Chapter 5 #2
Melissa watched them interact, feeling like an observer at her own dinner table. June had a way with Lila that Melissa couldn’t quite understand—an ease, a warmth, a willingness to meet her exactly where she was. No expectations. No performance. Just attention.
That’s what I’m paying her for, Melissa reminded herself. This is her job.
Find someone warm.
After dinner, Lila helped clear the plates and announced that she was going to draw a picture of her otter pasta before she forgot what it looked like.
“Bedtime at eight,” Melissa called after her.
“I know!” The response floated back, already distant.
June started washing the dishes. Melissa picked up a towel to dry without thinking about it.
“Thank you,” Melissa said. “For today. For the pasta, and the… all of it.”
“It’s my job.” June handed her a wet plate. “Besides, Lila’s a great kid. She just needed someone to show her that making a mess is okay sometimes.”
Melissa dried the plate, placed it in the cabinet. “She doesn’t usually make messes. She’s very careful.”
“I’ve noticed.” June’s voice was neutral, non-judgmental. “She’s good at reading the room. Knowing what people expect from her.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s a survival skill. Seven-year-olds shouldn’t need survival skills.” June rinsed another plate. “But kids adapt. They figure out what works.”
Melissa thought about Lila’s careful composure, her neat room, her habit of asking permission before doing anything that might be considered disruptive. All the ways her daughter had learned to be small.
“She gets it from me,” Melissa said quietly. “The carefulness.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she just learned that quiet kids get overlooked, and overlooked feels safer than noticed.” June shrugged. “Either way, she’s starting to relax with me. I think that’s good.”
It was good, it was why Melissa had chosen her instead of the sharp nannies from the company, but it still made her stomach tighten.
They finished the dishes in silence. Melissa went upstairs at eight to say goodnight to Lila, and found her already in bed, the otter pasta drawing clutched in her hand. Her eyes were heavy, her face soft with approaching sleep.
“Did you have a good day, sweetheart?”
“The best day.” Lila yawned. “Can we make pasta again tomorrow?”
“Maybe this weekend. Miss Hollis might want a break.”
“I can ask her if she wants to.”
“That you can. Goodnight, Lila.”
“Night, Mom.” Lila was asleep before Melissa reached the door.
The house was quiet. Melissa should have gone to her office, should have reviewed the briefings for tomorrow’s meetings, should have done any of the hundred things waiting for her attention.
Instead, she found herself drifting down to the living room, sinking into the couch in the darkness. The windows faced the backyard, and through them she could see the last traces of light fading from the sky.
She’s happy, Melissa thought. Lila is happy.
It should have been enough. It was what she’d wanted, what she’d hired June to help create. A summer of laughter and mess and moments like the one she’d witnessed in the kitchen.
So why did she feel so hollow?
Perhaps because she should be the one to do that for Lila, not a stranger, however warm and welcoming.
“Senator Brandt?”
Melissa startled. June stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall light.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just getting some water and saw you sitting in the dark.” A pause. “Would you like anything?”
“You’re the nanny, not my servant,” Melissa said.
“Maybe it’s just a way of being nice,” June said with a soft laugh. “You know, ask what a fellow human needs?”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay?”
No, Melissa thought. I’m not sure I am.
“Just thinking,” she said.
June hesitated, then crossed to the couch and sat at the other end—not too close, but close enough that Melissa could see her face in the dim light.
She’d changed into pajamas, cotton pants and an oversized t-shirt, and her hair was loose around her shoulders for the first time since she’d arrived.
It was longer than Melissa had realized, falling past her collarbone in soft waves.
“Lila had a great day,” June said. “She was so excited to show you the pasta. She talked about it all afternoon.”
“She seemed more excited about the pasta itself.”
“That’s not true. She kept asking what time you’d be home. She wanted you to see what she made.”
Melissa stared at the dark windows, at the reflection of the two of them sitting on opposite ends of the couch. “She’s happy. With you, I mean. Happier than I’ve seen her in… a long time.”
“She’s happy because someone’s paying attention to her. Making time for her.” June’s voice was gentle. “She’d be just as happy if it were you rolling pasta with her.”
“I don’t know how to make pasta.”
“I could teach you.”
Melissa almost smiled. “I’m not sure I have time to learn.”
“You have time for the things you make time for.” Surprisingly, the words weren’t accusatory. “Kids don’t need fancy activities or perfect meals. Lila just needs presence. Someone who shows up.”
Melissa thought about all the events she’d missed, all the dinners she’d eaten alone in her office, all the times she’d chosen work over her daughter because work felt manageable in a way that parenting never had.
“Her father left,” Melissa said. She hadn’t planned to say it, but the words came out anyway, loosened by the darkness and the quiet.
“After the divorce, or, well, before it was even finalized. He moved to Seattle for a new job—or that’s what he told everyone.
Really it was because his girlfriend wanted to move.
” She heard the bitterness in her own voice and didn’t try to soften it.
“He was supposed to see Lila every other weekend. Then it became once a month. Now we’re at twice a year.
When I suggested he take her over the summer, he never even responded. ”
“I’m sorry.”
“He liked the idea of being a father. The photos, the Christmas cards, telling colleagues about his daughter’s accomplishments.
But the actual work of it—the school pickups, the bedtime routines, the patience it takes to raise a small human—” Melissa shook her head.
“He wasn’t interested. Even before the divorce, Lila learned not to expect much from him. ”
June was quiet, listening.
“I thought about other options this summer,” Melissa continued, surprising herself.
“Summer camps, enrichment programs. She could have done all of it. She’s capable, she’s independent, she would have been fine.
” She paused. “But she’s seven and she’s already spent so much of her life being fine.
Sitting quietly in corners while adults do important things.
I didn’t want to give her another summer of that. ”
“So you hired a live-in nanny.”
“I hired someone who would actually be present. Who would make her feel like she mattered, not just like she was being managed.” Melissa’s throat tightened.
“I thought I could make up for Michael. Be both parents. But I don’t know how to—” She stopped, aware that she was saying too much, revealing too much to someone who was, after all, an employee.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t sign up to be my therapist.”
“I signed up to take care of Lila. Part of that is understanding her family.” June pulled her feet up onto the couch, tucking them beneath her, looking too much like she belonged there.
“And for what it’s worth, she adores you.
She talks about you constantly. ‘My mom does this, my mom knows that.’ You’re her hero. ”
“I’m not anyone’s hero.”
“You are to her.” June’s voice was soft. “You just have to let her see you. The real you, not the senator. Kids know the difference.”
Melissa turned to look at her. June’s eyes caught the faint glow from the windows. Twenty-three years old, but there was something steady in her gaze. Something knowing.
“How did you figure out so much about children?” Melissa asked.
“I don’t know, I just… they’ve always been easy to me. Like, they’re human, just without so much of the baggage.”
“Hmh,” Melissa said. “I’ve always more seen them like they’re from a different world. Even Lila, wonderful as she is. I don’t… understand her.”
June regarded her. “Perhaps don’t focus on understanding her. Just… take an interest in her.” She winced. “I’m not saying you don’t, just that perhaps focus less on what you feel and more on her.”
Melissa could take it as criticism, but looking at June’s soft expression, it didn’t feel like it. It felt like June wanted to help her. After a few moments of letting June’s words sink in, she nodded.
“I’ll take it under consideration,” she said.
June came to her feet. “I should leave you alone, I didn’t mean to disturb.”
“You didn’t,” Melissa said. “It was a welcome distraction.”
June smiled. “Anytime you want to listen to my babbling, I’m here.” She paused in the doorway, looking back. “She really doesn’t need you to be perfect. She just needs you to be there.”
She disappeared down the hall, and Melissa sat alone in the dark living room, thinking about presence and attention and all the ways she’d failed to show up for her daughter.
She thought about Catherine Aldridge, about admiration and hands and feelings she’d never let herself name.
Then she thought about the way June’s eyes had caught the light.
Perhaps focus less on what you feel and more on her.
Maybe it was that simple.
Melissa didn’t believe it. But sitting in the darkness, listening to the quiet sounds of a house that finally felt like someone lived in it, she wanted to.
For the first time in a long time, she wanted to try.