Page 12 of Count My Lies

“Cheers!” Harper shouts, holding up a plastic cup of milk. I smile at her and touch my glass to hers, then to Violet’s, then, lastly, to Jay’s. Our eyes meet and we both smile.

“Thanks for having me,” I say, after I’ve taken a sip of my ginger ale. I look again at Jay, then back at Violet. “So, where’d you guys meet?”

I expect warm smiles, eyes glazing as they remember the night, but neither of them looks at me. Instead, they look at each other, their gaze holding steady. I can’t read the expression on either one’s face. Violet breaks first, glancing toward me and waving a hand dismissively.

“College,” she says. “I wish it were a more interesting story, but it would probably bore you to tears.”

It wouldn’t, I want to assure her, but there’s something about her tone that stops me, slightly clipped, but somehow, almost too cheerful. I look to Jay, hoping he’ll say more, but he doesn’t. He’s staring at his plate, a strange tight-lipped smile on his face that looks ironed on.

I shift in my chair, wracking my brain for something else to say, but before I have the chance, Harper yells, “Look at this! A worm!”

She’s holding up a noodle, wiggling it dramatically. We all laugh. Quickly, Harper becomes the center of the conversation, loudly chattering on about her day, happy as a clam when I ask her about her favorite book, announcing that it’sWinnie-the-Pooh. She smiles when I tell her it’s one of my favorites, too.

“Nina read me all ofThe House at Pooh Corner. It’s achapterbook,” she says proudly.

“Who’s Nina?” I ask.

“Our nanny,” Violet jumps in. “Well, former. She stopped working for us a few months ago. A shame, really. Harper loved her. We all did. Didn’t we, honey?” She turns to Jay. “She was the best, huh?”

Jay stops chewing, blinks, then nods, once.

Violet sighs, turning back to me. “I’ve had the hardest time finding a replacement.” She launches into a story about the series of interviews she’s had over the last couple of weeks, how one candidate showed up two hours late in stage makeup, apologizing about an audition that ran long, only to go on to say that she didn’t have any practical experience with kids, but she had played a mom in a commercial once. “Apparently,” Violet says, “if you want a good nanny in New York, you need to find one when your child is in utero.”

I smile; she’s right. “Actually, I used to be a nanny,” I say. “Before I got into nursing.” This—believe it or not—is true. I started in college when one of my professors said she was looking for someone to pick up her daughter after school. She recommended me to another colleague, and before I knew it, I was booked almost every weekend. I liked it so much I switched degrees—from English to early childhood education—and began nannying full-time when I graduated. Eventually,I began working at a local preschool, one not too far from here. It’s the job I lost before I started working for Lena. But I don’t share that, of course.

Violet smiles back. “Well, no wonder you’re so good with Harper!”

I feel an unexpected pang. I had been good at my job. It’s funny: all my lying, which is generally considered a social faux pas at best, an egregious moral failing at worst, is partly what made me so well-liked by my students. I was a master storyteller, a spinner of tales, the queen of make-believe. The kids loved my outrageous stories, enthralled by the exaggerated accounts of my weekends, an adoring audience. Never once did they ask if it was true. They didn’t care.

I was devastated when I had to leave. If I close my eyes, I can remember the last day like it was yesterday. There was no warning, the rug ripped out from under me so fast I’d lost my footing. I wanted to argue, wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair, that it was all just a misunderstanding, but I knew it would be a waste of breath. No one would believe me over her.

Tears stung my eyes when I told the kids I was leaving. Leaving and not coming back. They asked why, but of course I couldn’t say. My throat was tight, and no words came, so I just knelt and held out my arms. They filed in one by one and pressed their little bodies against mine. The principal was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, waiting to walk me out. I still miss them: their sticky fingers, their shrieking, their gleeful laughter.

I force myself to smile back at Violet. “I really liked it,” I say. “Loved it, actually.”

Before I can say anything else, Harper knocks over her cup of milk, reaching for another slice of bread. Both she and Violet yelp in surprise. Instinctually, I leap up, grab the roll of paper towels next tothe sink, and race back to sop up the puddle, just before it drips onto the floor.

“Thanks,” Violet says, smiling gratefully at me.

“Once a nanny, always a nanny,” I say good-naturedly. Theirs is exactly the kind of family I would have loved to work for when I first started out. In fact, they still are. I picture myself in their kitchen, making a snack for Harper, cutting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into heart shapes; in their living room, folding her tiny unicorn shirts as she colors happily by my side. It takes all my willpower not to offer to step in, to tell Violet she doesn’t need to interview any more candidates, that I will gladly take the role. God knows, after today, I’ll need a new job, and badly. I swallow the bitter memory of this afternoon, biting down on the inside of my cheek.

Dinner continues with small talk, Harper interjecting with anecdotes about her day. Violet listens attentively, encouraging her to elaborate on her stories. Twice I sneak glances at Jay, only to see him staring at Violet, watching her. I can understand why. She’s glowing, wisps of hair framing her face, cheeks pink as she laughs. If she notices Jay’s eyes on her, she hides it, her attention focused on Harper, on me, making sure my plate is full, that I’m enjoying the food. Once, she catches me looking at her and smiles. I smile back, enchanted. I wonder what it would be like to be as beautiful as her, to have that magnetic pull. Like magic, I imagine.

Just after seven, when our plates are scraped clean, glasses empty, Violet clears her throat and looks at Jay, then cocks her head toward Harper. He nods.

“You ready for a bath?” Jay asks Harper. Immediately, she begins to pout, about to protest, but Violet interjects, “Two M&M’S if you make it upstairs in thirty seconds or less!”

Harper lights up. “Red ones?”

Violet nods. Harper squeals and leaps from her chair. She races from the kitchen to the living room, her little feet thumping across the hardwood, then to the stairs, scrambling up them on all fours. “I did it!” Her little voice is faint, somewhere above our heads, and we all laugh.

Still smiling, Jay asks, “How many has she had today?”

“A handful?” Violet shrugs. Then, to me, “I’m not above bribes.” She winks. “In fact, it’s the only way to parent, in my opinion.”

Jay looks like he might say something else, but instead, he scoots his chair back, stands. “I’ll let you know when she’s ready for you,” he says to Violet. Then to me, “If I’m not back down before you leave, great to see you again, Saint Cait.”

We both smile up at him. His tie is gone, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. I like how he says my name. My fake name. He even has a nickname for me. It makes me feel warm, gleeful. “You too,” I say. Violet and I watch as he leaves the kitchen, disappears up the stairs.

---