Page 12 of Foster

I make no promises because I don’t want to get his hopes up, but truth be told, he actually makes me wonder if this is worth further pondering.

CHAPTER 5

Mazzy

My parents’ Mt. Lebanon house is right off Highway19, which runs south out of Pittsburgh. Every time it comes into view, a familiar warmth floods through me. This is where I grew up and where so many good memories were made. Even though I’m living here full time right now until my next nannying job, it’s still special when I see the sloping lawn that rises upward, bordered by a stone retaining wall with colorful summer flowers spilling over the top. It’s always looked to me as if it came straight out of a storybook.

The facade is done completely in warm-toned stone and timber with a steeply pitched gable roof, weathered shingles, a massive chimney and two front-facing dormers. A wide porch stretches across the front with heavy wooden beams supporting a deep overhang. It looks like a whimsical cottage that might be in the middle of a forest with a Disney princess living inside.

It’s always a good time when the Archers get together for my mom’s southern cooking. As much as we grew up enjoying foods from my dad’s Polish side, my maternal grandmother’s influence, we ate chicken and dumplings, collards and corn bread. Our Sunday meal has been going on for as long as I can remember. With my parents’ busy lives, between their careers and raising five kids, Sundays seem to be the only day we can all have quality time together.

I made a late-morning run to the gym and then stopped by the grocery store for my mom on the way home for ice cream to go with the peach cobbler she’s making for dessert.

Tim’s and Brian’s cars are already in the long driveway that curves around the back of the house to the detached garage. Brian followed in my mom’s footsteps and became an engineer. While he has a close relationship with his mother, Brian always seemed to gel with mine just a little more. I think it’s because their brains are similarly wired. Tim went to college to become a landscape architect and works with Dad in the landscaping business. With Tim’s skills and degree, they’ve expanded into more high-end residential homes and he’s the heir apparent… the one who will take over when Dad hangs up his Weed Eater.

Of course, who knows what the younger boys, Landon and Mason, will be, but at twelve and fourteen, they really just want to be boys and play video games and sports.

I park behind Tim’s Ford Bronco and nab the grocery bag as well as my gym bag out of the back. Given the very good money I make, along with having my housing needs covered, I save almost everything I earn, but I do splurge on my gym membership. I showered after my workout, so my mop of auburn curls is still slightly damp.

With everyone home, including Tim’s and Brian’s wives, plus Leo who will be joining us, it’s a bit crowded. Lucky for us, my father built an incredible outdoor living space which is where I’m sure we’ll be eating, around his handmade oak table that seats fourteen.

When I enter the front door, I’m not surprised to find Mason and Landon on the couch playing Gran Turismo on their PlayStation. They don’t even cut me a glance, so intent on their race. Mason’s tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth telling me he’s in full concentration mode. The more competitive of the two boys, he’ll get upset if he loses. Landon, on the other hand, is grinning like a fool as he maneuvers his digitized sports car around the track. The boys sit side by side, nudging each other with their elbows and swaying left and right as their cars bank along the curves.

Grinning, I duck low so as not to obstruct their view of the TV and head into the kitchen where I find the rest of the crew. Mom is at the stove, working small batches of her southern fried chicken. My mouth waters at the heavenly smell of the seasonings and oil. Tim and his wife, Mandy, are at the kitchen island. Mandy is a fitness instructor and I actually go to the same gym where she teaches, although she does group classes and that’s not my jam. Brian and Dad are at the nook table, each kicked back with a beer and laughing about something. Brian’s wife, Susan, comes out of the half bath, nearly running into me.

“Mazzy,” she exclaims, tossing her arms around my shoulders for a quick hug.

“Hey, sis,” I reply, unable to return the embrace because I’m holding a bag in each hand. I lean into her all the same. Susan is a dental hygienist and has the straightest, whitest, most perfect teeth I’ve ever seen. Her smile is wide, like Julia Roberts, and it lights up the room when she turns it on full wattage.

Pulling away, I drop my gym bag at the foot of the staircase that leads up to the bedrooms, intent on carrying it up later. I move to the freezer and deposit the vanilla ice cream, then stuff the plastic bag in the recycling bin.

I take a moment to dole out hugs to Brian, Tim, and Mandy, receive a wink from my dad, and then move to my mom’s side at the stove. I watch silently as she carefully turns the chicken with a pair of tongs. I’ve watched her cook this dozens of times over my life and I have the recipe card, which will pass down to me and the boys at some point, but I’ve never attempted to make this meal. It’s so freaking good and I’m just afraid I’ll never do it justice. Plus, I feel a bit like a fraud since I don’t have pure southern blood the way Mom does.

“How was your workout?” she asks.

“Good.” I reach over to the large platter lined with paper towels where cooked chicken sits cooling. I snag a piece of fried crust that fell off and pop it into my mouth. “What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing,” she says, taking a moment to step back from the stove and bend to peer into the oven at the baking biscuits. “Table’s all set out back and as soon as this last batch of chicken is done, we’re good to go.”

I glance over at the others. Mandy and Susan are deep in discussion and Tim moved over to the table with Brian and Dad. The boys are occupied with their game and Leo will slide in at the last minute, so I use the moment alone with my mom to get her feedback.

“You know I had the interview yesterday with that Titans player, right?”

“Right,” she replies, keeping her eyes focused on the chicken but I can tell I have her full attention. “You thought it was too risky to accept the position because he doesn’t have full custody.”

“Exactly. But I can’t stop thinking about the opportunity and wondering if I should consider it further.”

“You told me the money was much better and he’d pay you a signing bonus. So that’s a consideration. But you also said it would be a bit more demanding of your time.”

That’s a succinct recap of my thoughts on the job. But it isn’t so much what Foster is offering as it is the one little doubt I have about the other job offer. “There’s a bit of a weird vibe coming from the other family.”

“Like what?” Mom asks.

I explain to her the family dynamic. The father is an older man who I’d guess is in his early fifties and he married a very young, very gorgeous woman who I’d say was my age or younger. I’d call her a trophy wife and she’s in fact a model who travels a lot for her work. They just had their baby, but she doesn’t seem to want to raise it. She’ll be gone a lot and I’ll be at home alone with the baby and the father.

Mom glances at me, slight censure in her tone. “You’re not the type to dock a woman for being career oriented. Besides, isn’t that the same scenario with the Titans father?”

“A little,” I concede, trying to articulate the difference. “Except the Titans dad will be gone a lot. But it’s more that the other dad—the older one—makes me a little uncomfortable.”

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