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I’m nodding at each bullet point, checking them off in my head one by one, like I’ve done a hundred times since we first sat down with Dexico.
When I’m in front of Isabel, I tap her nose with a smile and lift a spoon of banana to her mouth, which is the absolute worst thing I could do. She arches her back with a grunt of irritation and turns away from the hand I’m trying to feed her with.
“Nononono, Mama.”
“Uhh, maybe I should call you back,” Elliot, the ever helpful assistant he is, knows how to read a room. It’s one of the reasons I hired him.
By the shade of my toddler’s face, that’s probably for the best. She’s about to turn this peaceful protest into a roaring riot. A blitzkrieg of fury over the most innocent of the utensils—the spoon.
“No,” I snap, then a seed of remorse plants itself on my tongue. The shitstorm brewing isn’t Elliot’s fault. I deliberately temper my voice. “Thank you, but I’ll call you.” I’m about to say something pleasant when my daughter’s face pinches, telling me that her eruption is imminent. “Be on standby.” I hit end and right on time too.
Isabel’s shrieking emits at a hundred and thirty decibels, and is only increasing by the second.
They say tantrums are a form of expression, the only way children know how to show their frustration, but it’s hard to remember patience when I already know this is going to be a long morning. On days like these, I feel like I’m being ripped apart in two very different directions—the need to stay with my daughter and the need to make sure the ship I’m running stays tight.
When I pick up my screeching child, she pushes backwards, almost flinging herself out of my arms. “Mama, maaam. Nooo!”
Working from home isn’t ideal because it’s hard to think about proposals when I have an active toddler throwing food and tantrums. I need some assistance, which is why I’m meeting a child caregiver from Child Care Connection. They are number one in their industry, and their charges get into the best kindergartens. It’s child care and tutoring all in one. And that’s what I love about it—its efficiency.
The new nanny can’t get here fast enough. Though I’m not one to admit I need help, the kicking and screaming Tasmanian devil in my arms proves I’ve got some limitations.
“Shhh, baby girl.” I try my damnedest to be calm and speak low into her ear, but it doesn’t matter. My child can feel the tension rolling off my body, like thermal waves do off asphalt.
My breaths catch in my chest as thoughts race in my head. I have to make sure this proposal is perfect so Dexico will have no choice but to sign the contract. We have to get this deal. Once the ink has dried, the threat of laying people off will drift away like a bad storm.
I also have to make sure I don’t neglect my daughter in the process. None of this will matter if she resents me as she gets older.
There are so many duties on this long list of “have to”. My heart is hollow while my brain is overwhelmed with commitments. Each task is a brick, building a wall between who I am—a competitive player in the business world—and who I want to be—an attentive mother to my child, who deserves the best parts of me. With each layer added, the weight of responsibility sits heavier on my chest.
I slide to the floor, daughter in hand, and give her my phone to play with, hoping it distracts her out of this meltdown. Isabel continues her tornadic activity while I try to rock her and calm this storm. If I had the capacity to cry, I would. Since I don’t, I stare at the wall, unblinking and numb.
I wish Brad were here with all his cool and charm. He never buckled under pressure, and it would be nice to have some semblance of support.
As soon as that thought enters my brain, another one takes its place. Only, it’s a memory. The kind that stabs you in the gut and makes you bleed out slowly, until you’re painfully drained and left with nothing but flesh and misery.
My eyes burn. Before I can muster a glimmer of humanity, the doorbell rings.
“Thank Goddess.” I set my daughter on the floor.
Her shrieks turn into hiccups as she focuses on the device in her tiny hands. This should keep her occupied long enough for me to greet our visitor, but as soon as she realizes I’m not next to her, she wails again.
Sliding my eyes shut to block out the need to run to her, I open the door, expecting to find the experienced child caregiver I hired on the other side, but I get something else entirely.
A man-boy stands in front of me. He looks like he’s some kind of Boy Scout. A messy-haired one, like he couldn’t be bothered to sit still while his mother tried and failed to comb his locks. Tilting his head, his floppy dark hair falls to one side. He’s wearing olive wool pants and a white button-up. All he’s missing is a khaki shirt with patches.
But the more I size him up, the more I realize—by the defined angle of his jaw—he’s definitely all man. A man scout maybe? Is that even a thing?
I wonder if he has cookies. Damn, what I wouldn’t give for a goddamn sleeve of Thin Mints right now. Or is that the wrong troop?
Whatever he is, he’s got to go.
“Oh, um, I wasn’t expecting any deliveries today.” Checking the watch on my wrist, I dismiss the Boy Scout crowding my front stoop. “I’m sorry. I have a meeting, and I’m waiting for—”
“A nanny?” He peers at me with warm umber irises and a smile. His voice makes me squirm, vibrating from my stomach to my knees and making them shaky. It’s rough and deep, a rumble of thunder before the loud crack.
It’s been a long time since a man’s baritone has affected me this much. Too long. While my daughter’s sorrowful hiccupping chirps behind me, the timber of his voice silences everything else.
I don’t like it. Not at all. It’s dangerous, attractive, and the very last thing I need in my life—a big ol’ distraction.
