“But remember that first time we talked?” I insisted. “During my phone interview. You asked me if there was anything you should know about me, and I mentioned my allergy. I mention it everywhere I go, anytime I eat anything I don’t prepare myself. Maybe you forgot?”
“I would never forget something like that.” Libby looked enraged. “It must have been some other interview you’re thinking of.” But there had only been one interview.
I fidgeted in the navy blue velvet armchair in which I sat, my fingers trembling more than they should have under the intensity of Libby’s gaze. She tapped the arm of her chair impatiently with carefully manicured nails. Tap. Tap. Tap. Before Lissa died, back when she was a concerned parent, my mother had always made me tell everyone about my allergy. She was certain there’d be nutmeg slipped in somewhere, and she was constantly afraid that I’d unknowingly ingest it. She used to keep an EpiPen zipped in my backpack as a kid, but I’d stopped carrying one once I’d gotten older and started trusting myself to stay away from complex foods that might contain the spice.
“I’m just not sure what to do with you,” Libby said, after a long silence. “How could you blame me for this, Nanny? We’re hitting so many bumps lately. So, so many rough spots. I just don’t know how to handle you anymore.”
“You can fire me,” I said. “Just tell me if that’s what you want to do.” I couldn’t stand the torture of sitting there, not knowing.
“Oh, but I can’t,” Libby said softly. “I can’t let you go when you owe me so much. You have quite the debt to pay, Nanny. Think of all I’ve done for you! All we’ve done, but also all the ways I’ve stuck up for you. Walker wanted to fire you after the incident with our files. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Her voice took on a soothing, almost melodic quality. “Yes, you knew that, because you’re trickier than you look. You slip around here looking wide-eyed and innocent, but you and I know the truth. All you’ve caused is hardship. No, Nanny. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying with us as long as we need you. And I envision that being a long while. You owe me that.”
I shuddered, beginning to cry softly. It all felt so surreal, like a nightmare. I was still exhausted from the drugs they’d given me at the hospital and confused by my memories of what I’d told Libby versus what she was saying I’d omitted. Maybe she was angry with me, maybe I’d made some mistakes, but she’d never have purposely given me a substance that could have been lethal. So either I was forgetting or she was forgetting. But right then, it felt as if my brain had turned on itself; I doubted everything I thought I knew. There was a reverse side to everything, other possibilities that hadn’t been explored. What I thought was the truth no longer felt certain at all. I felt my body clench up. My tears trickled down my cheeks, leaving salty, itchy streaks everywhere they touched.
“Nanny,” Libby soothed. “It’s okay. Maybe I came down too hard on you. It’s okay.” She rubbed my back with one hand, using the other to wipe away my tears. Despite myself, I leaned into her.
“It’s Annie,” I said quietly, so quietly I wasn’t sure she could hear. “Please call me by my name.”
“I always do,” Libby told me carefully. “I always use your name.” I relaxed against her, crying harder, and she wrapped her arm tightly around me, resting her chin on my head. “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “We’re not going to fire you. We’ll keep you here, Nanny. We can help you. I just need you to work with me. Just trust me, and it will all get better, I promise. You need to stop fighting me. You just need to let me take care of you.” I nodded as she stroked my hair, pushing back damp, sweaty tendrils from my face. I didn’t protest when she led me upstairs and put me to bed as though she were the nanny and I was the child.
I didn’t even ask her what had happened to the paisley-printed wallpaper that I’d grown to love; why it had been stripped off, revealing angry blue paint below; and why there were large, plastic-encased tubes of yellow wallpaper resting on my floor. Instead, I let myself drift to sleep.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
THE WALLPAPER WASN’T A DREAM, even though every aspect of my life had begun to feel off-kilter. The wallpaper was there when I woke up at seven A.M. for class. It was in my head so much on the way there, even as I carefully navigated through the dense fog that settled around the city in a cool, misty blanket in the mornings. The wallpaper didn’t go away all day, not as I fidgeted with my coffee cup while my Eighteenth-Century Political Philosophy professor droned on, and definitely not as Morgan passed me a note in Design that read, “U alright? U look like shit. Mani/pedi’s after class?” I was tempted to crumple up the note and ignore it. “No time,” I wrote back instead. “Gotta get back 2 the kids.” She read it and made an annoyed face. And on my phone’s screensaver, the yellow wallpaper flashed and swirled.
My desk was covered with yellow-patterned wallpaper. The classroom began to resemble a yellow prison. Why my room? Had she decided to play some sick mind game with me after she saw what I’d been reading? But why? I felt like I was high, but I hadn’t taken anything. I felt like I hadn’t eaten or slept for weeks. I felt like something had shifted inside me and I was too weak to figure out what it was.
I hadn’t had any texts from Owen all morning. But he had played pirate in Words with Friends. I tried to convince myself that his seventeen-hour silence was normal. I spent a lot of time composing texts and then deleting them instead of listening to the lecture. I drank peppermint tea from a Thermos to stay alert. My hands shook. They were shaking pretty constantly now, because I was always so tired and on edge. I wondered when Owen would text me, and why he hadn’t yet. I wondered if he didn’t think about me as much as I thought about him. I thought he probably didn’t, because if he did then he would have gotten in touch. What if he just thought of me as a little kid he could mess around with and then discard? These thoughts, they crushed me. They wormed their way into my mind and nested there. I decided I wanted Owen to be in love with me. It didn’t really matter whether I was in love with him.
Morgan caught up with me after class. Some other girl—one of her friends, I guessed—loitered awkwardly behind her. She gave me a half smile and hugged her books to her chest. “Dude,” Morgan said, “where have you been? I haven’t seen you in, like, forever.”
“I’ve just been working a lot. Hey.” I nodded my chin at the friend.
“Oh sorry, this is Lily,” Morgan said. “We’re on the pom squad together. I made the pom squad! You should come to a football game, it’s awesome.”
“I don’t know,” I hedged.
“Well, look, whatever,” Morgan said brusquely. “I know you’re busy and all, but I just wanted to tell you about this party we’re hosting at the Pom House on Friday. It’s going to be great, we’re going to have four kegs, there’s going to be tons of cute guys, and I haven’t seen you out all semester. Will you come?”
“Sure,” I said, knowing full well I wouldn’t. I was just so tired lately. “I’ll definitely try.”
“Awesome!” Morgan’s face brightened, like she’d forgiven me for something I didn’t know I’d done. “Gotta fly. Practice. Hey, you should come over early on Friday. We’re doing a pregame at the house.”
“Cool, yeah. I’ll definitely try.” Morgan rolled her eyes at my response.
“Annie, at least pick up your phone once in a while,” she said. And then she was off. Lily gave me a little wave. “Nice meeting you,” she said before tagging along after Morgan, her high-heeled boots clicking lightly on the surface of the sidewalk.
I hadn’t even talked to Morgan in at least a month. It was weird that she was all of a sudden being friendly. And was she pissed at me for not getting in touch with her? Why would I call her when she hadn’t even bothered to call me?
“Morgan!” I shouted after them, and she paused, turning halfway back toward me. I jogged after them to catch up. “Hey, I just—um.” I wanted to ask her why she’d dropped me after Dis-O. In the end, I couldn’t ask.
“Have you done the reading yet for the fem lit unit? In Lit Sem? The Yellow Wallpaper thing?” Morgan looked at me strangely, furrowing her brows.
“I’m not in that class,” she told me. “Sorry.” Then they turned and walked away, leaving me stunned.
• • •
“YOU’VE BEEN SKIPPING A LOT of classes,” Libby pointed out as if it were my fault. As if she hadn’t begged me to skip class here and there to take Zoe to birthday parties or because she had an appointment she “absolutely couldn’t miss,” something that usually wound up being the all-important treatment for her invisible cellulite or laser bikini hair removal. “It would probably be way easier to make friends if you went to school more often.” She didn’t bother looking up from her paperwork. She’d pushed her glasses down to the bridge of her nose and was peering intently at a bunch of forms.
“I just think it might be good for me to get out more,” I said uneasily. I’d decided that maybe Morgan’s party wouldn’t be so bad after all. I was thinking I should make a last-ditch effort at a normal college social life. As Libby talked, I stared at a crack that was beginning to form in the ceiling above her. It looked like water damage. I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed it before. I couldn’t believe Libby hadn’t noticed it yet. “I think I’d be a little less stressed if I started hanging out with more people,” I mentioned. The crack spread from one edge of the molding all the way to the other, almost the whole length of the wall. It had little offshoots, like fingers. The paint bubbled out from under the offshoots in fat white blisters.
“I’m sorry, Nanny, is there something I’m missing?” Libby looked up from her paperwork with a frown. “In the past several weeks, you’ve skipped out on babysitting nine times. Now obviously I’m not blaming you for your calc exam.” She waved one hand dismissively. “That couldn’t be helped. But this whole nutmeg-allergy thing could have been avoided. I mean, really! And is it in my imagination that it occurred when you were out on a date with your boyfriend? Hence, time off? Maybe if you were a little more responsible, these snafus wouldn’t happen! Maybe if you managed your time better . . .” She stopped and took a breath, apparently in an effort to calm herself. I rubbed absently at a smudge on her desk with the corner of my T-shirt. I looked up, and she gave me a hard glare.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked quietly, indicating the stack of papers in front of her. I shook my head. I’d only asked for Friday night off, so I could go to Morgan’s party. Zoe would be in bed anyway, and Walker and Libby had a nonexistent social life. Why was it such a big deal?
“It’s our bills,” she said. “More specifically, your hospital bills. Do you even know how many extra hours you owe us to make up for this?”
I raked my fingers through my hair. She had a point—I’d been nothing but a burden to them since I’d arrived. After they’d gone out of their way to make me feel comfortable. “I’ll make it up to you,” I said. “I’ll figure it out. I’m sorry. I’ll work harder.”
“Nanny, just sit,” she said with a sigh, indicating the damask chair in front of her desk. “There are a couple of things.”
“Okay.” I sat. My headache had already begun to overwhelm me. I’d felt its onset shortly after we’d started discussing the party, and now it was beginning to feel all-consuming.
“First, I’m wondering if you should cut back your hours at school to part-time. Before you protest”—she silenced me with a palm—“just listen to my logic. One, lots of kids can barely manage school without part-time jobs. And the ones who do work usually wait until their senior years, when they have more flexible schedules. Would it be so bad to take an extra year to graduate? It seems like the most logical move to me.” She paused as if to gauge my reaction. Part-time jobs, she’d said. It was laughable; I’d been working full-time hours since the day I’d started, with the exception of the days I’d taken off because of the allergy incident. But I only had one day off per week, normally. And I wasn’t guaranteed to have even that whole day. It was hardly part-time. Which makes her argument all the more valid, the voice inside my head argued.
“I’d have to talk to my professors . . .” I started.
“Fine,” she interrupted. “Whatever works. I’m sure Walker can talk to them, too, if need be. One of his contracts is the new engineering facility. They’re very grateful for his contributions; I’m sure they’d be receptive to our suggestions for your curriculum.” There was something off-putting but also comforting in the way the Cohens were making decisions for me. If I’d had more energy, I might have fought. But there was relief in floating through it, allowing things to happen. The alternative was just too exhausting.
“What else?” I asked. Libby sighed again, rubbing her temples. She got up and filled her electric teakettle with water, pulling a bunch of tea bags from a drawer in her desk.
“It’s Owen,” she said abruptly, just as the water started to boil.
“What about him?” I tried to keep my tone even, not too guarded.
“I’m just not sure he’s good for you.”
“What are you talking about?” I forced out. “He’s my only friend here.”
“Darling,” Libby laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic! And besides, aren’t we friends?” I nodded faintly in response, although I was still confused about that. “I just think he’s taking up what little extra time you should be devoting to your schoolwork. Like you said, you should be leading a normal college life. But also, I feel responsible for you. I can’t imagine what your parents would think if they knew you were having a sexual relationship with someone so much older.”
“He’s only twenty. And we’re not having sex.” I was too thrown by the thrust of her argument to make sense of any of it or even bother to mention that it wasn’t her business either way.
“Then where did these come from?” Libby wanted to know, rummaging in her desk to produce a packet of condoms. “Zoe apparently found these in your room. Thank goodness she’s too young to know what they are. But I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with you bringing strange boys into this house. Around my daughter! How well do we really know him?” My mind felt thick, clogged. I took the condoms from Libby and turned them over in my palm. I’d never even held a pack of condoms before. I was still basically a virgin, if you didn’t count that one mistake with Daniel.
“These aren’t mine. And we haven’t had sex.”
“Well, they’re certainly not ours, if that’s what you’re implying,” Libby said, looking shocked and furious. “Walker and I haven’t had sex for months. Because of the baby,” she clarified. “Not because there’s anything wrong. But even if we were, we certainly wouldn’t be using condoms. We’re trying to build a family.”
“Maybe they’re leftovers,” I suggested. “From before.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Libby snapped. “Take ownership for your mistakes.”
“Libby,” I protested, “I don’t even have a door on my bedroom. How would I be having sex?”
“At his place! In the pool house! In the car! In the myriad of rooms available to you. How should I know? That’s not the point.”
“The point is that they’re not mine,” I tried again.
“Then what’s this?” she asked, producing a receipt from her drawer.
“I have no idea! It’s a receipt from the drug store. How should I know? It could be yours.”
“The credit card number doesn’t match any of our cards,” she informed me. I looked down. The receipt was numbered 6686. I shuffled in my purse for my wallet, pulling out my credit card. The last four digits read 6686. I looked back up at Libby blankly.
“Well?” she wanted to know.
“It matches,” I whispered. The receipt trembled beneath my fingertips. I didn’t remember buying these. But if I didn’t buy them, who had? Libby, in a conspiracy to frame me for . . . sex? That was completely bizarre. None of it made sense.
“Tell me, Nanny. What do you and Owen talk about when you’re together?”<
br />
“I don’t know,” I managed, squirming in my seat. “Just normal things. His family, my family . . .”
“Us?” Libby interjected. “Your life here?”
“Sometimes,” I stammered. “But nothing specific. Just normal things.”
“Do you two talk about me and Walker? Do you laugh about us? Does Owen tell you how mean I am, how you shouldn’t have to put up with it? Does he tell you that you should work less? Is that why you’ve been so lackadaisical lately?”
“What? No,” I insisted. “No! Never.”
“Maybe he wants to get you to quit, to run away with him,” she suggested. “Maybe he tells you he’ll stay with you forever, if you tell him everything.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered. She was speaking so calmly, but her words were shocking and completely unwarranted. The tears were streaming silently down now. There was nothing I could do to stop them.
“I really don’t like living with liars,” Libby said, holding up the condoms. “So I’m going to assume you forgot about buying these. It’s an awfully shaky memory you have, Nanny. I’m starting to wonder whether you weren’t forthright about being up to the task of nannying. I think maybe it’s time we looked into getting you some help.” The wall behind Libby blinked and faded. It was marigold and sunshine and the color of my mother’s wedding ring. And in it were faces. Layered over and over, their mouths gaping as if screaming from under a pool of liquid gold.
“I don’t have a door on my room,” I said finally. “Why are you putting up yellow wallpaper?”
“Nanny!” she snapped. “Focus! What do either of those things have to do with anything?”
“Annie,” I said. “My name is Annie.”
“Which is exactly what I said,” she seethed. “It is exactly what I have always said. I’m starting to think there’s something seriously wrong with you, Nanny. I’m this close to firing you.” She indicated how close between her thumb and forefinger. There was a space wide enough for perhaps a piece of paper to slip through. “I feel like my hands are tied.”
The Ruining Page 14