Page 12 of The Nanny Next Door

“Hi, Olivia,” I said, kneeling to her level carefully so as not to cause any issues with my short sundress. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard lots of great stuff about you, and I’m sure we’re gonna have so much fun.”

“Okay,” the child said. I couldn’t blame her for being trepidatious in the face of this change. I made sure to keep my voice soft.

“Your daddy hired me because he thought we might get along, and I think he’s right,” I told her. “Does your bunny have a name?”

“Princess,” Olivia answered, and I should have been able to guess. “You talk to my Daddy?” The hope in her little voice cracked my heart right down the center. Clearly, this child idolized her one remaining parent. It only raised my opinion of him in my mind, even as I still worried about his apparently hands-off parenting techniques. I’ll just have to fix that, I told myself with more confidence than I felt.

“Yes. He and I met just the other day,” I said. Then, sensing the little girl wanted more information about her mysterious father, I finished lamely with, “He’s very… tall.”

The child giggled, lighting up. “So tall!”

“I bet you’ll be almost as tall as him one day, too,” I said, and she laughed again, pure delight on her face.

“No way! Not as tall as Daddy. I won’t work as much, either.” She finished this firm statement with an authoritative nod.

Much of my first day passed in a blur of information and fun bonding time with my new charge. Mrs. Nguyen made sure to show me where to find everything in the house from snacks to cleaning supplies to spare linens, and she shared insider tips about Olivia’s favorite games, books, and tantrum-calming techniques. Eventually, the kind older woman took a step back, though, making room for me to establish myself in Olivia’s life.

I liked chatting with Mr. Kramer’s child much more than I’d enjoyed my first meeting with him, which was no huge feat. But the more she warmed up to me, becoming more talkative and excited about everything from lunch time to play time to tidying up the whirlwind of toys after a rousing game of princess and dragon, I found myself laughing with the little girl more often than not, and with each passing moment, I was becoming more and more grateful for the unfortunate circumstances that had landed me here. Gross Mr. Mayhew didn’t deserve any credit for anything, but I wasn’t above admitting that my spontaneous exodus from his house had led me here, to maybe the best job I’d ever had.

When it was dinner time, I made sure to include Olivia in everything I was doing as I prepped a nutritious meal. Mr. Kramer’s kitchen wasn’t stocked with child-safe knives and utensils or even play versions like I’d expect for a toddler’s dad, so rather than enlisting her to help like I often did with children I cared for in the past, I had Olivia sit at the table and talk to me while I chopped veggies for a salad. At least the kitchen was fully stocked in that sense—there was plenty of fresh produce the likes of which my and my roommates’ local bodega rarely saw.

“What’s that?” Olivia asked me whenever she spotted a food or ingredient she didn’t recognize.

“Good question! That’s a radish.”

“What’s a radish?” she asked with a baby-softened r sound that made me smile.

“It’s kind of like a carrot. Very crunchy and super yummy in a salad. Isn’t it a pretty color?”

“It’s pink!” she agreed excitedly. When I handed her a small piece to try, she bit into it and made an enthusiastic mmm sound even as she barely nibbled. “I like wadishes,” she decided, even as she put the lightly-chewed veggie on the paper towel in front of her. Kids were a mess of contradictions, and that was why I loved them. I laughed but decided against fighting with her on eating her veggies yet. Besides, she might like it better when it was all dressed up in the pink segmented dish Mrs. Nguyen had deemed her favorite “princess plate”.

When I finished making the full meal—simple mac and cheese and chicken nuggets, with plenty of greens in the salad on the side to balance it out—we sat down to dinner together, just Olivia and me. Even though we’d had a nice day so far, when it was just us two, Olivia took a bit of work to open up. I started by telling her about myself—that I was the youngest child in my family, that I lived with my two best friends, that I loved to write stories.

“I love stuff with magic and adventure and dashing princes,” I told her. “So I want to write things like that for little girls like you. Books have always been some of my favorite things in the whole world.”

“I like stories, too,” she piped up with excitement. I gently gestured for her to keep picking away at her food, and she politely followed my instruction, but now the floodgates were opened. Throughout the meal, my new little friend chattered on and on about her favorite toys, how Mrs. Nguyen used them during story time, and which stories she liked best.

At some point, though, her enthusiasm became too much. With a flailing tiny fist, Olivia accidentally knocked over her sippy cup, its lid cracking against the floor and causing a puddle to form on the pristine tile. Her eyes went wide with horror, her lower lip trembling with the threat of tears. A strong protective instinct took over. This little girl was so sweet, had been through so much heartache, that I couldn’t allow her another second of sadness. Not if I could help it.

“Oops!” I said lightly. Without missing a beat, I turned the mess into a game. "I thought this might happen, Olivia. Don’t be scared, but it looks like the dreaded Milk Monster has struck again!" I exclaimed in a dramatic tone, grabbing a paper towel and pretending to chase an imaginary creature around the kitchen as I made my way toward cleaning up the puddle. "Quick, Olivia! Help me catch it before it gets away!"

Olivia's initial shock melted into giggles as she joined in the fun, her little hands flapping as she mimicked my exaggerated movements. "Milk Monster, no!" She laughed, her worries forgotten in the silliness of the moment.

"Milk Monster, yes!" I sang, improvising a silly tune as I cleaned up the spill. "Milk Monster, Milk Monster, making a mess! But we can clean it up, no need to stress!"

Olivia was laughing so hard she could barely stand, and her infectious joy filled the kitchen. She even ran to hug me around my legs once the puddle was gone, and I doubled over, laughing with her as I ruffled her curls and relished this moment, our first true bonding experience.

“Looks like you two are having a pleasant evening,” Olivia’s father’s familiar voice broke through the kitchen, startling me into letting the child go. I froze mid-laugh, my face suddenly hot with embarrassment. He took in the scene before him—his daughter with her milk-soaked napkin, me holding a paper towel like it was a sword, antithetical to the order and cleanliness he seemed to value so highly. And had he heard my silly song? Oh, jeez.

I turned around, red-faced with embarrassment, to see his sleek form standing imposingly in the doorway. His gray slacks fit him perfectly, and the white button-down I guessed he’d worn underneath a suit jacket was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to expose his slim, tendinous forearms. I swallowed hard and tried not to look at him with an unprofessional amount of lust. It was a weird mix of emotions, anyway—embarrassment and desire didn’t really make for a good combo.

"Uh, we had a little spill, but it’s all under control," I said, trying to sound as professional as possible despite the ridiculousness of the situation. “I didn’t know you’d be home so soon.”

“I live here,” the man responded, his words clipped. Duh, Lila. You’re in his house. Would I ever stop embarrassing myself in front of him?

“No, I know that, obviously,” I hurried to cover. “Sorry. I just meant… you surprised me. But, um, welcome home.”

He was inscrutable and silent. I’d never done well with that type of person, since I was more of a nervous talker. I’d always wanted to get to know the families I nannied for, too, and no matter how much resistance I faced from Miles Kramer, I knew I had to try with him, too.

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