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Fortunately, the four stalls of the ladies’ room are empty and I let out a breath as I stop in front of the mirror. My cheeks are pink from my own anger, wishing that not every conversation with my mother ended with me pissed or hurt or sad. She has a real talent for making me feel this way. Ironic how the people who are meant to love us the most are the ones who cause the most pain.
They always say that kids will break a parent’s heart, but what about parents breaking yours?
The door to the bathroom swings open, and my chest tightens when my mother storms inside. Her eyes, blue like my own but infinitely icier, lock on mine as she hisses, “You need to be more cautious of how you speak to me in front of others. It’s highly inappropriate, Alexandra.”
I try not to flinch at the use of my full name. Instead, I stand my ground as she comes to a stop a few feet in front of me, my voice surprisingly steady as I return, “So speaking the truth is considered inappropriate now?”
Her angered eyes widen a little more, eyebrows pulled together. “What truth?” she demands. “That nonsense about how I didn’t raise a child? It’s just that—nonsense.”
This time, it’s my turn to look at my mother in disbelief. “Is it?” I retort, making her jaw clench. “I was raised by the nannies you and Dad hired. Not by you two.” I scoff, despite hating the kind of person my mother turns me into. This snappy, almost sarcastic person that is so at odds with who I try to be—who I am. “You were rarely around, Mom. You didn’t care enough to be.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mom scoffs with a shake of her head. “Your father and I worked hard to give you everything you could have. Don’t be a spoiled brat.” Her gaze cuts to me and I see something like realization dawn on her features. “Is this why you decided to be a nanny? You find some misplaced kinship among them?” She lets out a humorless laugh. “Alexandra, stop playing childish games and looking after other people’s kids when you can have your own after finding a career you can be proud of.”
My eyes widen, lips parting at her careless words. What, she thinks I’m taking care of others’ children to make up for something I’m lacking? “You’re unbelievable,” I breathe out with a slight shake of my head. “It’s not about kinship. It’s about being there for kids who need—”
“Need what?” Mom cuts me off, jutting her chin out. “Kids like you, who grew up privileged with everything they could want? With the best schools and clothes and food? What could they possiblyneed, Alexandra?”
“Someone they can turn to when they feel like there’s no one else,” I state pointedly, tightly. “Someone in their corner when their parents are too busy with their lives but always find the time to make their kid feel guilty for being someone they need to be responsible for.”
My words silence Mom, raw and honest. They are spoken through a tight throat, the truth of them a heavy one to carry. Because it is exactly how it happens—how it happened for me. Mom and Dad were always too busy for me, and as I grew up and would point it out, they would turn it around and make me feel like I was being ridiculous for asking anything of them. That I was being ungrateful and acting spoiled for asking for more.
Thatmore, in question, being their time and affection—because who needs any of that when you have all the clothes, toys, and delicious food you could want?
“How dare you?” Mom asks quietly, eyes flashing for a split second with. . . hurt?
The idea alone makes my stomach lurch.
I shake my head, chest tight with all of this emotion that I knew I would feel by coming today. Although, I have to admit, this feels a little more intense than our usual bouts.
“I think I’m gonna head out,” I say, breaking my gaze from Mom’s.
Mom lifts her chin. “I think that’d be best.”
* * *
“Look at me, Alex!” Lilah calls down excitedly, waving at me from the little window of the tunnel she is in.
I laugh, waving back. “So cool, honey!” I respond just as enthusiastically, watching as she continues on her way with Elaine right on her heels.
Daria and I, along with the little girls, are at a fun little restaurant slash indoor play park for lunch. It’s like an upscale McDonald’s with a play place, except cleaner and cooler and with better food. Though, I must admit, I will always have a weak spot for greasy fast food that isn’t good for you.
Of course, there are plenty of other people around, the entire place echoing with sounds of kids laughing and shrieking as they play. There are endless tunnels for them to crawl through, along with slides and a ball pit. While we wait for our food to arrive, the girls play happily, Daria and I sitting across from each other in the booth.
“You’re so good with her,” Daria comments, making my gaze slide over to hers.
She is smiling a sweet smile as she watches me. She’s around my age, but looks a lot younger, and it’s hard to believe that she is the mother of a four-year-old. I know I look after kids for a living, but none of them aremykids, and I can’t quite imagine myself with a kid of my own at this age. But I’ve been around Daria a few times since I started nannying Lilah, who is practically best friends with Daria’s daughter, Elaine, and it’s obvious that Daria loves being a mom. And from what I can tell, she’s a really great one.
“Thanks,” I say with a gentle laugh, arms crossing on top of the table. “She’s my little buddy.”
Daria grins around her straw before sipping her Diet Coke. “You’ve been doing this for a while, right?” she asks. “You mentioned something about it before.”
“Unofficially, I’ve been doing it since I was, like, fifteen,” I tell her. “Babysitting to make some cash of my own.” I don’t need to divulge my entire life story and family history. My family comes from money, sure, but none of it ismine. “I joined a nannying service in college, and then later I signed onto the agency I’m with today.”
“That’s impressive,” she nods, and my cheeks warm because I can tell her compliment is genuine. After that luncheon from hell yesterday, I wouldn’t be opposed to a little ego stroking. “I mean, I work with kids every day too, but not near the extent you do.”
I grin. I know Daria is an art teacher—as well as an artist who has sold plenty of paintings. One of her paintings is hung up in Lilah’s bedroom; it’s that of a night sky, because apparently Lilah’s name, in some origins, means night or night beauty. Andrea, Leo’s sister, told me he had commissioned the painting for Daria a few months back. It’s a beautiful piece, and from that painting alone it is easy to tell that Daria is seriously talented with a brush.
“Yeah, but you have a kid of your own, too,” I remind her with a quirk of my eyebrow. “Dealing with other people’s kids and then coming home to your own? Good on you.”
