Page 38 of A Whole New Play

“The color of your shirt makes you look a little pale, though.”

And there it is.

I bite my tongue and take my seat. The waiter, God bless him, appears and asks for my drink order. A glance reveals a mimosa placed in front of my mother.

“Iced tea, please.” I don’t need alcohol to get through this brunch. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Depending on how the impending interrogation goes, I might regret my choice not to numb my feelings with a little alcohol.

“How are you doing, Mom?” I ask after the waiter walks away.

“I’m fine. Busy with the firm, but that’s to be expected at my level.” She’s back to looking at the menu but continues, “How about you? How’s the job hunt going?”

Here we go.

I was a coward when I finally told Mom I’d moved in with Dad a couple of weeks ago. After I assured her that I was not fired from my job, she began harping on the fact that quitting a job like mine would be seen as a red flag to potential employers. She insisted I start looking for a position at a new firm immediately. And because I hadn’t wanted to argue, I’d agreed, even though I had no intention of bailing on my deal with Carter to work as his nanny for the time being.

Now, I have to come clean.

I pick up the menu in front of me and use it as a sort of shield as I casually answer, “Actually, I already have a job.”

“You do?” I hear her excitement, but I still don’t look up.

“Yeah.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m working for one of Dad’s players.”

“A player?”

“Yes.”

“As an accountant?”

I brace myself for the impending shitstorm. “No, actually. I’m his nanny.”

Call it cowardly or call it smart, but I continue to keep my eyes trained on the fancy script on the menu in my hands.

The silence between us is palpable, and it only ends when the waiter returns with my iced tea. He sets the tall, narrow glass topped with a lemon wedge in front of me. Then, with a cheery demeanor, he asks, “Are you ladies ready to order?”

“I am.” I finally look up. Across the table, I meet Mom’s incredulous stare. “Are you, Mom?”

Not one to make a scene, she takes a deep breath and pulls herself together. “Yes.” She proceeds to order eggs benedict with smoked salmon and chives. I keep it simple with pancakes and turkey sausage.

The reprieve from my mom’s interrogation ends the moment we’re alone. The waiter is barely two steps away before she snaps, “Please tell me you’re joking and that you aren’t really someone’s nanny.” Injections might make it difficult for her face to show emotion, but her judgmental tone makes her feelings clear.

“I’m not joking.”

“Valerie,” she draws my name out with blatant dissatisfaction. “You have a college degree in accounting. You can’t be a nanny. That’s a waste of your talent.”

I sip my iced tea, buying myself time to come up with my response. “I hear what you’re saying, but I like being a nanny. I’m actually pretty good at it.”

And while working at the firm was difficult because of long hours and no semblance of a personal life, being a nanny isn’t a walk in the park.

“How did this even happen?” Mom’s eyes narrow. “Did you go looking for a position as a nanny? Is that why you moved to Dallas?”

“No.” I moved here because it’s where my support system, i.e. my dad, lives.

“Then how did you get the job?”

I know my next words are going to rile her up, but I can’t think of any way around them. “Dad suggested it.”

Mom sits back in her chair with a derisive scoff. “Of course your father is behind this. That man has no sense of ambition.”

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