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Isabel takes one look at me and starts crying. As high-pitched as a fire alarm, she starts screaming, “Hulk!” Only it sounds like “fuck” because she can’t pronounce her Ls.
Oh, hell, I didn’t realize I’d scare her off too. Running over, I go to pick her up.
She starts screaming bloody murder. “Fuck! Fuck! Noooo!”
“Hey, baby, it’s okay. It’s Mommy.”
Her panic only escalates. “Mama fuuuck.”
“Okay, Isa-bea. That’s enough of that. Mommy’s wearing a Hulk mask, that’s all. She’s playing a game.” Remi gives me a full body scan. “A really funny game. But she doesn’t scare us, right?” He winks at me like he knows exactly what I’m doing. “We’re tough.”
I can tell my baby is terrified, but she’s trying to put on a brave front for Remi.
“Remi’s right. Mommy’s just playing.”
She points an accusing finger toward me. “Don yike fuck, mommy. No fuck.”
Girl, I’m trying to “no fuck”. Will you work with me here?
Remi is holding her away from me. “Queeny, you might want to wash your face before you scare our baby any more here.”
Our baby?
The mayhem that has been spinning around the room comes to a screeching halt. Nothing moves. Not my stare, my limbs, nor my heart. “What did you just say?” I need him to clarify. Why would he say such a thing?
He closes his eyes and deflates, confirming my suspicion. “I just meant the baby in the room. She’s not mine—I know that.” Setting her back in her high chair, he straps her in. “Shit.”
“You sword, Emmie. Ssit,” she repeats, thrusting her hand out for her reward.
With a nervous laugh, he pulls out his phone and a dollar, handing it to her. Her tears dry, and she’s no longer swearing in my direction.
Then Remi is on me. His hand is at my elbow, pulling me away from the kitchen.
Dried avocado and oatmeal start peeling off my face, and a piece lands in my eye. “Ow, crap.” I really didn’t think this through.
Lifting a finger, he swipes up goop off my eye and pries my lid open to assess the damage. “Look, I know what that sounded like, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Helping me up the steps, we go into the spare bath, which I’ve renamed to “Cinema Show-er”. “Let’s get you washed up before you go blind. Isabel’s already going to have nightmares.” Remi grabs a towel, wets it, and gets in really close.
When I can finally see, I notice red blotches all over the manny’s face. Then he starts coughing … and doesn’t stop.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong? Are you choking?”
“Mustard,” he wheezes out.
“What about it?”
“Allergic.”
Christ, I only meant to deter him, not kill him.
“Oh no. Do you need an ambulance?!” I’m freaking out because I’m swimming in uncharted territory. Is he hive-slash-cough allergic or anaphylaxis allergic? These are things I need to know. My face is streaked green and it smells putrid because of the raw egg, and I’m running around in circles because I have no idea what to do. “Please don’t die on me. You’re too pretty to die.”
I make Remi swallow Benadryl, drag him down the stairs, and call an ambulance. All the while Isabel is chatting into Remi’s phone, oblivious to the fact that I’m murdering her nanny.
Two hours later, Isabel is down for her nap, I’ve changed back into normal-people clothes, and Remi is resting in the guest bedroom.
“Knock, knock.” I tap on the door frame. I know I’m going back on my plan, but I almost killed the man … again.
“Don’t come any closer, you. First you tried to poison me, then you head-butt me, and now you tried to kill me. I didn’t realize you were a psychopath when I started.”
