Page 64 of Worst Nanny Ever
“You’re worrying,” Hannah says. “You get this reallydistinct expression on your face when you do. There’s a tiny crease right there.” She reaches out and rubs the pad of one finger between my eyebrows, and I instantly feel the furrow she mentioned being smoothed away.
“Does my face look like that all the time?” I ask. “Because I’ve done nothing but worry since Lilah dropped Ollie off in September.”
She shocks me by layering her hand over mine on the handle of the shopping cart. I meet her eyes, feeling a fresh burst of awareness. Her eyelashes have been blackened with mascara today, and she’s perfectly made up, with bright red lipstick. She looks good like this too, but in some ways I prefer the Hannah who’s undone—the one only Ollie and I and a few other lucky people are allowed to see.
She comes over like that because she wants you to keep your distance, dumbass,a voice in my head whispers.
“You’re staring at my lips,” she says with her typical candor.
“I’m waiting for whatever wise thing you’re about to say next,” I tell her, because I’m not ready to confront the elephant following us around on a tether.
I’m attracted to her, which is a problem. I really enjoy spending time with her, which is problem number two. I can’t stop thinking about that kiss the other night, which is worst of all.
“If you want wisdom, then you’re really in for a treat,” she says with a knowing look, as if she sees right through me. “Because I was going to give you some truly excellent advice.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath.”
She smiles at me, grabs a science experiment kit from the shelves full of DIY and crafting kits, and adds it to the cart. “Buy him a ton of shit.”
“Retail therapy?”
She picks up a solar system crafting kit, gives it a cursoryglance, and tosses it into the cart. “We have to try something, and you won’t let me make beer with him.”
I laugh as I check out a painting set that comes with an easel. “You think he’d like this? Sometimes my sister and I painted together when we were kids.”
“Who knows, but if he doesn’t want it, you can use it.”
I give her a skeptical look. “I’m an adult, Hannah.”
“Who gave you the crazy idea that adults aren’t allowed to have fun?”
She picks up the paint set and holds it out to me expectantly. I feel like I should make more of a rebuttal, but anything I could say would feel like a schoolyard argument.
I do so have fun.
OrI always have fun when I’m playing with the band or at The Missing Beat.
“I won’t let you become Eugene, Travis,” she insists, staring me down. “I’m going to set you down a divergent path if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Let’s hope it’s not the last thing you do,” I say, accepting the painting set and adding it to the growing pile in the cart. “Although I’m sure you’d take comfort in knowing the Wise Women have all planned their own funerals and would probably be happy to help your surviving friends and relatives with yours.”
“Ha. Ha.”
We move through the aisles, accruing a chemistry set, a telescope, some Lego sets, a few STEM toys, and posters from a couple of the shows Ollie likes.
While we’re shopping, I catch sight of the woman from earlier a couple more times, giving us interested glances, peeking around aisles, meeting my gaze, and then swiftly turning around.
Maybe my anxiety’s working overtime, but it feels like she’s watching us, maybe even following us.
I’m about to say something about it to Hannah, but then we turn a corner into a music section arranged in a cozy nook in the back of the shop. There are a variety of instruments, including a small drum kit.
Hannah turns to me, her eyes sparkling. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I don’t think I am,” I say, feeling an uncomfortable burning sensation spread across my chest. “We’ve got what we need.” I start to turn the cart away from it. But she doesn’t budge, so I only make it a couple of steps before I step away from the cart and turn back toward her.
“You won’t let Ollie play your drums,” she accuses, her gaze turning fierce. “Why won’t you let him get his own set?”
“He said that?” I ask.
