2. Riley
On Sunday afternoon,I head over to Noah’s place, as we discussed over the phone. I take the subway and walk the last few blocks on foot. Hopefully, he’ll let me take a load off once I arrive.
When I reach the address Noah texted to me, I’m met with a huge, impressive-looking townhouse.
It looks old—brick foundations, black, wrought-iron gate out front. The gate hangs open, so I let myself past it, staring up at the massive house in awe.
There’s a little garden out front, climbing tendrils of ivy reaching from the trellises onto the house’s facade. They arch over the windows, tiny white flowers blooming on the vines.
I whistle quietly as I approach the front door. I knew that Noah had been doing well for himself, but I didn’t know it was this well.
I knock, then wait a few seconds before Noah appears in the doorway, grinning. He tackles me with a bear-hug, squeezing the air out of me.
“It’s been way too long,” he proclaims, ruffling my hair affectionately. “You look good!”
“Get off me, Noah,” I grumble, pretending to be annoyed as I wriggle out of his grasp. That’s siblings for you. “But yeah, it has been too long. Boy, this house is really something, huh?”
His grin widens. “Come on inside. Let me show you around.”
I follow him into the foyer, marveling at the polished wood and iron lighting fixtures. The inside of the house is every bit as beautiful as the outside—stately and refined, like something out of a magazine.
“So, everything in here is original except for some of the molding, and the kitchen,” Noah says, leading me down a hallway. “That stuff got refurbished last year, just before it went on the market. Honestly, I think I got a pretty good deal on it, considering—”
“Considering how crazy nice it is?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Noah takes a left turn into an open, airy kitchen. I can’t help my gasp as I follow him inside. It’s a far cry from the narrow space where I cook my meals, where I barely have room to turn around. Noah’s kitchen is massive, with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Everything looks brand new.
“Wow,” I say, open-mouthed.
“Right?”
I turn around, arching an eyebrow at him. “What do you need all this space for, anyway? It’s not like you’re planning on getting married or having a family any time soon!”
He laughs at that; if I hit a nerve, I can’t tell, because he keeps the good-natured smile. “Oh, you know my job is my baby. I don’t need marriage or a family right now. I’m way too busy.”
“I’m not judging you, trust me,” I say. “It’s just—it’s a big house!”
He nudges my shoulder meaningfully, then paces away to adjust the drapes on the window above the sink. “Yeah, it sure is. It’s huge. Lots of space.” He winks over at me. “One of these rooms could be yours, if you wanted it.”
“Oh, come on.” I chuckle. “No, thank you, Noah. As always.”
His joking smile slips a little bit, seriousness taking over his expression. “Hey, I mean it. I wish you’d let me help you, Riley.”
“Noah—”
“I can give you the money you’d need to get by while you job hunt. Or you could move in with me, and stop worrying about rent. You don’t have to stay at that restaurant, you know.”
I shake my head. I appreciate all of the ways that Noah has tried to look out for me. Over the years, he’s even managed to get some things to stick—small favors, whatever little things I would actually let him do.
“Look, again—you’re a good guy, and a good brother, but I can’t take you up on this. I don’t want to be a burden, and I don’t want to rely on you to get by.”
“Why not?”
“You made something of yourself,” I tell him. “Now I’ve got to do the same.”
He sighs. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
Now that he’s caved, I grin at him. “Damn right. Now come on. Show me the rest of your ridiculous, giant house.”
Noah seems reluctant to let the subject drop, but he eventually does—most likely, he’s aware that it’s futile to keep trying. I’m just going to keep shooting him down. “Okay, fine. C’mon.”
He leads me through a few more rooms, showing me the entire first floor, which includes a large sitting room, dining room, and an office. He guides me through the second and third floors—bedrooms, bathrooms, an entertainment suite, a home library. The topmost floor has a sunroom, and opens into a rooftop garden, complete with a greenhouse.
“It’s amazing,” I gush as Noah and I head back downstairs. “I can’t believe you actually live at a place like this!”
“I’m pretty amazed myself,” he admits. “I keep waking up and just drinking it all in. I can’t believe I’m here.”
I elbow him. “What, are you kidding? You should be proud of yourself! You did it! You made it!”
He smiles, but he seems almost dazed. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“So have you shown me everything yet?”
“Everything except the garage,” he says. “Oh—” An excited gleam appears in his eyes. “And the basement.”
“What’s so great about the basement?”
“It’s fully finished,” he says. “Wet bar, pool table—the works.”
“Pool table?” My eyes widen, and I push ahead of him on the stairs. I hear Noah’s laugh from behind me as I make my way up and down the foyer hallway, opening up doors we haven’t been through yet.
He comes up to stop me as I’m opening the third coat closet in a row. “It’s over here,” he says, smiling, gesturing toward the back of the living room.
Down in the basement, the floor is carpeted, except for clay-colored tile around the bar area. There’s a flatscreen hanging in the corner, some leather couches around a large coffee table, and—yes, there it is. The promised pool table.
“Oh, this was the dream back in the day,” I say, heading over to it. “Remember?”
“Of course,” Noah says. “The one at the rec.”
“I used to kick your butt all the time, if memory serves,” I say, reminiscing. There was a pool table in the basement of the local rec center, where we used to spend hours as kids. It was beaten-up and shabby, nothing like the new one before us now, with its shiny wooden paneling, but that didn’t stop our games from getting ruthless.
“Oh, please.” Noah scoffs, and I smile, falling easily into the ever-familiar pattern of over-competitive sibling rivalry. “I beat you just as much. Or more.”
“You wanna prove it?” I stride over to the wall to select one of the pool cues hanging there, twirling it with a wink. “Unless you don’t think you’ve got the stuff anymore—”
“Are you kidding?” He reaches under the table for the rack and sets it on the felt surface, then starts to gather the billiard balls from the table’s pockets. “I’m going to destroy you.”
“You wanna put money on it? Five bucks says I win.”
“You’re on.”
* * *
Cole
I usher the last candidate,a slightly older woman with a stooped posture, into my home office, guiding her to the plush chair in front of my desk.
I’ve spent the entire day interviewing nannies with little success, so my hopes aren’t exactly high as I walk around my desk to begin this final interview.
My assistant set up the appointments, but I insisted on conducting the interviews myself. I need to find someone good. There’s no point in hiring a nanny just to regret the choice later. I’m already going out on a limb with the whole process, so I want to do it right the first time.
As we sit down, I say, “So. Before I ask you about yourself, let me explain a little more about the position.”
“Absolutely,” she says, her voice crisp. She holds her handbag in her lap, her ankles crossed and posture stiff.
“I mostly just need some general help raising Archer. I spend a lot of time working, and don’t always have the time to devote to keeping an eye on him. I’d need help with his meals, bedtime, that sort of thing.”
She nods. “That’s fairly standard.”
“Archer and I have a bit of a non-standard situation,” I say. “He’s not my son—he’s my nephew. I became his guardian when his mother passed away suddenly a few years ago.”
My heart aches as I mention my sister’s death, and I refrain from saying anything else about it—I generally prefer to avoid the subject altogether, but a potential nanny would need to know at least a little bit of the history.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” says the older woman.
I grit my teeth and nod in acknowledgement.
“What made you decide to look for a nanny?”
“I need someone who understands children better than I do,” I admit. “Archie was very young when I stepped in, and my personal assistants were great at helping me with the basic childcare stuff. But…”
She smiles knowingly. “Then it got more complicated?”
“He’s getting older now,” I say, nodding. “Every day, he’s getting more perceptive and curious, and I think I need someone who’s solely dedicated to Archie and his needs.”
“Absolutely,” the woman says. “That makes perfect sense. Five is a wonderful age for a child, but they do need structure and discipline.”
It’s an encouraging response, especially compared to the wishy-washy uncertainty I’ve seen from a lot of other nannies today. I nod, gesturing for her to continue.
“In my work, I prefer to focus on activities that will help a child’s development,” she goes on. “Activities that can shape cognitive ability, and prepare them well for future schooling.”
After the first few interviews today went poorly, I wasn’t sure I would find someone. But this—this sounds promising. This woman is sharp, organized, and careful. I take a peek at her resume, sitting on my desk—years of experience in childcare. On paper, she seems perfect. I’m almost ready to bite the bullet and offer her the job.
“I’m glad to hear you say all of that, because I think that’s exactly what we need,” I tell her. “I can’t always be there to make sure that Archie is getting—”
There’s a creaking sound from the door hinge, and I pause mid-sentence, glancing over. Archie is there, peering into the room at us.
I grin, gesturing for him to come inside. “Hey, there’s the little man himself. Archie, come say hi.”
Archie tiptoes into the room shyly, waving a tiny hand at the stranger. She waves back, though I notice that she doesn’t crack a smile upon seeing him, which is a little strange.
“Hello,” she says, somewhat stiffly. “Come closer. Let me get a good look at you.”
Archie shuffles farther into the room, clutching his teddy to his chest. He glances at me, and I give him an encouraging nod.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the older woman says, holding out a hand.
Archie looks at her hand, confused. His gaze drops to the floor.
Impatience spreads across her expression, and she snaps, “Look at me when I’m talking to you. Eye contact is very important.”
The tone of her voice takes me aback—he’s just a shy little kid. There’s no need to yell at him like that.
Archie seems startled, as well. He looks up at her, clearly reluctant, and sees the stern frown on her face. His wide brown eyes well up with tears, and he begins to sniffle.
“Why are you crying?” The nanny folds her arms, frowning down at him. “There’s no need to cry. I’m just trying to teach you manners. We can’t have you being a rude little boy.”
Of course, that does nothing to make Archie’s tears stop. If anything, it seems to get worse. A surge of protectiveness flares in me, and suddenly, I want nothing more than to snatch Archie away from this woman.
I want her out of my house and nowhere near my nephew. This isn’t someone who can be kind or understanding with him, and I don’t want to give her the chance to damage him.
“Alright,” I say, standing up from my desk. “I’ve seen enough. We’re done here.”
The nanny blinks as if surprised, glancing back over at me. “Done?”
“We won’t be needing your services,” I tell her. I walk over to the door, and Archie moves to stand behind my legs as I hold it open, gesturing to the hall outside. “Thank you for coming in today.”
The nanny’s scowl, already pronounced from her interaction with Archie, deepens. She doesn’t question it, though. She must know exactly what the problem was.
She gets up to leave. Halfway through the door, she turns to sneer at me. “If you spoil that child, you’re only going to make your problem worse.”
“Thank you for your time,” I repeat icily, “but as I will not be needing your services, I also have no need of your advice.”
The woman huffs, shouldering her purse, and marches down the hallway toward the exit.
I watch her go, then glance down at Archie. The tears have dried from his eyes, and he no longer seems nervous now that she’s gone.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, scooping him up into my arms.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“Nobody. I thought she might be able to help us out around here, but she’s not the right person for the job, so she won’t be back anymore, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, like we’re making some kind of arrangement.
“That was my last meeting for today,” I tell him. “What do you say you and I go out for a walk? We can get some ice cream. How does that sound?”
“Cupcake?” Archie blinks at me. There’s a new cupcake shop that opened up around the corner, and Archie is absolutely crazy about it.
“Yeah, sure. We’ll get a cupcake.” I set him down, and he reaches up a small hand to take one of mine. “Sound good?”
He nods firmly, and we head out.
It’s a lovely day as we emerge from the front door. Archie leads me through the garden and toward the sidewalk.
As we turn down the street, a jogger with a dog breezes past us. The dog, a huge, wolf-like creature with sharp teeth, flattens its ears at Archie as it goes by. It starts to bark, and strains at its lead as the jogger pulls it onward.
The loud sound of the barking rattles Archie. His hands fly up to cover his ears, and he starts to cry.
The sound of Archie crying tugs at my heart. I crouch down to face him, trying to brush away his tears.
“Come on, bud. You don’t have to cry. It’s okay. It’s gone now.”
But nothing I say seems to get through to him. I don’t even know if this bout of crying is about the dog, or about the way that woman snapped at him in my office. Either way, I can’t seem to get him to stop.