Page 11 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
Emily’s room is at the far end of the hallway, past the laundry nook and the linen closet Liz always meant to reorganize. I pause outside the door and knock lightly.
No answer.
I open it slowly. Emily’s sitting on the rug in front of her bookshelf, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs. Her fox nightlight is on even though it’s still daylight.
“Hey, Em,” I say gently.
She doesn’t look at me.
“You okay?”
Nothing.
I step in and crouch beside her, resting my elbows on my knees.
“She left,” I say. “Ivy.”
Still nothing.
I study her face—how her lips are pressed tight, how she won’t meet my eyes. The silence between us isn’t new, but it still stings every time it stretches this long.
“Emily…” I sigh. “You can talk to me, you know.”
Finally, she says, very quietly, “I hate you.”
It doesn’t come with drama or yelling. Just a flat, quiet truth. And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else could have.
I blink. “You hate me?”
She turns her face away.
I sit back on my heels. “I didn’t know you liked her.”
Still no response.
“I mean… you didn’t like any of the other ones,” I add, trying to keep my voice calm. “The nannies. You always cried or ran or hid.”
“I liked some of them,” she mutters.
I blink again, slow. “You did?”
She nods, eyes still downcast. “But the nice ones didn’t like you.”
That one lands like a slap. I sit with it, trying to decide whether to laugh or be offended.
I rub my thumb over the side of my hand. “I didn’t know that.”
“You never ask,” she says.
I clear my throat. “Okay… well. Do you think Ivy is nice?”
Emily shrugs, but it’s softer now. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I just like her.”
I sit in the quiet with her for a while, nodding slowly.
