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Audrey eye-rolled.
If he’d have had an apple in his pocket she might’ve given him the job on the spot. As it was, this had turned out a whole lot better than any Reese Witherspoon movie he’d been forced to sit through.
4: Godzilla in the Garden
Merrill brought food and wine and Audrey put Mia to bed, twice. Once for ‘my tummy hurty’, and five minutes later for ‘there’s a scared’. The scared turned out to be a possum sitting on the fence Mia could see from her bedroom window. Uncle Joe chased the naughty possum away and sleepy Mia finally stayed put.
If only Cameron was staying put. Audrey had all afternoon to think about her replacement. She made notes after each interview and she’d ranked the candidates in order of preference, except for Reece. She didn’t know how to rank Reece. He was beyond any ranking system she’d anticipated.
First thing she did after he left, after tears, Mia’s, and a mandarin she ate herself, after a nap that didn’t happen, and a dozen games of Hungry Hungry Hippo, was re-read Reece’s résumé for clues to his gender. She didn’t like surprises and Reece was dry rain, the sun rising at night, Mia eating what was put in front of her.
That he was a man who wanted to care for small children was shock enough, but he was this enormous tank of a man in a pink shirt, under which his muscle structure bulged and rippled, like he was smuggling a whole other person under his polo, and that other person was a body builder. He had these huge hands and snowshoes for feet, thighs that looked too thick to allow him to sit cross-legged, and the trapeze of his shoulder muscles was almost wider than the doorway. He could very well block out the sun and be a human shelter. He could probably lift the whole house and orient it slightly more to the north as easily as she straightened the hallway rug with a foot.
He should’ve moved awkwardly for all his bulk, lumbered, gone through her floorboards, broken her couch, but he was graceful and moved with slow ease. Instead of being giant in all things, he kept his movements small and spoke softly, as if he was worried about alarming you. He could easily be alarming, Godzilla in the garden, and yet Mia took to him like a bee to a fruit tree.
She considered the possibility he was gay, that unexpected softness, that consideration and self-awareness he showed, and she certainly couldn’t be sure he wasn’t, but she didn’t think so. Nothing she could point to as evidence, except a kind of twinkling regard he’d directed at her that was supernumerary to the deference he showed her as a potential employer. Not that it mattered. His sexual preference had no bearing on his ability to act as a qualified carer, it was just that he was fascinating, not only the size of him, and the way he negotiated the world of everyday midgets, but his obviously complex childhood, and his decision to buck everything his physical self shouted and take on a traditionally feminine role.
Presumably he was safe from sticks and stones style threats to his manhood, but she wondered how he handled the more insidious swipes at his masculinity. Maybe he was oblivious to them, simply didn’t care. He had to have copped flack growing up, for the whole I need to change the baby’s nappy thing when other kids needed first cigarettes and French kisses.
She’d expected him to terrify Mia, had braced for hysteria and that would’ve been a convenient end to it, saved the effort of making a decision about where Reece ranked. Next to the Shetland pony Mia had ridden, Reece was the biggest living thing she’d ever seen. But he’d had the magic touch and she’d reacted to him as if he was handmade for her convenience and amusement. And his résumé, since he’d left out the bricklaying, you’d have to know your spelling.
“Where are you, Aud?” Joe waved the bottle of red.
Merrill waggled her empty glass. “She’s mentally plotting how to prevent Cameron leaving.”
Joe poured. “Still?”
Audrey shook her head and put her hand over her glass. “No, I’ve moved on. Now I’m trying to imagine having one of the short list candidates hanging out here and managing Mia. Who do I want to share air-freshener and fridge rights with? It’s like picking a roommate with the added complexity of knowing they’re the single most influential thing in your kid’s life after you.” She made a strangled noise and held her glass out. “Oh God. I haven’t moved on.”
Joe filled her glass. “Managing Mia, sounds like one of those lonely heart romantic comedies Merry goes to on her own.”
Merrill grunted. “Which one of us cried during The Notebook?”
“I had something in my eye.”
“Yeah, those wet salty things that dribble,” Merrill gave a theatrical sniff,” they’re called tears, Joe.”
Audrey swirled the wine in her glass. “Which is what my life will be made of if I don’t get this right.”
“You said all the applicants were good,” said Merrill.
“They are. The right qualifications, excellent experience. It’s hard to pick between them. They were all pleasant people, but this is not a ninety minute movie, this is Mia turning four and five and being healthy and happy and well cared for. I need to hire someone she’ll love and who’ll love her.” She emptied her glass in three long swallows and knew she’d regret it at 5am when Mia woke, assuming she stayed asleep that long.
Joe gave her raised eyebrows. “Isn’t that what relatives are for, the love thing? Isn’t hiring a nanny a bit more job-like?”
“Wait till it’s your kid.”
Merrill tipped a slug of wine from her glass into Audrey’s. “You can’t feel guilt over this. It’s a big decision.”
“I do though. I know it’s not my fault Cameron is going, but it’s my fault Mia needs a carer who’s not me in the first place.”
“What are saying?”
“When you two finally get pregnant, what’s the plan? Wait,” she sipped and looked from Merrill to Joe, who was fishing for leftover nuts in a takeaway container. “I know what it is. Merry stays home until sprog goes to kindy or day care. Then she works part time until the sprog hits high school.”
“While Joe slums it at work,” said Merrill.
“Right.”
