Page 17 of I Wish You Were Mine

Katie chomps on a stalk of broccoli. I house what’s on my plate. The sooner I finish eating, the sooner I can grab Katie and start bath time, just the two of us. I don’t like how much I’m enjoying having Maren at dinner.

I don’t like how I can’t stop looking at her as she helps clean Katie up when we’re done. Then Maren starts cleaning up the kitchen too, turning on the sink faucet to scrub the stack of pots and pans I tossed in there.

“You don’t have to clean up after us.” I set my plate on the counter beside Maren’s. Both are empty. “I’ll get the dishes after Katie goes to bed.”

But Maren keeps scrubbing. “You cooked, I clean. Y’all go enjoy bath time. That is one stinky koala bear.”

Katie laughs. “I’m not stinky!”

“Did you smell your piggies?”

“What are piggies?” I ask.

Katie sticks out her foot. “It’s what Mare calls my toes.”

I chuckle. “Cute.”

Katie bends down to smell her foot. “Ew, that is stinky.”

“Told you!” Maren teases.

Can’t help it. Now I’m full-on laughing too.

Goddamn it, I don’t want to laugh. I definitely don’t want it to feel this good, all of us crowded by the sink. Bellies full, bedtime imminent.

I love this time of day.

I love it more with Maren here. And that’s a problem, because I can’t afford the distraction.

To be fair, this is day one. Maybe I’m feeling a spark because it’s all so new. Excitement working its way through my system. Chances are, it’ll wear off as time goes by.

I hope to God it wears off.

I toss my daughter over my shoulder, making her laugh when I smell her feet and pretend to gag. “Maren, I got it from here. Bath and bedtime are usually mine anyway, so.”

“You sure? I’m happy to help.”

“Positive. That way you can study. Hopefully get some sleep.”

Maren scrunches her forehead. She catches it before I do—the fact that I paid close enough attention to her to notice just how exhausted she is. “Oh. Wow. Okay, thank you. Seriously, that means a lot.”

My face burns. “Leave the dishes.”

But I’m quickly learning that Maren does what she wants. She stays at the sink, the rack in the dishwasher rattling as she loads it.

Just before I head downstairs to Katie’s bathroom, I hear Maren singing along softly to the song that’s playing.

I’ve recently caught my dad singing along to the radio on his boat. “What?” he said when I’d teased him about it. “People sing along to the radio when they’re happy. Or getting laid.”

I’m glad Maren’s happy.

I’m not at all glad I feel a surge of curiosity—of jealousy—when my mind immediately latches onto the idea that Maren is getting laid. By who? She doing splits for him?

Christ, I need to stop thinking about such ridiculous shit.

I’m Maren’s boss. She’s my nanny. The boundaries are clear.

Katie loops her hands around my neck when I pull her to my front, and then she rests her head on my shoulder. She’s so damn sweet when she’s sleepy.

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