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Three Months Later
Kids.
I don’t have them, but I spent many summers babysitting down the street when I was a teenager and it can’t be any harder now than it was back then when I couldn’t even drive.
My best friend, Fiona, helped find me this job. It took me days to apply for it because it’s not my line of work. I’m a writer, not a nanny for—
I glance back down at the neon yellow post-it note where I wrote some important details.
Two girls—seven and five.
Right. Easy enough.
I’m a girl. I like girl things and Barbies used to be my jam. If it were twoboysI may have been more hesitant, but this is temporary. I need the money for adult things like bills, food, car insurance, and a bottle of wine to soak my sorrows in.
No blog, newspaper, or online moguls have taken me on yet and I’m past the adjective of desperate.
I need money to be goingintomy bank account and not dwindling down to pennies.
So…here I am.
Another thing I wasn’t expecting is the massive stone house with dark blue shutters and a walk-around porch that looks like something out ofThe Notebookminus the giant pillars.
It’s absolutely beautiful.
It’s perfectly landscaped and inviting and appears like it’s the home of a flawless American family. Something I can get behind and not get so anxious about.
Knocking on the door, I steady myself from nerves and patiently wait to be greeted. It doesn’t take long for a beautiful blonde to open the door—appearing to be my age—with a pink, floral dress and crystal-blue eyes. She looks as though she just stepped out of that American dream family.
“Hello,” she coos with a giant smile. “You must be Molly.”
She extends a manicured hand at me, and I’m quick to shake it. “I am, it’s nice to meet you.”
What was her name again?
I remember she sounded just as sweet on the phone when we set up the interview, but I failed to write her name on my little cheat sheet.
“Come in.” She moves from the door to allow me a path inside and while I thought it was gorgeous outside, the inside has a whole other feel to it.
Dark hardwood floors glint against the abundance of sunlight from outside, but the walls are a light gray, keeping some of the brightness in the room. It screams male, so maybe I’m not walking into a dream but a whole other reality.
The door promptly closes behind me before the blonde shows up at my side again.
“I was going to interview you, but Odin is in town and he’ll be conducting it with you.”
No idea who that is.
“He’s the father,” she fills in for me, then proceeds toward the back of the house.
Following her, I’m introduced to the white kitchen with dark cabinetry. The backsplash is a beige stone, flawlessly designed. I hear the woman slide open the back door that leads into the backyard.
In front of the garage is an old car with its hood propped open. It’s a slate gray-blue withSSon the grill and I’m not able to take much of a look around because the blonde is already speaking again to someone else.
“Odin, your interview is here.”
I hear the abrupt drop of metal against concrete, sounding like tools being abandoned by the wayside, as a large figure rises from the side of the car and begins to round the front.
All time ceases to exist because…thiscan’tbe happening to me right now.
