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“Great, Daddy. Well, not really. School was so boring.” She rolls her eyes. “But Ruby and I made three dozen cookies, so now I know multiplication, and we’re not even learning that in school.” Her amazed eyes are so wide it’s almost comical, and I want to know more.
“Tell me. What can you multiply?”
Another eye roll. “Oh my gosh, Daddy. Everything.” She dashes to the stove and beckons me over with a sweep of her whole arm. Ruby is in the kitchen, organizing our refrigerator, and my heart skips a beat when I see her there. Glowing, hair messy, and wearing those damn short shorts. I’m getting used to the feeling of my chest tightening every time I see her. Getting used to walking around with pent-up frustration that, for once, has nothing to do with my job.
“Hey,” she says, shoving her hair behind her ear. My hands twitch because I want to do it for her. “How was your day?” The moment I ask the question, I realize how intimate it sounds, like a partner coming home after a long day at the office. My eyes shoot to Ruby’s to see if she heard it that way.
But she’s busy in the refrigerator and barely reacts. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.
“Good. The usual.”
She’s about to say more, but Fiona’s excitement rules the day. “Daddy, look.”
Fiona takes two steps up onto a small stepstool I didn’t know we had and peers over the stove.
Standing next to her, I look at three cookie sheets with a dozen chocolate chip cookies on each one. I reach for a cookie, and she slaps my hand away.
“Fiona, we don’t slap people or treat them disrespectfully. Especially not your dad,” Ruby says before I can reprimand my own daughter.
She tips her head against my side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you, Daddy. I’m just too excited about multiplication.”
Words I never expected to spring from my daughter’s mouth.
I have no chance of staying mad at Fiona, especially when I haven’t seen her all day, so I hug her tight. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re excited.”
Fiona picks up a spatula and wields it like a maestro. “Okay, here we have three rows of four cookies.” She points at the first cookie sheet. “Three fours equals four plus four plus four.” Looking at me to make sure I’m following her logic, she waits for me to nod. I glance over and see Ruby’s smile.
“Got it,” I say.
“Good.
She goes on to explain the ways to multiply six and two, nine and four, twelve and three. My daughter rattles off multiplication tables like a champ as I stand there with my mouth agape that Ruby taught her in one afternoon.
It’s why I don’t notice Ruby come up behind me with a red smoothie she must have made earlier and put it on the counter. “Hot day. Thought a strawberry-mango smoothie might hit the spot.”
It’s not her job to cook for me. Once she gets Fiona fed, she hustles her into the tub or shower and has her ready for bed when I get home. But after just a few days, I find myself coming home a bit earlier so I can watch Ruby in action. I claim I’m still working, just using my office that’s right off the kitchen, but the truth is that I like seeing my daughter and my nanny together.
You sure it’s not just to ogle the nanny?
I like watching her wrangle my daughter’s spirit, and it’s a relief to have someone else lay down the law once in a while. My siblings are great at pitching in when they have time, but their jobs are as intense as mine. As a result, pitching in doesn’t happen as often as we’d all like.
“I’m off to take a shower,” she says, already adopting Ruby’s speaking style. An ache hits my heart. She’s growing up too fast. Wasn’t it just yesterday that she’d only take a bath?
“Okay, Fi. Sounds good.” My enthusiasm doesn’t sound as convincing as I’d like. Ruby reaches for my hand and squeezes it as she passes by on her way to chase Fiona up the stairs.
A shock of awareness races through me at the feeling of her skin brushing mine. My chest contracts just as she turns to look at me, a silent acknowledgment that it’s all okay—my daughter is still only seven, and I need to relax.
So why is my blood rushing through my veins and crowding sound from my ears?
It’s because she surprised me. I didn’t expect to feel her soft palm graze mine and that unexpected squeeze. That’s it.
And my pulse isn’t racing right now because she knew I was having a vulnerable parenting moment and knew exactly how to reassure me.
Or, fuck it. It’s all of those things.
While Ruby is upstairs helping Fiona, I talk myself down because it’s my only option. By the time she comes back to tell me Fiona is in bed and wants me to read Amelia Bedelia to her, I’ve calmed my breathing and reined in my pulse.
And by the time I’ve finished reading, Ruby has cleaned my kitchen from top to bottom. “I have a cleaning person. You don’t need to do that,” I tell her.
