Page 110 of Worst Nanny Ever
“And Drake?”
“If he doesn’t understand, fuck ’im. He’s been in the band for a week. He hasn’t even played a show with us yet.”
We both laugh.
I feel like I should tell him about the rest of it too, how I won’t be going on tour. How I want to be home most nights so I can say good night to my son. We’ll have that conversation soon, but I can’t handle anything else today. There’s been so much change piled on me at once.
Rob doesn’t press me about Hannah, probably because he’s already said his piece. He isn’t one to push. We talk for another few minutes, and then he hugs me again, says goodbye to Ollie, and leaves.
Dottie Hendrickson texts me almost immediately after Rob steps out the door.
Dear, I was wondering if I could come over to help with the placement of the crystals.
The timing is so impressive I know it must have been choreographed. Rob is passing the baton, but it’s kind of nice that they care.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HANNAH
“So the tension is pretty crisp with Travis right now. Not gonna lie, I’m starting to think we’re at the beginning of an epic love story. You know, like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.”
Eugene looks up from the hedgehog pencil holder he’s painting and regards me through his double-bar glasses. “They broke up. More than once.”
“Huh. That’s probably not a good sign.”
We’re at The Clay Place, Constance’s granddaughter’s art studio, situated in a big warehouse in the River Arts District. The whole building belongs to this awesome art collective called The Waiting Place, filled with small studios that offer specialized classes and sell art. It got washed out by a hurricane a while back, but they’ve rebuilt, and some remarkable artist painted a mural outside captioned,Stronger than the storm. I wouldn’t willingly admit this to most people, but it makes me tear up every time I see it. It’s an impressive space with all the studios lined up around a gorgeous atrium capped with a sunroof, complete with a coffee shop and café tables.
“I’m not sure why you’re telling me all of this anyway,” Eugene says. “It’sdecidedlynone of my business.”
“This is what friends do, Eugene. They shoot the shit. Besides, Idohave a point. You’re being impatient.”
He sighs and carefully dabs black eyes onto the little hedgehog pencil pot I badgered him into choosing. His painting skills are impeccable. The squirrel sculpture I’m painting for Ollie looks like microwaved roadkill.
“And the point?” he asks.
“You’re not the only one who’s had some workplace tension, my friend. There are no easy answers. But I have to be honest. Travis shared what you told everyone about Mrs. Applebottom?—”
“Applebaum.”
“Sorry, it’s hard to get that right. Anyway, he told me, but I’d already guessed. I could tell how much you respected her. In any event, if you’ve still got it bad for her after all this time, I think you should do something about it, you know? She’s officially divorced, and you no longer work at the school, so the time is right to pursue something real.”
He sighs and adds a dab of red, a surprisingly jaunty color, to the hedgehog’s collar. It seems pretty unrealistic for a hedgehog to have a collar, but art’s gotta art, I guess.
“I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “She must have several more appropriate men pursuing her.”
I stifle a laugh.
He glowers at me. “Moira is a lovely woman.”
“Sure, of course. But she’s no better than you. You’re Eugene Freaking Peebles.Spreadsheet.”
He scowls at the nickname.
“Trust me, they only give nicknames to people they tolerate. You’ve moved up in their esteem.”
He shrugs. “Well, Moira didn’t get terminated for crashing a golf cart into a vending machine. That automatically makes her better than me.”
“The teachers did seem salty about the broken Cheetos button, but no one’s perfect. I’m sure she has some kind of embarrassing incident buried in her past.
