“Okay,” she says. “I think we actually need to talk.”
“Okay.” My hands remain on her waist; I don’t move them, and she doesn’t ask me to.
“Pat offered me a job today.”
“At the senior center?”
“Activities coordinator. Part-time—twenty hours a week. I’d build out the whole dance program. Benefits, steady pay.” She pulls back enough to look at me. “I think I’m going to take it.”
“That’s great, Syd. That’s really great.”
“The hours will align with when the twins are at preschool. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I’d finish before pickup. I asked Pat, and the hours are flexible, so if you have a game or something, my first priority is obviously the twins.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“You sure? Because if the schedule doesn’t—”
“Syd. Take the job. We’ll figure out the rest.”
She searches my face for a moment, then nods. “It, uh — it changes things, though.”
“Changes things how?”
“Because if I take a real job in New York, I’m staying. And if I’m staying, I need to figure out what I am—here, in this house, in your life.” She’s still in my lap, her hands on my shoulders, water dripping down her arms. “I’m not just the nanny, Archer. I stopped being the nanny a while ago. But I’m also not your—what am I? Your girlfriend? Your live-in girlfriend? Your girlfriend who also raises your children and has no apartment and drives your car?”
My mouth lifts in a wry smile. “You can be whatever you want to be.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.”
“I need an answer, Archer. Because Bree is talking about lawyers, and at some point, someone official is going to ask what I am to you, and ‘whatever she wants to be’ isn’t going to cut it.” Her fingers tighten on my shoulders—not pulling me closer, but holding me still. Making sure I’m listening. “So what am I?”
I look at her. She’s still in my lap in a hot tub, and we’re having a conversation that probably requires clothes. I don’t have a prepared answer because I’ve never been good at this part.
“We’re together. You’re, uh—” I rub the back of my neck. “I mean, you’re my girlfriend. Right? Isn’t that what this is?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Both? I don’t know. I’ve never done this part before. Bree and I just, uh—we just were. We never had the conversation.”
“And look how that turned out.”
“Fair point.”
“Archer, I can’t just live in your house indefinitely without clarity about what this is. It’s not fair to me, it’s not fair to the kids, and Bree’s lawyer is going to have a field day with it.”
“So what do you want?”
She’s quiet. She’s sitting in my lap in a bikini, having the most important conversation of our relationship, which is very on-brand for us because we’ve never done anything the normal way.
“I think I should probably get my own place,” she says.
My hands tighten on her waist. “What?”
“Not because I want to leave, but think about it, Arch.” Her eyes meet mine. “When Bree’s lawyer asks about our living arrangement, the answer shouldn’t be ‘she moved into his housetwo months after the divorce was finalized and never left.’ I want to get an apartment so that I have an address that isn’t yours. I want—” She stops, takes a breath. “I want to be with you because I chose you, not because I had nowhere else to go. That matters to me.”
“If that’s what you want,” I say.
