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She hesitates. “Since you’ve met all my terms so far, I’m willing to put some language in the contract to that effect, sure. But I need you to know, Rhett, I’m not moving to Las Vegas for the long term.”
“Ha,” I say mirthlessly. “This argument sounds familiar.”
“We’re arguing?”
I glance up to see Beau looking at me. He does nothing to hide the judgment in his eyes.
I glance back down, determined to backpedal hard and backpedal fast. “No. No, definitely not. I totally understand where you’re coming from. But in the off chance I can’t secure childcare in Vegas between now and then, I may need you to bridge the gap for a small period of time. Is a month really enough time to repair your reputation anyway?”
She hesitates again. I’ve hit on a sore spot. My chest clenches at the realization—she’s more scared than she’s let on.
I know the feeling.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “Didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
“You’re not wrong,” she says. Quieter now. “I don’t know if it’s long enough. But for now, let’s be optimistic and assume it will be. If not . . .”
“Right. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
“What about screen time? Typically children Liam’s age should have a limited amount, but there are some really great kids’ shows that are educational.”
I finally put the phone on speaker so I can pull up the contract. “You’re the expert. Whatever you think is best is fine by me.”
I hear the smile in her voice when she replies. “You really trust me, huh?”
“I always trusted you,” I say, and I mean it. Amelia was the one thing I could rely on when I was younger. Her kindness. Her belief in me. She was my steady Betty, and I loved her for it.
I sure as hell never got that steadiness at home. Not from Daddy, anyway. We didn’t know it then, but he was sick pretty much from the time I started kindergarten. While my older brothers had a good chunk of time with him before the CTE really took hold, I didn’t. I had maybe five, six good years with him. Years I don’t remember all that much. After that, he became the man who alternated between ignoring me and cussing me out. If I’m being honest, sometimes I think I associate fatherhood with yelling. Aggression.
Such a great example I have here, clearly.
But that shit’s bleak, and I can’t do bleak right now. So I do like a good millennial and shove those memories way down deep, telling myself I’ll deal with it later.
Amelia negotiates the rest of her contract like the pro she is. Pay. Taxes. Rules around driving and medication for Liam (something about two-year molars and ear infections). She talks about doctor’s appointments. Sunscreen. I scroll through each section of the document on my phone, nodding as I go.
I agree to her terms for all of it. When we’re done, I stand, surprised to find I feel lighter on my feet. Literally lighter, like my shoes got an extra layer of magic moon foam or something.
I will do this.
I’m not alone in it. Not anymore.
Beau, who’s still sitting beside me, smiles, and I’m kinda shocked to find that I almost feel like smiling too.
“One more thing,” Amelia says.
Beau raises his brows. I take the phone off speaker and bring it to my ear.
“Shoot.”
“This goes without saying,” she continues slowly, carefully, “but you and I—our relationship remains strictly professional. We have history. That’s no secret. But this? Me nannying for you? It has to be separate from that. Our relationship has to be different this time around, Rhett. You’re my boss, I’m your employee, and our focus needs to be on Liam. We operate according to this contract. No coloring outside the lines.”
My almost-smile fades. Like I’m remembering all over again exactly why having Amelia around is not the amazing idea I want it to be.
Need it to be, more like.
Like the reminder she won’t be my steady Betty again pisses me off. Which is complete bullshit, my midmorning woody that weekend she slept over notwithstanding.
She’s doing me a solid. Allowing me to dedicate myself to the game I love while parenting a toddler too. I can take this shit seriously. And taking parenthood seriously means keeping my hands off the nanny.
I don’t know my son yet. But I do know I’m going to give him a good life. The kind of life and stability I never had. You don’t get stability with a revolving door of nannies, women chased out of a job by a daddy who crosses lines he shouldn’t.
And yeah, I’m gonna need her to stick around if I’m going to stick to my strict pre-camp regimen. My days just get more and more intense the closer that date gets. Longer workouts, then two-a-days. Recovery becomes more serious with things like ice baths and regular massages.
