I looked down at the bakery box in my hand.
Right.
Thank God for cheesecake.
I set the box on the entry table before loosening my tie the rest of the way. My headache had started somewhere around Mrs. Cornell’s third emergency pair of glasses and was now settling in behind my eyes for the evening.
“Come downstairs, please. All three of you.”
The kids exchanged glances, which should’ve concerned me more than it did.
CJ descended first, easy and relaxed, all floppy teenage limbs despite only being eleven. Bianca followed with considerably more dignity. Billie attempted to slide down the banister until Bianca caught the back of her shirt without even looking up from her book.
My daughter had incredible reflexes.
Once they reached the foyer, all three stared up at me with expressions ranging from apologetic to suspiciously prepared to defend themselves.
I crossed my arms. “Would anyone like to explain why our nanny quit?”
Silence.
Then Billie raised her hand. “You may not like the answer.”
“That’s usually how these conversations go.”
“She got floured,” she said.
“I noticed.”
Billie examined her flour-caked hands. “That’s her fault. She was standing under the vent.”
CJ stepped in smoothly. “To be fair, nobody could’ve predicted the airflow distribution.”
I glared at him. He looked right back at me with complete composure. The terrifying thing about CJ wasn’t that he lied, but that half the time I truly believed him.
“Guys,” I said tiredly, “Mrs. Cornell was nice. I was really hoping she’d be the one who stuck around.”
Bianca finally lowered her book. “She called my reading material psychologically concerning, which was offensive.”
I sighed. “To be fair, you were reading about forensic pathology at the breakfast table. And you’re only nine.”
“That was none of her business. She invaded my privacy.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples.
There was a beat of silence before CJ stepped closer. “We’re sorry, Dad,” he said quietly.
And then camethe eyes. All three of them had somehow inherited different versions of it. Big, sad, devastating expressions that made me feel like the worst person alive for being frustrated with them.
CJ looked genuinely remorseful. Bianca looked wounded beneath all her composure. Billie looked mostly confused but committed to supporting the group effort.
“We just…” CJ hesitated. “We miss you.”
My heart dropped.
Damn it.
That was the problem right there. Not so much the lineup of traumatized childcare professionals fleeing my property under the cover of darkness. It was them—my kids.
