Chapter 2
The Interview
June
June Hollis had a theory that you could tell everything about a family by looking at their kitchen, and the Hollis kitchen said: we’ve been here a while, we’re not going anywhere, and we’ve given up on matching anything.
She stood at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping bacon in the cast-iron pan that had belonged to her grandmother.
Mismatched mugs hung from hooks beneath the cabinets.
The fruit bowl on the counter hadn’t held fruit in years—currently it contained three rubber bands, an AA battery, and her mom’s rarely used reading glasses.
The wallpaper was the same faded yellow with sunflowers it had been since before June could remember, and the linoleum had a worn patch in front of the sink where her mother had stood doing dishes for three decades.
Outside, the neighbor’s sprinkler was already running, the rhythmic shush-shush-shush drifting in through the screen door along with the smell of wet grass and the promise of another hot day.
“You’re going to be late.” Laura Hollis bustled in from the hallway, already dressed for her shift at the medical office, her graying hair pinned back in the same practical twist she’d worn for as long as June could remember.
June had inherited her mother’s warm eyes and the same scattering of freckles, though Laura’s had faded with age into something softer, like old photographs. “What time is the interview?”
“Eleven. I have two hours.”
“Two hours isn’t that long. You should shower, and do something with your hair, and—”
“Mom. I’ve got it.” June pushed a stray curl of honey-blonde hair out of her face, wishing that for once, her hair would stay in the ponytail she’d tried to trap it in.
Laura hovered anyway, the way she always did, straightening the dishtowel on its hook and adjusting the salt shaker by millimeters. She meant well. She always meant well. That was the exhausting thing about it.
“I just want you to make a good impression. This could be a real opportunity, June. A live-in position—that could be good.”
“I know.”
“And the pay is decent, especially since you don’t have to pay for food or housing. You could save up, get back on your feet, figure out your next step…”
Move out of our house for good this time, she didn’t say, but June heard it.
“Mom.” June transferred the bacon to a plate lined with paper towels, keeping her voice patient. “I know. That’s why I applied.”
Being a nanny over the summer. It sounded like a sweet job, if the kid in question wasn’t a total brat.
From the kitchen table came the rustle of newspaper.
Gary Hollis hadn’t said a word since June started cooking, but she could feel him listening, the way he always listened—absorbing everything without comment, filing it away for later.
Her father was a man of few words and strong opinions, most of which he kept to himself.
He worked at a plumbing supply warehouse on the edge of town, had for twenty-five years, and he approached conversation the same way he approached his job: efficiently and without unnecessary flourish.
“Don’t be late,” he said without looking up. He had a coffee mug in hand, and wore a faded flannel shirt he refused to change out of despite the June heat. “That’s the most important thing.”
“Dad.”
“Just saying. First impressions matter, and being on time is number one.”
“I will be.”
This was the rhythm of the Hollis household, familiar and comforting even when it made her want to scream.
Her mother was enthusiastic. Her father observed.
Tyler, June’s younger brother, was mercifully absent—probably still asleep in his room, given that his summer classes at the community college didn’t start until afternoon.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Tyler had sent a meme of a dog in a business suit with the caption “me showing up to my interview like.”
Okay, not asleep then.
June snorted and typed back a smiley sticking its tongue out.
Good luck tho, came the immediate reply. Don’t let them intimidate you.
Why would they intimidate me?
They are people who need a nanny.
June pocketed the phone and returned to the stove, cracking eggs into the bacon grease.
Breakfast had always been her domain, even as a kid.
While other children slept in on weekends, June had been down here experimenting—learning how to temper chocolate, how to fold an omelet, how to coax flavor out of the simplest ingredients.
The kitchen was where she made sense. Where the chaos in her head quieted down and everything became about texture and timing and taste.
“You’re too soft for this, June. That’s always been your problem.”
The memory surfaced without warning: Ember’s voice, sharp and dismissive, cutting through the clatter of a professional kitchen. The heat of the line. The pressure of service. The moment June had realized that the person she loved didn’t respect her at all.
She’d been younger then, even if it wasn’t even a year ago.
Twenty-two, fresh out of culinary school, convinced that Ember had all the answers.
Ember had been thirty, confident, embedded in the Portland restaurant scene in a way that felt glamorous and important.
Their relationship had been intense from the start—late nights after service, heated kisses in the walk-in cooler and exciting late nights of exploration, the intoxicating feeling of being chosen by someone who seemed to have everything figured out.
And then the head chef. The affair that Ember hadn’t even tried to hide once it started. The casual cruelty of her defense: “That’s just how kitchens are. You can’t expect monogamy in this industry. You’re being naive.”
As if wanting loyalty made June stupid. As if expecting basic respect made her weak.
June had left Portland three months later.
Dropped out of the restaurant scene entirely, moved back into her childhood bedroom with a poster of Studio Ghibli’s Howl’s Moving Castle to stare at from her bed, and tried to figure out what the heck she was supposed to do with a culinary diploma and a heart full of cracks.
That had been four months ago. She was still figuring it out.
“June? The eggs.”
She blinked, refocusing. The eggs were starting to set on the edges. She stirred them quickly, rescuing them from overcooking, and pushed Ember’s voice back into the box where it belonged.
Not today. Not ever again.
“Sorry. Distracted.”
Laura gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching June cook.
“I looked her up, you know. The woman you’re interviewing with.”
“Mom. The listing was anonymous.”
“The address wasn’t.” Laura looked entirely too pleased with herself.
“I mapped it, and then I looked up the property records. State Senator Melissa Brandt. Two terms in the state senate, lots of work on infrastructure and rural development.” Her eyes sparkled with the delight she got from uncovering information.
“Divorced about two years ago—there was some kind of scandal, the husband cheating with someone younger. It was all over the local news for a while.”
June stared at her. “You looked up property records? And dug through old news stories?”
“I like to know things.” Laura waved a hand dismissively. “And honestly, June, a state senator! That’s very impressive. The house must be beautiful—the homes in that neighborhood aren’t cheap. This could be a wonderful opportunity for you.”
“It’s a nanny job, Mom.”
“Perhaps, but connections matter.” Laura took her plate to the table, still buzzing with enthusiasm. “And the little girl is an only child, so you won’t be overwhelmed. Really, this could be perfect.”
From behind his newspaper, Gary made a sound that might have been a grunt or might have been disagreement.
Laura glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Gary.”
“I said nothing.” He turned a page with deliberate slowness. “June’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices.”
Laura looked like she wanted to press, but a glance at the clock stopped her. “I need to go. Call me after, okay? I want to hear everything—what the house looks like, what the senator’s like in person, all of it.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Laura kissed her cheek, squeezed her shoulder, and disappeared into the hall. A moment later, the front door opened and closed, and her car rumbled to life in the driveway.
The kitchen was quiet now, just June and her father and the soft tick of the clock above the sink.
Gary set down his newspaper. “Your mother gets excited,” he said. “She doesn’t always think things through.”
“I suppose she’s just happy I have a job prospect.”
“She’s dazzled by the idea of a state senator.” Gary’s voice was flat, unimpressed. “Politicians. They’re all the same, Junebug. Doesn’t matter what party, doesn’t matter how nice they seem. They’re out for themselves.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“I know the type.” He picked up his coffee mug, turned it slowly in his calloused hands. “You came home pretty hurt a few months ago. I don’t want to see that happen again.”
“This is different. It’s work, not a relationship.”
Gary finally looked at her, his brown eyes steady and unreadable.
“You’ll be living in her house. Eating her food.
Taking care of her kid. That’s not just work—that’s her life, and you’ll be in the middle of it.
” He paused. “People like that, they don’t always see people like us as equals.
You’re the help to them. Remember that.”
June wanted to argue, to insist she wasn’t that naive, but the truth was she understood his concern.
The Hollis family had never had much. They scraped by, made do, took pride in honest work and simple pleasures.
The idea of their daughter moving into a senator’s home, caring for a senator’s child, living in a senator’s world—to her father, it probably felt like sending her into enemy territory.