Page 33 of Crush
“But Sadie is super obsessed with Adam, and she thinks that just because she announced that she had a crush on him first, that no one else is allowed to flirt with him . . .”
Whenever Shea was in Boston and had custody, Pickles and I had to pack up our bags and head over to the Ellis house in Brookline. I wasn't sure how the eight-year-old cat would respond to all that moving and shuffling around—but the truth was, he loved all the attention that came with being a live-in-nanny's cat. He had four more laps to sit on, and an enormous house to explore with plenty of nooks and crannies for a feline to fall asleep in.
“. . . which, okay, fine. I won't flirt with Adam, because I don't even know how to flirt in the first place! I don't know what to say, and I get really super awkward! . . .”
Chloe took a break from her story to appreciate Pickles's purr. “He's got such a loud motor! Don't you, Mr. Pickles? Yes you do!”
Pickles's chartreuse eyes rolled back in his head as he relished the scratching. He was so pleased with himself. Part of me liked to think that Pickles thought of this ashisjob, too.
Chloe continued her rant.“But sometimes Adam talks to me, and then Sadie gets ultra mad at me. She won't even talk to me for days, because she says I'm flirting with him but I'm really not! . . .”
I couldn't help but crack a smile when Chloe shared that very familiar teen drama with me. Did every teen girl go through that same experience, with that sameexact type of friend? The jealous one who thought that merely telling her friends that she had a crush on a boy meant no one else was allowed to speak to him, lest they ruin their friendship and risk her eternal wrath?
All of Chloe's problems with friends and boys could be boiled down to one essential truth: teenagers haveterriblecommunication skills, and highly volatile emotions.
Which was why it made me so happy that Chloe opened up to me, and so quickly, too. If nothing else, telling me about her problems was the first step in working through them. Now, I like to think that I can get her to stop and think about what isreallybugging her, and how to define the problem in precise words.
I can't help but think how much I would've benefited from having someone to talk to when I was Chloe's age. Instead, I kept my problems buried deep inside—because to talk about my problems and fears would've made themreal,I would've had to confront them.
Then again, a small part of me wonders: what makes me so sure that I'm not doing the same thing now?
***
I guess I need to explain myself a little more.
Two months as the Ellis family nanny have flown by, faster than I ever could've imagined. I've loved every second of it. 'Dream job' doesn't even begin to describe what I do. It has felt like it's more than a job. It has felt like I've found a place where Itrulybelong.It has been such a good fit, in fact, that when payday comes, I feel almost guilty taking Shea's money. Like the financial transaction cheapens the authenticity of the bond I've forged with that family. And when Shea's out of town and the kids are with their mother, I've found myself feeling restless at my apartment, not knowing or remembering what it is I even like todoin my own free time.
My friends have noticed this shift. They think I've met someone I'm not telling them about. Technically, they're right—Shea made me sign a non-disclosure agreement when he hired me. All my friends know is that I'm a live-in nanny for someone important. The inside joke is that I'm sleeping with him.Ha ha.
Even though Shea made me sign a NDA, he was cool with me telling my family who I work for. And my brotherscannotbelieve it. Thing is, no matter how much they beg, I can'teverlet them meet Shea—because they'd totally spill the beans on the whole 'childhood crush' thing.
Here's what has happened in two short months:
Chloe hasn't just opened up to me—she has started opening up to the world in general. You can see the change in her demeanor, the way she carries herself, the way she stopped hiding so much with hairstyles and clothes.
She still has an extremely short fuse with her dad—and I've been working on helping them both out with that problem—but for a teen girl, that's not exactly some new or unheard-of phenomenon. It's a phase, and with a little patience, they'll both get through it in time.
Nick and Cam are still two rambunctious little squirrels. But only when they're together, I've learned. Split those boys apart, and they become so shy around me, they can barely manage to sputter a few words.
Here's something I've realized about them: they share a friendly, every-hour-of-every-day competitiveness. They'realwayschallenging each other to some feat and trying to prove who is stronger or better. As off-putting as it can be sometimes—racing to see who can finish their dinner first, for example—it was easy to use that dynamic to get them into the weight room. All I had to do was show one of the twins how to bench press an unweighted bar, andbam,the other one had to do it, too.
That said, no, the twins have not exactly morphed into hulking bodybuilders just yet. Shea's right that they don't have much interest in the gym. Sure, I can talk them into doing a few lifts here and there—but they're still only ten years old. It's hard to get boys that young excited to have a regular lifting regimen. All I can do is offer to train them from time to time, and if they go for it, hey, great. But no arm twisting, like Shea said.
The twinsareeating a lot more, though, and that fact has pleased Shea to no end. They've gained a little weight. Every pound helps, or so Shea has told me.
And then there was Shea. Who could forget Shea? The Boston Brawlers are just about ready to finish their season—and then they launch right into the playoff grind. The Brawlers have been winning, winning, and winning. The whole city has their hopes up thatthisis the year.
Shea has acknowledged again and again in his media interviews that he's playing the best hockey he's played in years. Privately, he says he owes it all tome,because, for once, his household is actually running smoothly, and he can just focus on leading his team on the ice.
After having put up with so many weird remarks—like, 'nannying isn't arealjob'—it feels really amazing to have Shea always telling me how much I do for him. And notonlythat, but telling me that my work is so important that it could affect the way a professional hockey team plays.
I mean, I'm not sure I even believe that myself, but it sure is flattering.
When Shea comes home from a game, I still sit with him at the table and we talk about our days. And it's always nice. When he's on the road, and I'm back at my apartment with Pickles, Shea still calls me just to ask about my day before he fills me in on the details of his. Sometimes, we'll lose track of time and just stay up late talking. He's not only been a great boss, but a great friend, too.
Friend.Keyword. Because, beneath all that normalcy, there's a lingering awkwardness between us that just won't go away. And deep down, I know it's all my fault.
Because things have always been slightly tense ever since the night I made that mortifying mistake. When I evenbeginto think of that one mistake, dread immediately floods into my heart and Ihaveto force myself to think of something else before the panic and horror consume my soul.
