Chapter 3
Shane
At times, I feel like Nicole is constantly observing my every move. She keeps track of when I come and go and what I do during those times. She expects me to spend time with Jaime when I'm at home, which is understandable. However, she has her own ideas of how much time and how often we should interact. She asks me to join her and Jaime if I'm home for a meal, and I usually agree. But I am a busy man, and my schedule is never predictable, no matter how hard Kristen tries. Meetings and clients span different time zones and hold various work hours. I've got 12 branches to oversee, an R&D division in need of three new supervisors, and a sales team responsible for my entire eastern division, which I've had to silently begin investigating for potential theft. Time with Jaime is vital, but my business is just as crucial to his livelihood as being a parental figure. Besides, that's what I hired Nicole for.
When Vivian was around, I had my Saturdays free. She took Jaime for walks around the estate, and made sure he ate his food and finished his homework, allowing me one day of respite from the busy week. Nicole has other things in mind.
Sometimes, as I walk down the hall, I hear her soft voice through the partially closed door of Jaime's room. She's reading to him, her tone animated and engaging. For a moment, I pause, listening to the story and the occasional giggle from Jaime. It tugs at something deep inside me—a mixture of gratitude and a pang of guilt. I know I should be the one reading to him, but there's always something pulling me away.
After my morning shower, I make my way down the hall from my master bedroom on the second floor, passing by Jaime's and Nicole's neighboring rooms. Upon her moving in, I offered her the larger room with the private bathroom, but she refused, insisting on being as close to Jaime's room as possible.
I'm expected to at least stop in for breakfast and ask Jaime about his week—another agreeable routine I've become accustomed to. I head downstairs and cross the soft black and white Persian rug of the main hall, enjoying the way it caresses my feet as I head into the kitchen. I look at the wall clock over the kitchen entrance. It is 8:30, and it is just on time. As I enter, I find Jaime and Nicole sitting opposite each other at the long dining table, empty plates in front of them. A spread of bacon, pancakes, eggs, sausages, fruits, and fresh-baked buttermilk biscuits sits before them. There is a third place set up at the head of the table, just in front of them.
"Don't look so surprised," Nicole says. "I didn't cook this." She smiles, and instinctively, I do the same in return. "It's from Ralph's. Jaime said he wanted to do something special for his mom's birthday, and I told him you had said the same."
That was a lie. I certainly had told Nicole no such thing. I had forgotten it was today.
"So," Nicole adds, "we ordered some of her favorite breakfast foods. My treat."
I stand there silent, not quite sure what to say.
"You do need to eat breakfast, right?" Nicole asks. "And I'm sure you are at least a little curious about your nephew's week... our trip to the park... perhaps if anybody is being too usey."
"Let's eat," I say, smiling at Jaime.
The pure joy of me saying it lights up his face. It's a smile that fills me with happiness and shame all at once.
I sit at the table, where a steaming cup of black coffee sits beside my empty plate.
Nicole looks at me and smiles, then looks at Jaime. "Shall we pray?" she asks.
"Pray?" I question.
"Yes," she says, looking back at me. "We pray."
It's definitely not something his mom taught him, but I hold my tongue for now. I'll have some words with her later.
"Okay," I agree, bowing my head before the food.
I enjoy breakfast. It warms me up to Nicole. I also love seeing the smile on Jaime's face. It reminds him of times with his parents, I assume. After breakfast, I leave for my office. We agree to have dinner together. Meanwhile, Jaime and Nicole go for a walk.
I sit at my desk in my office, watching them from my window. They are heading down the woodland trail, and I can't help but notice how much she cares for Jaime. Even after they disappear down the road, I find myself thinking of her. The beautiful green of her eyes, and how her smile shines brighter than the morning sun. I'm thinking of her more and more each day, maybe even too much.
That evening, I go downstairs to find Nicole and talk to her about the praying. Our family is Catholic, so I don't necessarily have a problem with it. However, it should be discussed and not taken lightly by a nanny. As I enter the kitchen, I hear her singing in Italian while stirring a sauce on the stove. The song sounds old, traditional, and beautiful. I quietly observe her from behind, captivated by her voice and graceful movements. She doesn't notice me, so I take a moment to appreciate the scene. Despite wanting to speak, I remain entranced by her voice and the way she dances while stirring the sauce. The afternoon sunlight highlights her curves and hips.
Intoxicated by her presence, I can't look away. I imagine walking up behind her, smelling her neck, and expressing my desire for her. I picture her reaching back to stroke my face, pulling me closer until our bodies press together. I fantasize about how her butt feels, how her tight jeans would look sliding off, and how soft her skin would be underneath. But then reality hits me when she drops her spoon on the counter. I snap out of it, realizing that she's the nanny, and I'm becoming a walking cliché. I compose myself and swiftly leave the kitchen, needing to be in my office. I seek distraction in work, because all I can think about right now is her backside.
I spend the rest of the night in the home office, looking through financial reports and project proposals, trying my hardest not to think of Nicole. I watch as 7:00, our planned dinnertime, comes and goes, half-expecting a knock at my door, to which I plan to pretend I am busy. But it doesn't come. What does come is a text from Nicole.
Attached is a picture of Jaime sitting before a large dish of homemade lasagna. The caption reads:
Dinner?? We're waiting.
I hesitate to answer, but then respond:
Sorry, Nicole. I've got an emergency meeting. Please tell Jaime the same.
I feel tempted to add a sad face emoji. What are you, Shane, a college student? I tell myself. I send the message emoji-less.
No response comes.
I can't shake the guilt. When I finally look up, it's past 8:00, and the house is eerily quiet. Just as I begin to relax, my door swings open, and Nicole stands there, arms crossed, her face a mix of frustration and determination.
"Shane, we need to talk," she says, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation.
"I'm busy, Nicole. This isn't a good time," I respond, not looking up from my screen.
"Really? Because it seems to me you've been 'busy' avoiding dinner and avoiding Jaime," she retorts, her voice rising.
I finally look at her, feeling the tension build. "I have responsibilities, Nicole. My work supports this household. It ensures Jaime has everything he needs."
"Everything he needs?" she scoffs. "Like what? A roof over his head? Food on the table? Those are the basics, Shane. Jaime needs more than that. He needs you."
My patience snaps. "I hired you to take care of him, Nicole. To be there when I can't. Do you think it's easy running a company? Providing for everyone here?"
"And do you think it's easy for Jaime to lose both his parents and then have an uncle who treats him like an afterthought?" she fires back. "You're not just paying for his expenses, Shane. You're supposed to care for him."
"That's enough," I say, standing up, my voice cold and stern. "You don't know anything about my relationship with Jaime."
"Because you barely have one!" she yells. "You think throwing money at him makes up for being absent? He needs love, attention, a family. Not just a nanny."
"Get out," I say, pointing to the door. "I won't be spoken to like this in my own home."
"Fine," she says, her eyes blazing with anger. "But remember this, Shane: Jaime won't remember the toys or the house. He'll remember who was there for him. And right now, that's not you."
She storms out, slamming the door behind her. The silence that follows is deafening. I sink back into my chair, the weight of her words hitting me hard.
She's right , a voice inside me whispers. But I push it away, focusing on the anger and frustration instead. How dare she accuse me of not caring? I've sacrificed everything for Jaime. But as the minutes tick by, the anger fades, replaced by a gnawing doubt.
I glance at the framed photo on my desk—Jaime, smiling brightly, holding a soccer ball. I remember taking that picture, one of the rare weekends we spent together. I remember his laughter and the way he looked up at me with admiration.
Am I really that bad of a guardian? I wonder. Nicole's words replay in my mind. She's upset everything in my life, making me question my choices and my priorities. But deep down, I know she's touched on a painful truth.
Determined not to let my desire for Nicole interfere with my duties, I make a silent vow: I won't let her distract me, and I won't let these feelings get in the way of my work or my responsibility to Jaime. But as I close my eyes, trying to focus on the spreadsheets in front of me, the image of Jaime's disappointed face and Nicole's fiery eyes linger, leaving me more unsettled than ever.