Page 16 of Griffin

I haven’t considered a nanny, but it seems like a good idea. But I can’t trust anyone, so let’s see how Ivy gets on first. I know how difficult Melody can be.

If it’s not food, it’s textures, and seams in socks. The same bedtime story every night. Tears if things don’t go right. It’s exhausting.

I wash up, and Melody runs upstairs to show Ivy where Pup will be sleeping. After I clear the table, Ivy walks back down with a massive grin.

“Oh, Griffin, I know the circumstances aren’t great…but it’s nice to have her here.”

I wipe down the table, glancing up at her.

“I know. It’s just hard, that’s all.”

Ivy’s lips part as she sighs.

“It can’t be easy. But honestly … ” She bites her lip and looks up at me through her dark lashes. “I would rather be here with Melody than anywhere else. So let me help you. If it doesn’t work out, there are no hard feelings.”

I drop the rag back into the sink and nod.

“I guess. I’m grateful, Ivy.”

Ivy gazes at me for a beat before a flush rises in her cheeks.

“It’s no problem, Griffin.”

6

IVY

The next day I rise early, my mind on Griffin and Melody. We haven’t agreed on a start date, but the thought of a sleepy five-year-old yawning her way through breakfast makes me want to run over there.

Instead, I shower and get dressed, making my way into the kitchen.

Dad’s up, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the news. His eyebrows furrow as the weatherman predicts a hotter-than-normal week, and I groan internally.

It is becoming unbearable, this stupid heat. Even now, a bead of sweat runs down my back, and I’ve just showered.

“Morning, Daddy,” I say with a grin, pouring myself a coffee.

“Hey, baby. You’re up early; I thought you were off today?” Dad doesn’t move his gaze from the TV and therefore doesn’t see me smile.

“No, you’re right. It’s my day off.”

Dad finally looks up at me when I slump beside him, sipping my coffee.

“What the hell are you doing up so early then? It’s barely six.”

I chew on my lip before making eye contact with him.

“Well, I’m thinking of getting up this early every day.”

Dad watches me, perplexed.

“Is this another exercise regimen?” He grimaces, knocking back his coffee.

“No. That was a thirty-day shred,” I protest.

“A load of shit, that’s what it was.”

I snort into my coffee.

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