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It reminded me of myself.
The more I got to know her, the more similarities I found between us.
Sophie likes books. She’s the kind to sit in a corner and play quietly. She sometimes needs her own space and doesn’t want anyone around. Other times, she wants a companion to play. Sometimes she takes time to open up, especially when she meets strangers. But once she gets to know you, she always gives you a sweet and friendly smile.
We play with the blocks some more. I help her spell out her name, which is difficult for her of course. We also do Cami and Lucia, and of course, Riot. My fingers tremble when I arrange the blocks to spell out her daddy’s name but I keep a lid on it and act as nonchalant as I can.
By the time we’re done, it’s time for lunch and I’m about to ask Sophie what she’s in the mood for when the doorbell rings.
“Hm, who’s that, Sophie?” I ask, smiling down at her.
She’s busy spelling Dodo again. But at my question, she looks up at me and, smiling, replies, “Cami.”
“Ah.” I nod. “It could be your Auntie Cami. Although she didn’t say she was coming.”
“Auntie Cami,” she repeats, grinning broadly.
“Yeah.” I grin back. “Let’s go see, okay? You wanna come see with me?”
She nods, raising her arms. “Uppie.”
“Okay, sweet girl, uppie you go.”
I pick her up and kiss her dark curls and head to the front door.
When I open it though, my smile falls off because it’s not Cami or anyone that I want to see.
It’s Tara.
The woman he went on a second date with.
Honestly, this is the first time I’ve thought of her since that night. Which is so strange because for all intents and purposes, she’s the one who brought about the series of events that happened that day. If I hadn’t seen those texts, I never would’ve ended up at his house.
And now that I see her here, I can’t help but feel sucker-punched.
By not only the fact that she’s still in his life — why wouldn’t she be, by the way? He broke the date with her that night, notbroke upwith her — but also that oh my God, I’m a cheater.
Am I a cheater?
I don’t know anything about their relationship but I slept with the man she was on a date with.
And she’s here.
Here.
“You,” she says, her blood red lips puckering around the word. “What are you doing here?”
I tighten my hold on Sophie, who at the sight of Tara — a stranger — has tucked her face in my neck. I kiss her cheek and whisper, “It’s okay, baby.” Then to Tara, all awkwardly and guilt-ridden and pain-ridden, “I work here.”
She watches my exchange with Sophie with hard eyes. “Work here as in? Are you the maid?”
I know she can see that I’mnotthe maid. I mean, I’m holding a three-year-old girl in my arms, it’s quite obvious to conclude that I’m the nanny at the very least. So I think that’s her way of putting me down.
And as much as it hurts me, it’s only fair that I let her have her moment.
So I shake my head and reply as politely as I can, “No, I’m the nanny.”
She looks me up and down and finds me lacking. “I’m here to see Riot.”
