Page 23 of The Single Dad

You’ll do a good job, I tell myself. That kid needs you. Archie may be surrounded by wealth and luxury, things I never had as a child, but Mr. Sullivan is also clearly too busy to give him everything he needs.

Just like I was, he’s a kid in need of attention. I can fill that gap.

I slide out of bed, putting on slippers as I shuffle to the bathroom to wash my face and get ready for the day. It’s almost seven-thirty by the time I’m dressed and ready to go, and I feel a little burst of nerves; Mr. Sullivan never told me what time to be up. What if it was supposed to be earlier?

I head downstairs, toward the noises I can hear from the kitchen. I’m expecting to see a housekeeper in there, or maybe a personal chef. But when I enter the kitchen, Mr. Sullivan is there, an apron tied around his waist, tending a pan of sizzling bacon.

I manage to hide my surprise. He turns as I enter the kitchen, greeting me with a nod. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I echo, a little awkwardly. This is such a familiar-seeming morning ritual that I can’t help but feel that I’m invading his space.

But Mr. Sullivan doesn’t seem to mind my presence. And why would he? He asked me to be here. I remind myself that I’ll have to get used to it.

I sit at the counter on the center island, folding my arms on the granite surface.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asks, not looking up from the stove. “I’ve got Ethiopian and Costa Rican blends. I can make you a cappuccino, a latte—anything you want.”

At first, I’m tempted to just ask for something simple—black coffee, none of the works. But then I see the espresso machine in the corner and sigh. It’s my first day on the job. If I want to get used to the way things are in Mr. Sullivan’s house, I might as well dive in headfirst.

“A latte sounds amazing,” I say. “Thank you. And, um… I can’t tell the difference between different coffee beans, so whatever’s easiest.”

He nods, flipping the bacon in the pan, and moves over to the coffee maker, untying the twine from a burlap bag tucked in the corner. The earthy scent of coffee fills the kitchen.

It only takes him a couple of minutes to make the latte. He hands it to me, and I smile at him in thanks. There’s a stiff foam at the top of the mug. The latte itself is delicious—maybe those fancy coffee beans actually do make a difference.

“There’s some bacon here, and I’ve got bagels in the toaster,” he says, turning back to the stove. “Do you have any allergies?”

“Not that I know of,” I joke, trying to get him to crack a smile. He doesn’t, but he does hand me a plate of hot food, which will have to suffice.

As I’m digging into breakfast, Archie wanders into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Mr. Sullivan’s eyes soften when he sees the boy, and he turns to the door.

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “You want some breakfast?”

Archie nods, but his gaze is fixed on me. He looks a little nervous, and doesn’t say anything, which makes me nervous.

Mr. Sullivan doesn’t seem to notice. He fixes Archie a plate for breakfast, seating him at the table behind the island. Archie starts to eat, and Mr. Sullivan comes back over to me.

“So, let me fill you in on the schedule,” he says. “Archie has pre-K several days a week, so you’ll be responsible for taking him there and back. It starts at nine, and pickup is at noon. You’ll also be responsible for meals, bedtimes, and downtime—keeping him occupied, playing, stuff like that.”

Mr. Sullivan pauses, as if waiting for me to ask a question. I nod emphatically, and he seems satisfied.

“Do you have a smartphone?” he asks.

I pull it out of my pocket, setting it on the table.

“If it’s alright, I’d like you to install the Find-A-Friend app on there,” he says. “Just so that I can find you while you’re out with Archie if I need to.”

“That’s fine,” I reply, tapping at my phone to download the app. It makes sense that he would want to know where his kid is during the day.

“Perfect,” says Mr. Sullivan, seeming relieved that the minutiae is out of the way. He looks over at Archie. “You’re gonna be a good boy, right, Archie? A model citizen?”

Archie nods, still not saying anything. He glances at me shyly, uncertain.

“We’re going to have tons of fun,” I say, grinning at him. I hope he’ll open up to me, but he’s nervous. He drops his gaze as I make eye contact with him. I can feel Mr. Sullivan watching us carefully.

My doubts from earlier this morning come surging back. What am I doing? I don’t know how to be a nanny!

“I’d better get going,” says Mr. Sullivan. “I’m supposed to be in a meeting by nine. All of the other instructions are typed out in the sheet on the counter.” He nods toward the granite countertop, where there’s a laminated paper. “Call me if you need anything.” He turns to Archie and smiles. “See you later, little man.”

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