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Get your mind out of the gutter. My change of heart has nothing to do with our kiss or numerous bathroom exchanges. Henley has only been Lucy’s nanny for three days, but I’ve already noticed profound changes in my little girl, who’s faced more sadness than happiness in her life. She wakes up every morning smiling and goes to bed grinning ear to ear.
She even smiles in her sleep.
I haven’t seen her this happy in months, and as much as I want to credit the change up to the delay in me returning to work, I can’t. Between Lucy and Henley’s crafting and dressmaking classes, and how often they copy crazy hairstyles from YouTube tutorials, I’ve barely seen Lucy over the past three days. She is in the Henley-obsessed bubble I’m attempting to dodge as if it is the plague.
I’ve never spent so much time in my room.
My hand also hasn’t seen so much action.
When Henley remains staring, wordlessly demanding more of an answer with eyes that can see through to my soul, I reply, “I was factoring in a change to my routine.” A change I didn’t know I needed until now.
As much as the tension bristling between us has me considering a plea of insanity, I’ve never felt more alive. I’m running twice a day and working out, and I even tackled a mountain of paperwork I’ve been avoiding since Caroline’s death.
It is funny how different things look when you stop peering at them through grief-tinted glasses. It still fucking hurts, and I’ll never stop grieving, but the steps Caroline put into place in the event of our daughter losing one of her parents show she knew the risks of our relationship.
She didn’t walk in blind—unlike Henley.
She thinks her placement is the innocent meddling of a sixty-year -old matchmaker.
Only I know it could be direr than that.
That’s why I need to keep my distance no matter how tempting things become.
Henley struggles to hide her pout when I place the kitchen island between us before she switches to interrogative. “What kind of change?” She finishes wiping up flour from the counter, which is surprisingly clean considering the near disaster it faced multiple times this weekend, and rinses out the cloth in the sink. “Should I grab my planner? I’m sure I’ll have an hour or two free between beading and pancake demolitions sometime this week.”
Her wittiness reminds me this wouldn’t be so hard if I stopped valuing our exchanges ahead of how much Lucy loves having her around. Henley is a good nanny, and that should rate higher than how unbelievably gorgeous she is.
“Bar having me home more than she’d like, this change won’t affect Lucy too much.” Henley peers at me as if I have rocks in my head, but before she can assure me that I haven’t already fucked up my daughter’s life, I add, “It’s work. I was meant to return last week, but an issue with paperwork means I can’t go back for a couple more weeks.”
“Oh…” She tries to act nonchalant, but her tone gives away her surprise. “Is that why you were so apprehensive to have me? You wanted to keep Lucy-Lou to your greedy self for a little while longer.” She walks around the island wedged between us, her swinging hips as teasing as her grin. “Don’t fret. There are enough beads for all of us.”
“Great…” My breathy chuckle is as fake as the numerous times I’ve tried to act disinterested in Henley, but before she can call me out on it, I’m saved by Lucy for the umpteenth time today.
“Grandma Stell wants to speak to you.” After climbing onto a stool wedged under the counter, she hands me my cell phone.
As Henley asks Lucy if she’d like a glass of milk, I squash my phone to my ear. “Hi, Stella.”
“Hello, darling. How are you?” I once thought Lucy earned the ability to talk underwater from her mother, but when I met Stella, I soon realized it is a multigenerational thing. You can barely get a word in. “I was calling to make sure you’re still coming to the barbecue today. Everyone is dying to see you.”
The Ashburns have held an annual Fourth of July barbecue since before Caroline was born. I’ve only ever missed the one. It was the year Caroline was killed. I was grieving and reacted fiercely when I believed the only person giving me a reason to breathe was taken from me.
I wouldn’t have survived those first few months if Lucy weren’t relying on me. I couldn’t drown my sorrows with liquor or spend several weeks in bed because she needed me, so you can imagine how angrily I reacted when Chelsea, Caroline’s twin sister, tried to fill her sister’s motherly shoes.
Although we’ve patched things up now, mostly due to court-ordered documents, it is still a little strained. It is hard to look into eyes identical to your wife’s and not recall the last time you saw them.
