Chapter Ten November Third
Pine Ridge, New York
We have a routine. A routine, like a couple. Like a family. We talk, and we ask questions.
Sometimes it feels like I’ve suddenly walked into my own sitcom, because there aren’t any drunken arguments, no parents who fail to come home, no kids shuffled from place to place with their belongings in a trash bag, and another new school to get used to.
This is a fake relationship, so why is it so kind and sweet, and why do I find myself smiling whenever I can do anything for Imogene?
Probably because it’s a business arrangement. We have each other over a mutual barrel. She needs me for food and shelter. I need her to keep my job, my sanity, and my baby safe.
When I sit with those thoughts—and I actually have time to have thoughts now, because my brain is actually slightly more rested—I try to push them into a negative shape.
Look how transactional this is, Artie. She’s nice because she has to be.
Definitely unhealthy. It’s probably fake.
I try to tell myself all of those things, and none of them stick—because Imogene is amazing, and because I don’t feel trapped or blackmailed by her.
I feel like someone’s knight in shining armor, someone’s hero, whenever I’m around her.
I gave her a secondhand phone, all set up on my plan, and watched her hands shake when she called Libby Angelakis and asked if she wanted to come over for coffee. I watched her smile and jump in place—tiny little jumps like she was scared to show she was happy when Libby said yes.
I watched her log in to her classes and heard all her classmates cheer because she came back after a week away. Watched her flinch when she turned on the camera—and then relax and smile in disbelief when no one screamed or pointed out her unique appearance. When I think of her...
Shit. I thought Laurel had my entire heart, but somehow, Imgoene slipped right in.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I go to my second class? And the library today?” Libby asks.
“If you take your phone with you when you go out with Laurel,” I say, making coffee and making sure Imogene’s laptop is plugged in to charge for her class.
“That’s the beauty of my schedule. As long as I get some time each day and night to work, I’m fine.
My last project was finished ahead of schedule, thanks to you. ”
“Just doing my job,” she beams at me.
Laurel, who already had a five AM feeding, makes a gurgling noise from her infant chair that rocks gently and plays white noise.
“I’ll get her,” both of us say as one.
“I’ll take care of her until my class, and then you take her until I’m done.
I’ll go out this afternoon to the library and take her with me.
Libby says there is a mommy-and-me story hour.
Oh, and she said we should check out Chloe’s Curiosities.
They have a lot of secondhand clothes and furniture. Toys and books, too.”
I nod. I spent so much literally overnight getting Laurel the basics when I found her. Crib, changing table, car seat-carrier, bottles, nipples, baby bathtub, clothes, thermometer, bibs... The list was enough to cause my credit card company to put me on a watchlist.
“I have money left,” Imogene says as if she can read my mind.
“You don’t have to spend it on Laurel. You need to spend it on yourself.”
Imogene shrugs and gets out bowls for instant oatmeal while I pick up Laurel and give her a million kisses on her pudgy pink cheeks.
“I like it better when we act like families should. We both want this to work. We both want Laurel to have everything she needs. It’s getting colder, and she’s growing out of her newborn to three-month stuff.
Libby’s little boy is already in six-to-twelve month clothes, but you’ve seen his dad. He’s part minotaur.”
Imogene goes quiet, and I take a deep breath.
“I looked up what a krampus is. I’d never heard of it.”
She gives me a sad smile. “So did I. Big, scary, shaggy monster that hurts ‘bad’ kids at Christmas. They’re part of German culture, particularly in Bavaria. Guess where my mother was from?”
“Germany?”
“Bavaria, apparently. She had a ‘fling’ when she went over for a winter visit. Came home pregnant with a baby she couldn’t get rid of, and that wouldn’t die. That’s what my stepmother said.”
I don’t know what to say for a minute. “My mother just left me at home when she went on a bachelorette trip. I think she forgot about me. It wasn’t the first time, if you read my social worker’s reports.”
Now I’ve made things awkward. Imogene doesn’t know what to say. Laurel squirms in my arms, impatient for her diaper change.
“I’ll never leave Laurel. Never ‘just forget’ about her. That’s why I needed help, and I was willing to do anything to get it,” I finally say.
Imogene leaves the bowls, and for a glorious second, she leans on me and strokes Laurel’s cheek. “Oh, Laurel’s never going to think she was unloved or unwanted. Not with us around. You. Not with you around,” she corrects hastily.
“I liked it better the first way,” I murmur. I turn my head—and her face is there. So close to mine.
Her eyes are so wide. So beautiful in a startled face that’s somehow so smooth and serene at the same time. When I look at her, she gives me peace. I’ve only ever known peace that I’ve built carefully, by myself. Even life with Laurel, while beautiful, has been chaotic until now.
Will I ruin everything if I lean forward and brush my lips to hers?
Probably.
“Weh!” Laurel lets out one emphatic cry, and that breaks the spell. (And saves me from ruining everything, probably.)
But I’m floating away, pretending Imogene was in that same enchanted moment with me.
I’VE BEEN HIRED AS a nanny, posing as a wife, to take care of a beautiful little girl.
And I find out that not only am I a person who has never been with a child or even seen one in person until Laurel, but I’m also from a line of horrible child-hating monsters.
I’m falling in love with this life, and the kind, gentle man in it, and I’m the worst person for him. For them.
This can’t last long, I tell myself, and then Artie pours me coffee, makes the oatmeal, and sits beside me.
“I’m going to apply for your birth certificate—but we’re going to need those records from your school.
It should be simple enough to say you need your password changed and a new email.
If you help me, we can do it before I start work.
I’m going to be applying for Laurel’s birth certificate, too—with a petition for a delayed birth certificate request. If we need to, we can probably do something similar for you. ”
“Would I be listed as the mother?”
Artie hesitates. “If you do that, you’ll always be bound to her. You could file for custody when we—”
I cut him off, rising, pretending I want milk and sugar for the coffee. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Someone will sweep you off your feet. Especially now that you know most of the world can’t see anything unusual about you.
They’ll just see how beautiful and kind you are.
I just... I think I need help until she’s a little older, and then I can send her to daycare.
If I can afford that.” Artie finishes changing Laurel on the thick, plastic, padded changing mat on the couch.
He comes back with her strapped to his chest in the baby sling and washes his hands.
“Daycare? That’s expensive,” I blurt. I don’t know if it is, but I know I’m cheaper. And that Artie called me beautiful. “And you work at night sometimes. Or on the weekends. You’ll have to hire sitters, I guess, and that would be expensive, too.”
“Not as expensive as trapping someone in a loveless sham marriage where they don’t want to be,” he huffs, breathing out hard and sending his overgrown bangs over his glasses.
“I like it here. So much. I love the town. The people I’m meeting. Laurel. You.” I say the last words quietly and don’t know if I hope he heard me or not.
He did. Because suddenly, he’s leaning beside me again, his arm warm on mine.
“I want to believe that, but... but I think you should probably give this a few weeks before you say stuff like that. You’ve been in a rough situation, really isolated, and I might seem like some superhero.
” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m not. ”
He is. Oh, God, he is, and he doesn’t even realize it.
“You might not like me in a couple of weeks. I... I don’t have experience with kids, not hands-on experience, but I’m learning. I’m part-monster. I—”
“I figured the first part out right away, Immy, but you’d never know it. I had no experience either. Sometimes, first-time parents don’t. They just have to stick it out and learn.”
Immy. He called me Immy. I have a nickname. Part of a friendship, a family.
“What about the second part. What... What I am?” I push, swallowing down the fear.
He shakes his head. “I don’t care what you are. You know, in Greek myths, the only minotaur I know was some blood thirsty killer in a maze. Milo Angelakis is the chillest, nicest guy. Do you know he and his wife met over fostering kittens?”
I nod. “Libby told me that. She’s a vet tech and a vet student. Well, she’s on part-time hours right now because she’s on maternity leave.”
“The point is, monsters in fairy tales and myths don’t seem to match up to the real things. At least not around here.” Artie looks at me with the sweetest, sincerest smile. “You love Laurel. She loves you. Don’t worry about labels with me, okay?”
I nod, and then I have to swallow a couple of times to get to the point where I can talk again.
“If I still feel this way in a couple of weeks...?” I leave the question hanging there, not sure how much Artie’s newfound knowledge about the town and how people view people like Laurel and me will change his original offer, despite what he said about labels.
He swallows hard. “I wanted you to marry me. So I could give you healthcare benefits.”
“I know.”
He continues, a slight tremor in his voice.
Maybe he thinks that it makes him sound less heroic, but to me, it’s a glimpse of a huge heart and quick mind—two things I sure as heck never saw growing up.
“Well, I also think it’s a good idea so that you’d be protected if anything happens to me.
You could apply for spousal social security and use the money to take care of yourself and Laurel, if you—”
“I will always take care of her. Even if I was the one who had to work,” I exclaim, and my back stiffens, shoulders pull back.
There’s heat in my chest, but it’s not the soft, sensual flutters that fluster me.
This feels different. Almost monstrous. Vicious.
I will protect this child like she’s mine.
Artie doesn’t seem scared. He looks grateful, and he sighs deep enough to shift Laurel on his chest. “If we wait a few weeks... Well, I know that sounds crazy, but sometimes people get married for practical reasons. But it’s a real marriage, one they plan to stick with.
And they’re hoping it grows into everything they want.
Love. Companionship. Kids, maybe. We could wait a couple of weeks to file for Laurel’s birth certificate and a marriage license. ”
I nod so hard I’m dizzy. “I’d like that, if that’s how we both feel in a few weeks.”
Artie sticks out his hand. “Okay!”
I grip it tight, a hug with fingers. “Okay.”