Page 20 of The Single Dad

“Trying on clothes?”

“What kind of clothes?”

I hesitate, then say, “Clothes we’re not going to buy.”

“Clothes we can’t buy,” she corrects. “Clothes we can’t buy because we can’t afford it.”

“I don’t know what that has to do with this,” I say, uncomfortable. I know, realistically, that I would be out of my mind to turn this job down. Still, I can’t help my hesitation.

“If you took that job, and had that salary, you could actually afford nice shit.” Olivia sighs. “You could get ahead. Pay off your loans.”

She shakes her head, and I feel a flash of guilt, realizing that she must be envious.

To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m so hesitant to take this job. It can’t be worse than my position at the restaurant. I finish all of my shifts bone-tired and smelling like fried food, only to come home to a tiny apartment that I’m barely making rent on.

Olivia is right. If I take this job, I actually have a chance to pull myself forward, past this miserable era of my life.

Just last night, I was lying in the bath bemoaning my dead-end job—and then the solution appeared at my door. So what’s holding me back?

I nod reluctantly. “You know what? You’re right.”

“Honestly, I’m happy for you,” Olivia declares, and I can tell that she really means it. Olivia isn’t the type of person to feed me meaningless platitudes. “This is a great break. I wish I could find a good way out like that.”

I frown at her, sympathetic. “Has work been rough lately?”

That’s an almost rhetorical question; of course it has. Olivia has been struggling at work for a long time. She’s an assistant to a high-powered businessman, and is relatively well paid—but nowhere near well enough to make up for the shit she has to put up with. Her boss is a grade-A, certified asshole.

She can’t quit the job, either. She needs it to support her parents. Her father is a full-time caretaker for her mother, whose health has been failing. They get some government assistance, but not enough to live on, so Olivia can’t afford to lose her steady source of income.

“I’m just waiting for something like this,” Olivia says, laughing. “Some wealthy guy to come along and give me an offer I can’t refuse.”

I laugh along with her, fervently wishing that she had gotten this opportunity instead of me. Olivia wouldn’t hesitate to take it—not like I did.

“So,” she says, deftly changing the subject, “what do you think?” She does a little twirl to show off the shirt, which hugs her petite frame.

“It’s cute,” I say.

She hums in agreement. “I’ll say. I like your cardigan, too.” She flashes me a sly wink. “The kind of thing I’m gonna persuade you to buy after a few months of working for your handsome stranger.”

I glance at my reflection in the three-sided mirror behind me. “I don’t know. It’s not very comfortable.”

“Well, why don’t we get out of here, and head next door?” Olivia suggests. “We’ll find you a more comfortable top to throw on the discard pile.”

“Sounds great,” I say, smiling. We leave our clothes in the return bin, heading back out of the shop. As we step out onto the street, the cold wind hitting our faces, I’ve finally convinced myself fully to accept the job from Cole.

After window shopping for a while longer, Olivia and I say our goodbyes, and I head home. Back in my apartment, I lounge on the couch for a while, staring at Cole’s business card. My fingertips trace the embossed letters. I can’t help but wonder if this is all an elaborate prank; what if I call him and end up on some radio show?

Eventually, I dig my phone out of my pocket, sigh, and type in the number on the card. It rings three times before Cole picks up.

“Cole Sullivan,” he says. It’s a short greeting, almost cold.

“Cole? Er—Mr. Sullivan? I mean… sorry, um, Mr. Sullivan.” I kick myself for the clumsy opening. In my head, I’ve been calling him Cole, but there’s something very official about the business card and the way he answered the phone that reminds me that this is a professional relationship.

“Yes?” I can practically picture his arched eyebrow. He sounds thoroughly unamused.

“This is Riley Winters. You came by my apartment a couple of days ago to offer me a nanny position.”

“I remember. Have you made your decision?” He seems awfully businesslike for a call about something like this—something so familial.

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