Page 45 of Winning Brynn

I've dressed her in a gray fleece romper with bunny ears that I bought last week from The White Company because it's cold out, but it's also flipping adorable. With her cheeks all rosy from the sting of the early February air, she's the most precious thing I've ever seen, sitting in her stroller with these wide blue eyes that take in the world with an innocent curiosity only children possess.

I'm reminded of something Leo said to me back in Chicago.

It's as if you love her like she's your own.

Except, there's no "as if" about it. Salem Sullivan holds my whole heart in the palm of her chubby little hand. Falling in love with her was an inevitability. Spend an hour in her company, and you'll do the same. She's impossible not to love.

But she isn't mine.

I'm not her mother. I'm her nanny. And I won't be forever. Leo is still looking for someone to take over the position—at least, I think he is—so it won't be long until I have to kiss her tiny face goodbye. See her only at the rare soccer games I attend to watch my brother play—if she's there, anyway. The new nanny might not take her to soccer games. The new nanny will get to spend their time with Salem however they want.

And I'll just have to pretend to be fine with it all, swallow down the heartbreak and remind myself it's the best thing for her.

We arrive at the playground, and I transfer Salem out of the stroller and into a swing. She giggles as I push her, only lightly because I'm scared of her going too high and falling out. And soon, her giggles are bubbling into full-blown belly laughs, and I'm laughing with her because what else can you do when the best little human in the whole world is making that sound?

"Your daughter is beautiful," the mother pushing her young son on the swing beside ours says with a well-meaning smile.

My heart pangs. "Thank you," I say then wonder if I should correct her. "She's not...um, she's not my daughter, though. I'm just the nanny."

"Oh." The woman's face turns surprised. "You're just so good with her, I thought..."

"It's okay." I smile, though it doesn't feel true.

Uncomfortable now, she pulls her son out of the swing and begins to guide him to the opposite side of the playground. "Well, have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too."

Salem and I play for another hour or so, the woman and her son avoiding us for some inexplicable reason, until she begins to yawn and rub her eyes.

"Tired, ladybug?" I ask her.

She doesn't answer me, of course. She's, like, thirteen months now, I think. But I swear, every time she looks at me, I feel like she knows exactly what's going on and is formulating thoughts in her mind, either wondering when she's getting her next snack or plotting world domination. It could go either way, depending on what time it is.

Children understand so much more than people think they do. Look into their eyes long enough, and you'll see that they're wiser than most of us.

"Let's go home, then, baby girl."

The last thing I expected to do on the walk back to the apartment was adopt a cat.

But there was this woman on the sidewalk with this sad, dirty cardboard box and a tiny tabby-looking thing huddled and shivering inside of it, and she was holding a sign that said, “Going to kill shelter if not adopted." And fuck me, but I was not about to let that happen.

So, I ducked into a pet store on the opposite side of the street, picked up some shit I thought a cat might need, then handed the woman a fifty-dollar bill.

She looked down at it with a raised brow then turned her nose up. "Two hundred."

"The sign says 'adopted,'" I'd countered.

And she just shrugged. "Two hundred dollars, or it goes to the kill shelter."

Fucking heartless, that's what she was. But I shoved the money into her greedy hands and pretended not to notice the track marks on her arm. Then wordlessly, I picked up the box and left.

Turns out, the woman had neglected to inform me that my new cat is missing a leg and half an ear. Not that it would have changed anything. But a heads-up would have been nice. At the very least, it would have saved me the panic of thinking it had lost a limb on the journey to the vet's office when we stopped in to get him up to date with vaccinations and whatever else he needed.

Salem had long fallen asleep by then, so it was an uneventful trip. Although, the vet did tell me that he’s a boy and followed up by asking what I wanted to call him so she could register my account, and I panicked and said, "Gordon Ramsay."

Hours later, Say is well and truly awake, and Gordon is doing everything in his power to hide from her. With a laugh, I distract her with her snacks and building blocks, and that's how the rest of the day passes.

Joyful. Peaceful. Calm.

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