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Blakely glances up at me, curious to see whether I’ll go against their dad’s wishes. That’s a big no. “I don’t think your dad wants you playing that game. Maybe we can come up with something else to play,” I offer.
Madden huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “It isn’t the game he has a problem with. He doesn’t want us hiding in their bedroom,” she says, turning back toward the landscape outside the window. “There’s nowhere to hide in there anyway. It’s a dumb rule.”
It’s not uncommon for parents to request that their children stay out of their bedroom, especially when someone else cares for them. I’ve had plenty of babysitting jobs where the parents have kept their doors closed, which was enough of an indication that it should remain that way.
“That’s okay. Everyone needs to have a private space, right?”
“That’s not why,” Madden says.
I spot Blakely picking at a hangnail while gritting her teeth. “Madden got in trouble for going through some important papers Dad had on his nightstand and she spilled some water?—”
“Blakely!” Madden shouts, stomping her foot. “Why do you always have to be the perfect princess?” Madden sneers.
“Don’t call me a perfect princess,” Blakely snaps back. “It’s not likeIwent through Dad’s papers. It’s your fault!”
“Okay, okay,” I say stepping in between them. “There’s no need to go into your parents’ room tonight, so I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about, right?” That answers my question about how well the two girls get along. I assume this event must have been a recent occurrence which is probably why Madden seems bitter about their father’s new rule. Redirection is always a good move. “How about we watch a movie?”
Of course, they must agree on one, which may be challenging. “We’ve seen them all,” Blakely responds, dropping a handful of blocks from her hand into the toy bin. She slugs over to the couch and sinks into the deep cushions, taking the remote into her hand.
“We haven’t watched the new mermaid movie,” Madden says. A spark of excitement flits through her shoulders and she skips to the sofa, plops down and tears the remote out of Blakely’s hand.
“Hey!” Blakely whines.
“I know where the movie is,” Madden tells her. “Don’t worry.”
Blakely huffs and crosses her arms in frustration. “Fine but can we have popcorn, too? We always have popcorn when we watch a movie.”
“Do you have popcorn?”
“Yes, I can show you where it is,” Blakely answers. “Follow me.”
Madden is flipping through channels with what seems like tunnel vision, so I follow Blakely into the kitchen. She reaches for the pantry door and yanks it open. The hinges moan in the face of a black hole before Blakely flips on a light and illuminates the large walk-in storeroom. It’s no surprise to find the space larger than all the closets in my apartment. I’ve seen pantries like this on Pinterest, but never before in real life. Baking ingredients, grains, and pasta are all organized in clear containers with fancy labels adhered to the outside and on the shelf below are wicker baskets, adorned with dangling labels marking each with a different type of snack. Another shelf holds canned goods, and the bottom shelf is empty, covered in a thin layer of dust displaying only a void for whatever was there before but never replaced. How much food does one family need before the expiration dates pop up?
Blakely’s fingers pull the wicker basket with the microwavable popcorn label toward her. She retrieves two packages. “This should be enough for the three of us.” She hands them to me and strides out of the pantry like she’s on a mission. “There’s a popcorn button on the microwave. The last babysitter could never figure out how to use it, but I’m sure you can.”
“Well, let’s see here,” I say, spinning around until I spot the microwave camouflaged as one of the white cabinet doors.
“You’re off to a good start, since you at least found the microwave.” Blakely giggles, covering her little hands over her mouth.
“Was your last babysitter nice?” I inquire, curious about why the last sitter no longer works here.
“Well—” Blakely sings.
“Did you hear that?” Madden asks, storming into the kitchen as I remove the plastic wrapper from the popcorn bag.
“Hear what?”
“How could you not have heard that?” Madden continues, grabbing Blakely by the arm before dragging her toward the front of the house. When I have the popcorn in the microwave and find the mysterious “popcorn” button, I hear their feet stomping up the stairs.
They’re nine, the age of newfound independence, so I’ll let them have a minute in case Madden wants to talk to her in private.
Since I’m alone in the kitchen, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and check for any missed messages.
My heart blips when I see Liam’s name pop up. I sent him a text yesterday, but he hadn’t responded. I figured he’d changed his mind, but by his message, I don’t think that’s the case.
Liam: So sorry I didn’t reply to you yesterday. I wasn’t trying to play hard to get. There was an end-of-year field trip with the ninth graders, followed by an annual school art show I had to attend. By the time the teachers finished cleaning up, it was almost ten. Anyway, I’m rambling… Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?
Me: You don’t have to explain. I completely understand how busy your schedule must be. I’m watching the two little girls I was telling you about. It’s my first night on the job. So far, so good (fingers crossed). Tomorrow for dinner sounds great. Send me the time and place!
