callie, who is playing a dangerous tipping game with her full glass of ice water. I set it flat on the table and help her slide it closer to where she can easily pick it up.
Mrs. Campbell goes from chatting me up to studying me intensely, but I pretend not to notice.
“Mom,” Liam says, diverting her attention. “Callie learned to swim this summer. Rosalie taught her.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“And Wyatt entered a mascot design contest for the public library and won. He worked on it with Rosalie for a month.”
“You won?” Mrs. Campbell’s attention swings to Wyatt, who is more than happy to brag about his accomplishment.
I look over at Liam and give a little head shake. I know what he’s doing, and it’s not going to work. I’m not a show pony.
“Tell another story about Rosie,” Callie says as she reaches inside her glass and pulls out a piece of ice.
She checks across the table to make sure her grandma doesn’t see her, and then she stuffs it in her mouth.
Even with her five-year-old limited awareness, she gets it.
Liam was talking about me. Not about Callie and Wyatt.
Liam looks at his daughter. “Remember when Rosie went away for a week to help her sister-in-law with her new baby?”
Callie’s eyes go big. “She did? I don’t remember.”
“She sent you and Wyatt pictures of her baby nephew every day. He made the most beautiful grumpy faces you can imagine.”
I can’t believe he remembers that, but I don’t want to soften toward him. All I want to do after this is go straight home, take a bath, and read a book with an embarrassing title. I want to escape.