Page 102 of Nine Week Nanny
Even if it feels like tearing out a vital organ with my bare hands.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sloane
"Okay, what's the next word? b-o-o-k. Book." I tap the flashcard and watch Lennon's face scrunch in concentration.
"That's a trick one," he says, pencil hovering over the paper.
"You're right. Not all letters make the sounds we expect. What do you think?"
Morning sunshine streams through the kitchen windows, casting golden rectangles across our worksheets. The fridge hums quietly behind us, punctuated by the scratch of Lennon's pencil against paper.
He writes carefully, sounding out each letter. "p-o-o-l."
"Perfect! Great job remembering the how the double letters work."
My smile is mechanical, like my face is performing the right movements while the rest of me remains hollow. I've barely slept, replaying Pope's words over and over.
The goddamned nanny. Who I fuck.
Why, after everything he's ever said to me, is that what sticks? I wish I could erase that whole morning from my brain. Even if he ended it with me, hearing those words makes it a thousand times worse.
Lennon looks up from his paper, brown eyes studying my face. He holds up one of the emotion cards we keep close by. It's the one with the frowning face. "Are you sad?"
The question hits like a punch to the chest. Even a seven-year-old can see through me.
"No, sweetie." I smooth his dark hair, letting my hand linger on his warm head. "I'm just a little tired today."
Footsteps creak overhead. Pope is moving around his bedroom. His muffled voice carries through the ceiling as he takes a call, reminding me he's deliberately staying away.
"...need those numbers before noon..." His voice fades as he moves. He must have been standing at the top of the stairs for me to have heard him so clearly. Was he listening in on us?
My chest tightens. Just over twenty-four hours ago, we were tangled in his sheets. Now he can't even come downstairs to say good morning.
"Sloane?" Lennon's voice pulls me back.
"Sorry, buddy. Let's look at the next word." I flip to another card, forcing brightness into my voice. "This one is hoop. h-o-o-p."
More footsteps overhead.
Lennon bends over his worksheet, carefully forming each letter. His dark hair falls forward, shielding his eyes, just like Pope's does when he's concentrating.
I reach for my phone, sliding it from my pocket while Lennon works through all of the words. I need to talk to someone who won't judge me for being such a fool. Someone who will understand how I could have mistaken convenience for connection.
Hey Angela, any chance we could chat later?
I type quickly, careful to keep my screen angled away from Lennon's curious eyes.
The footsteps above move toward the stairs, then stop. The silence that follows weighs more than any sound could.
My phone screen lights up with Angela's reply almost immediately.
Absolutely! Field of Greens after we drop the boys off? Tyler doesn't have Mother's Morning Out today, but he's a perfect lunch date. He’s having an early nap, so he should be good to go.
Something in my chest loosens. Just a little.
Perfect. See you there.
