Page 17 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Despite myself, I laugh.

“There she is,” Luci says. “I was waiting for that.”

“Barely,” I admit.

“I always hated him.”

“You hate everyone I date.”

“Incorrect. I'm highly selective. I hated him because he had the energy of a man who says ‘circle back’ in casual conversation.”

“He did say that once,” I mutter.

“See? Prison.”

I smile, small and tired. Then it fades again.

“I can’t go home,” I say before she can suggest it.

Luci’s quiet.

“Okay,” she says, and I love her a little more for not pushing.

“I can’t,” I repeat, because I need her to understand. “Not like this. I can’t go back and let him be the reason I blew up my whole life for nothing. I just… I can’t.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” she says. “I get it.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’m looking at nanny agencies. Maybe live in positions. Something that solves the job and housing problem in one shot.”

“That’s smart.”

“Thank you. Please note this moment in family history.”

“I’ll embroider it on a pillow.”

I snort.

Then she says, more gently, “You’re really going to stay?”

I glance around the room, at my suitcases, the bedspread crime scene, the little notebook where I’ve started scribbling agency names and possible rates.

“Yes,” I say. And this time, when I say it, I mean it. “I’m going to make it work.”

“That’s my girl.”

We talk for a while after that, mostly nonsense, which is exactly what I need. Luci fills me in on our mother’s latest passive-aggressive message and a man she met last weekend who described himself as “spiritually flexible,” which apparently means unemployed and into mushrooms.

By the time we hang up, I feel steadier.

Still broke, furious, one inconvenience away from screaming into a bath towel, but steadier.

I open my laptop again and get serious.

I start with agencies that mention household placements, long-term positions, relocation assistance, and family support. I update my résumé, tweak my cover letter, and send inquiries. Then I start filling out forms with the kind of determination usually reserved for revenge montages and women in legal dramas.

Name.

Experience.