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Gina quickly shows me to a door at the back of the kitchen. “This is where we keep anything and everything from the vacuum cleaner to paper bags.” As she opens the door, I see it's a large storage room.
"This section over here," Gina points toward the back of the room, "is where arts and crafts supplies are kept. I don't need to tell you that you can't let Carmen in here by herself or leave her alone with any arts and crafts supplies. She’s three, almost four, and as curious as they come. If you need to use the bathroom, just call me, Erin, or Leo. One of us tends to be around. Or one of the guys working for Erin."
"Great, thanks for showing me."
"Any time."
We head back into the kitchen, and Gina hands crayons and paper to Carmen.
"Color!" she exclaims and immediately sets to it. Gina and I sit down next to her.
"All right, so here's what we have planned for you and Carmen," Gina begins, her red hair shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the windows. "Every morning, you'll do some preschool activities together, followed by a walk and playtime in the park. Erin will accompany you when you go outside."
"Sounds good so far," I nod, glancing at Erin, who gives me an approving smile.
"Then it's lunchtime, followed by a nap for Carmen at noon," Gina continues. "During the two hours she sleeps, you'll have some time to yourself. You can stay here or run errands. It’s entirely up to you. Afterward, there's afternoon play and dinner. On Fridays, we've scheduled special outings and play dates. You're supposed to leave by five, but if something comes up, just let us know. Also, Roland often runs late, and sometimes he has evening engagements when he needs you to stay much later, but that’s discussed ahead of time.”
“Thank you, Gina. That all sounds perfect,” I say, grateful for the clear expectations. “But I want to make sure we stick to that five o’clock leaving time unless we’ve arranged something beforehand. I raise my younger brother and have to get home to him. I can stay half an hour late some days, but some days I have other commitments.”
“Of course,” Erin chimes in, her authoritative demeanor softening just a bit. “We’ll do our best to respect your time.”
“Great,” I reply, feeling more at ease with the situation. Carmen looks up from her crayons, her eyes searching for mine.
“This flower is not right. Help Carmen?” she asks, her lower lip jutting out in a slight pout.
“Absolutely,” I agree, trying not to laugh.
After I help her with the flower, she moves on to drawing stick figures while I draw mandalas.
“Look, I drew Daddy!” she exclaims, showing me her masterpiece: a stick figure with dark hair and a beard. A warmth spreads through me as I realize just how much this little girl loves her father despite his sometimes-difficult demeanor.
“Beautiful, Carmen,” I say, praising her and ruffling her curls. “I bet he’ll love it.”
“Let’s go out and play,” Carmen suggests after we finish coloring, and I glance at Gina (who is busy baking bread), who gives a nod of approval. Clearly, I’ve been let off the hook from doing more preschool work this morning. I have to look through the stuff they’ve planned for Carmen when she has a nap. It’s an entire curriculum!
“Sounds good,” I agree, and moments later, we find ourselves outside, accompanied by Erin.
Central Park is bustling with activity—joggers, children playing, and couples strolling hand in hand. Carmen chatters away as we walk, pointing things out and making comments. Gina mentioned she’ll soon be turning four, and I can tell she’s got quite the vocabulary for her age, though from time to time, she makes mistakes. She's brought along a rather large stuffed bear for our walk.
"Did you know Mr. Bear and Miss Rabbit had a party last week? Just like I went to Sheila's party?" she asks me, eyes wide with excitement.
"Wow, no, I didn't. I bet it was fun," I reply, playing along. "Were there lots of guests?"
"Uh-huh! And they had carrot cake," Carmen adds, giggling.
When we return to the penthouse, Gina serves us a lovely meal of chicken breast with vegetables, and then I help Carmen settle down for her nap, tucking her in with her beloved stuffed animals. The quiet murmur of her breathing fills the room, and I tiptoe out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
I return to the kitchen. Gina is busy at the stove, preparing dinner, and I can't help but notice her toned arms as she stirs the sauce.
"Did you know there's a yoga studio downstairs?" she asks, catching me watching her. "I usually go after I finish cooking."
"Really?" I ask, intrigued. "I teach yoga classes outside of this job."
"Yes, you said earlier. I enjoy yoga myself."
"What kind of yoga do you do?"
"Hatha, mainly."
