by Meg Ripley
“It is.” Nikki took the container back. “She needs someone to talk to. I’m sure you remind her of her mom in some ways. You’re there every day, making sure she gets to school, does her homework, eats, bathes and all that. She needs that sort of caregiver, and I don’t think Conner is able to be that yet. Do you?”
“I’ve tried to make suggestions to guide him. Like, ‘Hey Conner, why don’t you and Peyton go wait for the bus at the end of the driveway together?’ Little ways he can spend time with her and show her he cares. But he usually just says that he wants to do things how they’ve always been done. I guess he’s trying to keep things as consistent as possible.”
Nikki sighed. “He’s clueless. And it might be doing more damage. Things will never be the same for Peyton. How can he not get that?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to reach through to him. He needs time, too, and I get that. But I think we’re getting somewhere. It’s been, what, almost three months now, and he’s finally starting to treat me like a person instead of hired help. He’s been…nicer. It’s been slow going, but he’s just a tiny bit nicer every day.” I took the ice cream container back and stuffed another spoonful in my mouth.
“Good. He’s seeing someone, isn’t he?”
“What?” My heart lurched, and I was surprised at my reaction. “Oh, I don’t know. Is he? He hasn’t brought anyone home or mentioned anyone.”
Nikki raised her eyebrows and set down the container. “Whoa. Okay, what did you think I meant? Seeing someone like a girlfriend?”
My face felt hot, and I tried to play it off like nothing. “Isn’t that what you meant?”
“No. I meant seeing a therapist. To deal with all this.”
“Oh. He said something about that, yeah. Peyton’s been going every week and they have a session coming up where he’ll be going with her. I think that will be good for them both.”
Nikki sat back and crossed her arms. “What I really want to talk about is the way you reacted when you thought he was dating someone.”
“I was just surprised because he never said anything, and he doesn’t seem…ready for that.”
“You have feelings for him,” she accused.
“I do not!” But even I heard the panic in my voice. “He’s my boss, Nikki.”
“Exactly. Your super-hot boss who pays you to basically be his wife.”
“He does not! I’m there for Peyton, and that’s it.”
Nikki gave a smug smile. “Are you still applying at other places?”
“No,” I admitted. “But only because it’s been going really well. Like I said, the pay is good, and things are getting better, and I…I feel like they need me.”
“Oh, god.” She shook her head.
“What!”
“You totally want him.”
“I do not.” I took the ice cream and refused to give it back until I’d finished it off.
“I don’t blame you. I knew him before all this happened, and he was a great guy. He’d actually be good for you.”
I shook my head. “He is not my type at all, and again, he’s my boss. I don’t want to get mixed up in something like that, and I think it would confuse Peyton.”
“So, you have thought about it.”
I let my head fall back and growled in frustration. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say it!” Just like she used to do when we were kids, she started tickling my ribs—which I hated.
“Okay! Okay!” I squealed. “I’ll admit it! He’s fucking hot!”
She sat back down with a satisfied smile. “I knew it.”
“Doesn’t change anything.”
“Maybe not. But maybe it will. You never know.”
“I just wish I knew how to help them both better. I’m a teacher, not a psychologist. I just feel like I could be doing more.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Nikki patted my hand. “They both have therapists for that, and it’s not your job. You’re there to take care of Peyton. And maybe Conner a little, too, but who’s keeping track?”
I rolled my eyes. “Nannies do that. They take care of the household.”
“Not as much as you do. You’re like his housekeeper and nanny in one. I mean, it’s like you’re his wife already, so you might as well sleep with the guy and get the full benefit.”
“God, would you let it go already?” I slapped her arm.
She laughed. “Just saying.”
“Well, I’m done with this conversation.” I got up and threw out the ice cream container, then dropped the spoon in the sink. “I’m off to bed.”
“Have sweet dreams!” she called to me. Then added, “About Conner!”
I tried to put her words out of my head as I dressed for bed, but I couldn’t. Most of them were true, and that was why the whole thing bothered me so much. I did like him. He’d become a lot more pleasant to be around over the last few weeks, and I began to actually look forward to seeing him. I tried to talk to him and take care of him the best I could, which, yes, did involve more housework than I initially signed up for, but it was my choice. I had student loans to pay, and the extra cash he offered for doing his laundry and mopping the floor made it well worth it.
But there were days, especially when I folded his boxer briefs and tucked them away in his drawer, that things felt a little…intimate. Maybe too much so. I felt like a wife in some ways: taking care of Peyton, preparing dinner, looking out for Conner, cleaning up…but for as much as I did around the house, any emotional connection with Conner was nonexistent. He didn’t talk to me like a girlfriend, or even like a close friend. More like a coworker that he spent a lot of time with and got to know by proxy.
And of course, there was zero physical interaction between us. He didn’t even seem to like it if I casually touched his arm as we spoke. The first time he’d yanked his arm back from me, I’d learned to give him more personal space. I didn’t know if he just didn’t like being touched or it was related to his PTSD, but I wasn’t about to ask.
It’s just a job, I told myself as I slid into bed. Just a job that I’m doing for the time being. I wanted to make sure Peyton would be okay and that they were settled. Maybe one day, I’d move on and find something in the teaching field, but right then, I was happy to take care of them and feel needed.
11
Conner
From the moment I woke up, I couldn’t deny the date. As much as I tried to put it out of my head and not think about it, I couldn’t. There was a notification on my phone. It was marked there on the family calendar hanging in the kitchen.
That morning, I hadn’t said much at breakfast. Jessie had made pancakes, but I’d only been able to get down a bite. When she asked, I assured her they tasted fine and that my stomach was just upset. Of course, then she’d gone off to get me some antacids and a glass of water. I drank it, chewed the chalky tablets and thanked her, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to quell the wrenching ache in my gut; it was the familiar, deep down in my bones, surging through every part of me ache that nothing would fix.
Except maybe some vodka—and I made sure I had plenty around for the occasion. I’d been doing a little better, drinking less week by week. But that night? Not a fucking chance.
I checked in with Mason, as was my normal morning ritual. As usual, he answered my text with, “Nothing new. Sorry.” All their leads had dried up. They were useless, as far as I was concerned.
The conclave wasn’t much better. When we’d gone to talk with them, they were deeply concerned. They had representatives in the area who would be doing their own investigation, but they hadn’t accomplished much, either. It seemed that everyone was content to just let it go and move on with life. Everyone except me and Peyton. We were stuck in the misery of missing two people no one seemed to give a damn about.
I made it through the day in a daze. The only mission we’d had during my shift was a simple one: rescuing a boy who got himself stuck in a tree. I watched as Jamari climbed the ladder to br
ing him down and made sure the EMTs were on their way to treat his wounds.
When I got home that evening, Peyton had already finished her homework and was playing a game with Jessie while dinner was in the oven. Even if I didn’t think I could eat, I appreciated how good it smelled. I’d gladly pay extra if it meant she’d keep making amazing meals like she had been. They greeted me with a hello, but I walked straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, gulping it down before Jessie came into the kitchen.
“I have some chicken baking,” she said.
I nodded and poured myself a drink with a lot of vodka and a splash of orange juice. “I don’t think I’m going to eat, but thank you.”
“Oh.” With concerned eyes, she watched me down a huge gulp of the drink, then top it off with more vodka. “Are you okay? You seem…out of it today.”
“I’m fine.”
Did she not bother to check the calendar? Did she have no idea what day it was?
“Well, I’ll let you know when dinner is ready in case you change your mind.”
I nodded and took my drink to the bedroom so I could be alone. I’m sure she judged me or thought I was an asshole, but I didn’t care. I turned on the TV and flipped though the channels until I found something that occupied enough of my attention.
Jessie knocked on my door a little later. “Dinner is ready. Do you want to come eat?”
“Nah,” I muttered.
“Do you want me to bring you a plate?”
“No, I’m good.”
I heard her walk away and felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t her fault; apparently, she didn’t realize what was going on. Whatever, I breathed, swigging back another gulp.
I hadn’t been paying much attention to the time, so I was surprised it had gotten so late when Jessie knocked again.
“Is it okay if Peyton comes in to say goodnight?” Jessie asked.
I groaned but pulled myself out of bed, stumbling to the door, and opened it. Peyton stood there, looking a little shy. I bent down to hug her and kiss the top of her head.
“Night, honey,” I slurred.
She answered with a sweet little, “Night,” and turned to take Jessie’s hand. They walked toward Peyton’s bedroom, and I closed the door.
Seeing them walk away like that gave me a sudden pang of loneliness. What the fuck was I doing? I wanted to be with them, but more than that, I wanted to be part of the relationship they were building together; not just the third-wheel drunk uncle who couldn’t take care of his niece.
As wasted as I was, it hadn’t dulled the pain; it flared in me hot and demanding. I heard the door to Peyton’s bedroom close and the thought of Jessie leaving, of being alone in the house with Peyton sleeping, choked me. I struggled to suck in a breath and hurried to open my door.
Jessie turned to me and we looked at each other for a long moment.
“Um, did she get to bed okay?” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Yeah, she’s okay, I think. We talked some.”
My eyebrows drew together. “Is something wrong?”
She glanced toward Peyton’s door and I realized we were probably talking a little too loudly. She motioned for me to join her in the living room, and I waited for her to turn around before I moved down the hall so that she wouldn’t have to see me stumble.
I sat beside her on the couch and waited for her to speak.
“Peyton was a little sad today because it’s her dad’s birthday. I’d seen it weeks ago on the calendar, but I thought it was better not to bring it up. I wasn’t sure what it would be like for either of you, to be honest, and I didn’t want to make it worse. But, this morning she told me and said she was going to draw him a picture at school.”
“Did she?” I asked, my voice breaking and my throat thick. She had noticed after all; she’d known the whole time.
“She did. It was very sweet. She was…” Jessie scratched her neck and looked down.
“What?”
“She wanted to take it to his grave today. But it seemed like you needed some space, and I didn’t want to bother you with it. I didn’t think it was really my place to take her, either, so I said that maybe we could talk to you and see if you could go this week some time.”
I put my head in my hands, but it was the wrong move. A wave of nausea rushed over me and I hurried to the kitchen; there’s no way I would have made it to the bathroom. I threw up in the trash and when I lifted my head again, I found Jessie holding a glass of water out to me.
“Thanks.” I took it and drank it too fast.
“Do you want me to heat up some of the chicken? It can’t be good for you to have been drinking all night on an empty stomach.”
I wanted to hate her for it. I wanted to scream at her to get away from me and never come back. I wanted to stop her from caring. Instead, I nodded once, numbly, and sat hard at the kitchen table to watch her pull the food out of the fridge and prepare it for me. I ate slowly, and by the time I’d finished and she took my plate, I was already feeling a little more sober.
“Thank you,” I said. “It definitely helped buffer the vodka.”
She chuckled. “I guess that’s good. Unless you were trying to numb your pain.”
“That’s what I’m always trying to do.”
She gave me a sad smile. “I’m sorry that there’s so much of it.”
“Me, too.” I looked at her for a long while, then dared to ask her what I’d been longing to. “Will you…stay a little while? I…I don’t want to be alone right now.”
She pulled her lower lip into her mouth. “Sure, I could stay for a little longer.”
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I pulled a bottle of my favorite red from the cabinet.
“Are you sure you should…?”
I paused for a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Iced tea?”
“Perfect.”
I poured two glasses and handed her one. I tapped mine to hers and said, “To the best nanny on the planet.”
She smiled shyly and looked down. “Thanks. I don’t really have any experience, so it’s good to know that I’ve been helpful.”
“You have been. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I think it’s pretty obvious that I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Kids aren’t all that hard. You just have to be in the present with them.”
“And I’m not.” I walked into the living room and flopped down on the couch. She followed and sat beside me.
“You’ve been through a lot, and having Peyton is a big adjustment in your life. I haven’t known you that long, but…I’m sure with your therapist and everything, you’re making progress.”
I laughed. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Well, honestly, I don’t.” She sighed. “I just…never know what to say to you. I’m certainly no therapist. I was taught how to connect with kids in school. But when it comes to men, I just don’t—”
“I’m sure you were able to connect with boyfriends that you’ve had.”
“I haven’t really had any.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Don’t do that innocent little schoolgirl act where you pretend to be all pure and innocent.”
Her face grew redder than I’d ever seen it. I felt the embarrassment like hot fire run up my chest. God, could I say anything right to her?
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean…it’s just that…you’re so…”
“Naive?” she offered.
“That’s not what I was going to say. Beautiful. Selfless. Caring. Surely, someone in your life noticed and tried to get close to you. You must’ve had boys falling all over you.”
“I have had dates. And I guess I could’ve called a boy or two from high school ‘boyfriends.’ But I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. In college, I studied hard and was the boring girl who would rather read than party. Sorry. It’s lame, I know.”
“I’m just surprised that no one tried to ask you out.”
/> She shrugged. “When you stay in your dorm room and don’t go anywhere except class, you don’t meet people easily. I only went on a few dates. But why are we talking about this?”
“I didn’t mean to bring it up. It just illustrates my point that I can’t effectively connect with not only kids, but anyone. I’m always putting my foot in my mouth.”
She took a sip of iced tea and gave me a sympathetic smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid.” But at least then I knew she was single.
“How’s today been?” she asked.
“Difficult. Mostly a blur.”
“Does it help? To drink it away like that?”
“For a time. But it always fades. Then the pain is usually worse.”
“Why do you do it?”
I gave a half smile. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Is therapy helping? I’d think talking about it would make it better.”
“Why do people always think that?” I challenged. “Talking about it makes it more real, and that usually makes it more painful. After therapy, the pain is so much worse.”
“But doesn’t it help in the long run?”
“Doesn’t seem to.”
“Then why do you keep going?”
“I don’t know what else to do.” I set down my glass and ran my fingers through my hair. “Therapy, medication, self-medication. What else is there?”
“Having fun, spending time with friends and family, finding a purpose in life.”
“Purpose.” I huffed. “Who on this planet has managed to find that?”
“Lots of people.”
“Have you?”
She took a moment to respond. “Partially, I think. I got into teaching because I wanted to change lives and help kids—that’s a purpose. I’m trying to do that now with Peyton.”
“Maybe that’s my problem. I’m not living for much.”
We continued to talk, getting deeper and deeper. Deeper than I had gone with anyone in a long time, including my therapist. By the time Jessie looked at her phone, it was already 5am.