AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Seeing her on my step, shrinking away like a scared little girl had me certain there was no way she could handle my household. But the second I challenged her; she stood up for herself and had a good reason for walking away.
She is right; both of us see our time as valuable, and wasting time wouldn't be in anyone's best interest. Of course, it wasn't just her words, but the way she'd said them, with her shoulders square and her chin up and her fists almost balled up at her sides as if she was daring me to stop her.
And I admit, my first impression of her had clearly been wrong. She'll fit right in, after all.
Now, as she steps in front of me across the threshold of my home, I take in her features. She’s beautiful, but in a very understated, clean way. I can see a touch of makeup to accentuate her dark blue eyes, a hint of color to hide the paleness of her skin and the dark waves of her hair harshly pulled back into a ponytail, but left free to flutter in loose ribbons down her back.
She continues to walk past me, accepting my open, outstretched hand gesture as an invitation to walk deeper into my home - which it is - I take in her skirt, blouse, and smart shoes. The skirt seems to fit just a little bit too tight, the blouse is too loose, and the shoes don't quite match the outfit. I doubt any of them are the expensive brands that I'm used to having, but I'm not about to hold that against her.
Given how difficult - damn near impossible, actually - it is for me to find help, I'm not about to disqualify someone based on their financial status. Still, every detail I can glean about her gives me more insight to who she is and whether or not she is safe around my daughter.
Of course, I did a full background check on her, but there's only so much a background check can show. References are garbage. Of course. Any name she gives me is going to be someone who's going to sing her praises, but the people that I talked to that she didn't give me as references also had the same nice things to say about her.
She smiles at me over her shoulder, and I find that expression alluring and a bit alarming because I know she doesn't intend it as a flirtatious gesture, but it sure as hell feels like one. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Thorpe.”
I want to warn her not to get comfortable. No one ever lasts at this job. I know that she came to me via a friend of hers who had already worked here, one Everly Paige. I don't remember Miss Paige all that well, but I know she didn't last long.
I dip my head in acknowledgement of her compliment. “Thank you.” I'm not unused to people complimenting my home, my taste, my things, but she might be the first person who has ever said the words in a genuine tone that holds no hint of envy.
As we walk into the sitting room I prepare myself for the inevitable moment when she storms out of my house, frustrated and angry, refusing to take the job. If she actually agrees to take the job, I will be very, very surprised. And I can't imagine she'll last any longer than the rest of the women who've tried to nanny for my daughter.
My daughter isn't the problem, and I'll readily admit that I'm the issue.
I'm mired down, stuck in a rut, unable to escape the dynamic that my daughter and I have cultivated over the last four years since her mother died. My household is toxic, and no one can stand it for long. No one can get through to my daughter, and I can't seem to fix my troubled ways even with therapy and help. Every new thing I try works for a little while, but then eventually stops working and things go back to the way they were before.
“So where would you like to start?” She perches on the edge of a leather seat, and I take a spot on the couch, very aware of what will happen next, but unable - or unwilling - to warn her.
“I've already looked over all of your qualifications. You passed the background check and the only thing left to do is for you to meet Azura.” Her eyes widen in surprise. But I'm charging forward like a bull, and there's no way I'm going to stop now. I might as well sever things quickly if that's the way this meeting is doomed to end. After all, we've both agreed our time is valuable and we won't waste a second. I glance over my shoulder and raise my voice. “Azura, honey, will you come out here, please?”
Only the quiet answers me, at first.
Then I hear her stomping up the hardwood hallway right toward us.
Even though I don't look her direction, I can feel Thea tense up as Azura storms into the room.
She stops short when she sees a stranger in the room and crosses her arms, her stance tight and angry. “What?” My daughter says the word to me, completely ignoring Thea, and I can see the storms in her vivid green eyes that are so like her mother’s.
“This lovely lady's name is Thea. She's here to be your new nanny. I'd like you to meet her.” I try to keep my words as calm as possible, but I can hear the undertone of my own frustration. Frustration that my daughter would be so rude to me and to Thea. Her mother and I both taught her better.
Azura's nostrils flare, and I can feel her temper tantrum building before it begins. She doesn't so much as look at Thea. Instead, she stomps her foot, all of her rage aimed at me, as she begins to melt down.
“I don't want a new nanny.”
I glance at Thea out of the corner of my eye, expecting her to flinch away from the words, but instead, she seems to be watching witha calm, composed expression.
That's a first; every potential nanny has always taken my daughter’s words to heart and very, very personally. I've tried to talk to Azura about being kind, but she just doesn't hear me. Maybe it's my own fault for having difficulty being kind when she behaves this way.
“That's not very nice, Azura.” I hear the warning edge of my own voice, and know that things are only going to escalate from here. These power struggles are just a part of our everyday life now, and I don't know how to avoid them. Azura acts out. I react to her bad behavior; it devolves to a screaming match. Then we both go away angry. She's only eight, but like her mother, she knows exactly what buttons of mine to push to start a fight.
“I don't care. I don't want a new nanny.” She finally turns her attention to Thea, who's still watching, with a very calm expression. “You hear that? I don't want you here. I don't want you to be my nanny. I don't want you around. I don't like you. Go away.” My daughter's fists are balled up at her sides and rage leaves her tiny body shaking.
“Azura, you don't talk to people that way. That is very rude.” I can feel my own frustration at my daughter and the situation rising. “You apologize to Miss Thea right now.”
But my daughter shakes her head, her fists tightening. “I won't say sorry because I'm not sorry. I don't want her here. Tell her to leave now, Dad.”
And here we are again, caught in this endless cycle, this endless power struggle where neither of us can talk to one another without the conversation turning into a fight. We could be talking about what we're having for dinner or where we're going to go next time we go out, or what she'd like to do today... this is always the outcome.
“I'm not going to tell her to leave. I asked her to come over because I'd like her to be your nanny.” In all honesty, I'm surprised that Thea hasn't already walked out. “Now you need to show some respect or go to time out.”
