Page 148 of The Nanny Goal

And she’s holding me back, so tight it feels like she never wants to let go. I know the feeling.

“I wish we’d had more than a few weeks together,” she mumbles into my shirt.

“Sunshine.” I cup her face. “We will. We’re going to have the rest of our lives. Go. Text me when you’re through security, and when you get on the plane. And when you land. Keep me updated, all day every day.”

“No time for regrets,” she whispers.

“Only hope.”

“And anticipation…” She pushes up on her toes, kissing me one last time. And then another, a bonus kiss to last us through the next week.

A week.

That’s the same as me going on a road trip.

This is fine.

Hard, but fine.

“I love you,” I say as she puts her backpack on. “I love you so fucking much.”

She blows me a kiss, and then she’s through the doors of the airport, her ownI love youechoing back at me.

Time for me to head home, and go back to bed. It won’t be long before Inessa crawls in with me, wondering where her Emmy is, because how do you explain to a two-year-old that her favourite person has something important to do somewhere else?

You can’t.

We just have to keep carrying on, and distracting her, the same way we do when I leave on a road trip—and the next one is around the corner.

CHAPTER48

EMERY

The first fun thing I do in New York is go to a hockey game. Not just any hockey game, but a PWHL game that one of my college teammates is playing in.

It’s been a long few days of getting settled and meeting my instructors and fellow trainees, and there’s something comforting about getting on the train to Newark and seeing the number of jerseys streaming towards the arena when I get off.

It’s a sharp contrast to how out of my depth I feel at the culinary school—but I know I’m not alone in that. The learning curve is steep, because it’s an intensive program, and I’ve already learned a lot in just a few days.

My phone rings just after I’ve scanned my ticket and gone through the gate.

I take a deep breath before answer.

“Hi, Mom. Sorry if it’s loud, I’m on my way in to watch Cecilia play a game today.”

“Who is Cecilia? That name is familiar.”

I picture Alexei counting backwards, seeking patience, and I laugh under my breath. “Cecilia Lombardi, Mom.” There’s a blank pause. “We played together in college, and she’s a pro player now. Anyway, what’s up?”

“We just haven’t heard from you all week.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“But not too busy to go to see a friend play hockey.”

“You caught me,” I say dryly.

“Emery, please. I’m trying to be interested in how it’s going for you.”

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