Page 14 of Nanny for the Firefighter

Turning on her nightlight, which glows a gentle red, the music starts to play, and Mia points over at the bookshelf. I have to read a story before I’m getting out of here, and it might be a few times, in fact.

Mia choosesDo You Want To Be My Friendby Eric Carle, and we go through the tails on each page three times.

When we get to the snake at the end, I run away all scared, and Mia giggles wildly. She’s unhappy that I’m leaving, but after I stroke down her little back a few times, Mia settles.

“I love you, little girl,” I whisper as I slip out and head downstairs to make dinner for myself.

Exhaustion hits me hard when I make it back down to the living room, and I slump into the couch with a deep sigh.

I’m not going to bother with the emails, so instead, I pull up my phone and start scrolling through the old pictures of me and the Monroes again.

I know Bridget is tagged in the photo, but when I click her face or search for her name, I’m still taken to that “page not found” screen.

“Still blocked. It’s been five fucking years, and I’m still blocked.”

Tossing the phone back down on the couch, I lean back, raking my hand through my hair as I shut my eyes.

“What have you been up to, Bridget?”

My mind spins over all the what-ifs and maybes. I can’t stop thinking about whether Bridget did anything with her singing or if Jai and her are still together.

I told myself a long time ago that I wasn’t going to keep pining after her, and for a while there, I really didn’t.

Mia’s mom, Jess, was there. She was available and interested. We didn’t dance around each other or keep the other one on the hook.

Things with her were simple—maybe not the most exciting ever, but comfortable and safe.

And then she was gone.

I’ve completely lost my appetite at this point, so I just flick on the boob tube, not even paying attention to what I put on—as long as it’s not a kids’ show.

After a while, I fall asleep on the couch, visions of long blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes dancing behind my lids.

FOUR

Bridget

Stepping inside my mom’s house is beyond strange, a swirling mixture of nostalgia and anxiety. I know I’m here because she isn’t doing well; there’s no escaping that.

And still, the place smells like home, flooding me with memories of simpler times.

Worse, as I look around at the subtle—and not-so-subtle—changes to the place, I know I’ve missed things.

New curtains dress the windows, a fresh coat of paint covers the walls in the hall by the door, and an array of photos have been added to my mother’s collection near the stairs.

I can see Hudson with his wife and son, and my chest pinches at all the family events I clearly missed.

Goddamn it. This was a terrible idea.

Guilt flares, and I try to tell myself what I always do—that I video-chatted as much as I could. That I sent cards when possible and answered texts.

But I know it wasn’t enough.

My mother and Hudson would always hit me with the same questions.

“Are you okay?” “What happened with Jai?” “Are you safe?” “Can you please come home?”

It was too much, and avoiding them was easier than explaining to my family why I didn’t want to talk.

---