Page 34 of Imperfect Arrangement
But the thing is, I feel off-balance, completely out of my depth.
This whole situation is a far cry from the usual routine when a new nanny walks through these doors. My daughter’s never been this animated, and I’ve never felt this…rattled.
Just then, Quill reappears, proudly balancing a plate of cookies that’s nearly as big as she is. She must’ve had help from the kitchen staff. Carefully, she places the plate onto the glass coffee table, her little feet barely making a sound.
“Can I give one to Captain Lick?” Quill signs, her wide eyes filled with an innocent determination, as if feeding this dog is the most important task in the world.
“Oh, one whole cookie’s way too big for him. He’s just a little guy.” Willow grins, treating this like it’s the highlight of her day. “But you could break off a bite for him. These look so good. Do you think I could have one too?”
Quill beams, flashing a big toothy grin in a way that tells me she doesn’t even care that Willow sweetly redirected her. Nope, my daughter is already firmly Team Willow, plopping down beside her on the couch like they’re lifelong friends.
And me? I’m across from them, feeling like an outsider in my own living room. The glass coffee table between us has somehow become more than just a piece of furniture—it’s a wall separating me from them.
“Is he a therapy dog?” I ask, watching as Quill breaks off tiny pieces of cookie and offers them to Captain Lick. The little guy waits patiently. What dog has this level of self-control?
Willow gives me a look like I’ve just asked if she moonlights as a circus clown. “No, he’s a family dog.”
Quill’s hands fly up, signing with enthusiasm. “He’s the most awesome dog, Dad! Isn’t he?”
Her eyes are so bright, you’d think this little furball just descended from the heavens to save us all.
I nod, keeping my tone neutral. “He’s…something.” Awesome? A potential disaster? The jury’s still out.
I glance back at Willow and catch her staring at me, her gaze narrowed, scrutinizing, like she’s assessing whetherImight be the one in need of therapy. We’re locked in this silent staring match, and for a split second, I’m convinced she’s about to call me out with just that look.
But then Grandpa Will strides in with impeccable timing, breaking the tension. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” He throws me a pointed,She’s here to help. Quit acting like a grumplook before disappearing.
I inhale deeply, trying to pull in some sense of reason along with air.
This is for Quill, I once again remind myself.
“I’ve got a few calls to make. You good here, Bug?”
I’d planned to give them some alone time, see if Willow could work her weird magic and get Quill to speak again. But now that I’m about to step away, I can’t help but feel…off. Leaving them alone suddenly feels like more than letting a new nanny settle in.It’s because Willow already feels like more than a nanny, Teager.
It seems she’s not just filling a role but somehow rewriting the whole script. I should be running the show, but instead, I’m the one trying to keep up.
Maybe I’m overly suspicious, but this woman is messing with my equilibrium, and I don’t like it.
Quill claps her hands and looks at me with those big excited eyes. “Dad, can I show Willow and Captain Lick my room?”
I nod, but it’s weak. My feet are carrying dead weight as I leave the room, dragging myself away.
What is it about this woman? How did she manage to worm her way into all the important parts of my life—my business, my daughter? And she isn’t just present in them; she’s claiming them as her own.
Okay, I’m being paranoid.
As I make my way down the hallway, their footsteps echo, following me. When we first moved in, I set up my office and bedroom right next to Quill’s, wanting to be close by. The rest of the rooms, including the guest bedrooms, are all in the other wing, which I’m suddenly grateful for.
Distance is necessary when it comes to Willow.
I leave my office door cracked open just enough to hear Willow’s voice and the excited woofs from Captain Lick. “This is such a cool room, Quill! Girl, you weren’t kidding about liking sunflowers.” She must have spotted my daughter’s wallpaper. “And your books! You’re definitely a little surprise packet.”
I can almost picture Quill beaming as she shows off her shelves, probably pointing out all the illustrations in her favorite books.
Willow continues. “Sure, I can read to you, but fair warning—I might suck at it since I’ve never done this before.”
A crack forms right in the center of my chest. My daughter, who’s never once asked anyone else to read to her—not Grandpa Will, not any of her nannies, not even my cousins—is now inviting Willow, a near stranger, into something I thought wasourthing.
