Page 135 of Nine Week Nanny
Maris freezes, fork hovering midair. "Scandal?"
"Things blew up when Pope's biological father, Chris, found out about me and Pope. He was trying to get custody of Lennon, and he hired a PI who got pictures of us in a compromising situation."
Her brows knit as she sets her fork aside with a clink. "What?! I thought he was out of the picture. That was why Pope was the temporary guardian."
"He was, until he wasn't. I honestly don’t know all of the series of events because Pope didn’t talk to me about all of it. And not long after his father started trying to get custody, Pope and I were a distant memory. Or, I thought we were. Until Chris leaked the photos to the Palm Beach papers." My voice cracks on his name.
Maris stares, mouth open. "Pictures of you having sex?! In the paper?!"
"Not sex. Just kissing. But I know the night, and if he got the kiss, he saw a lot more…" Heat prickles my skin, shame flooding back like it’s happening all over again.
"Sloane." Her voice is low, steady. "I don’t even know what to say right now. I’m so sorry."
"The nanny in the scandal. That’s what they called me. Like I was some tabloid cliché instead of a woman who worked her ass off for a career."
I grab my wine and take a long swallow. The acid bites the back of my throat, grounding me in the sting.
"That's not all you are, Sloane. You need to stop thinking like that right now."
"Coastal fired me two weeks after they were published. The pictures were on the local news. It even made national coveragebecause of Pope’s position. That’s why I’m home." My laugh comes out jagged, hollow.
"Holy shit, Sloane." Maris presses her napkin to her mouth, stunned.
"Yep. That bad. See, I should’ve listened to you. Then none of this would have happened. I was so stupid."
Her eyes glisten, unshed tears threatening to spill. "You’re not."
I push at a cold sprout on my plate, my appetite gone. "The upside is, Mom and Dad were thrilled when I called and told them I was coming home. Now I’m back in my childhood home, paying for storage for furniture I bought when I thought I was starting my adult life. Clearly, I’m not ready for the big leagues."
"You are. You graduated with honors, and you're naturally good with children. You will get through this, Sloane. I know you will. Don't let this setback derail your confidence. Promise me."
I look up at her, grateful for her friendship. She’s still here for me even though I went against her advice, didn't return her calls, and replied with vague texts.
She's the epitome of what a good friend is, in spite of how shitty of a friend I am.
"I love you, Maris. You're always so good for me. I promise that after I wallow a little longer, I will pick myself up. I'm pretty much rock bottom right now, so the only place to go is up. Thank you for being amazing."
"I love you, too, Sloaney-Bologna. LYLAS."
"LYLAS."
I realize I’ve been talking nonstop about myself, unloading months of secrets and disasters. Guilt prickles at my skin. I twist the napkin in my lap. “God, Maris, I’ve completely monopolized tonight. How are you? How’s work?”
Her whole face brightens. “It’s good. Really good. I’ve got a full caseload at the clinic now. Early intervention mostly, toddlers with delayed speech."
“Maris, that’s amazing.” I beam for her, though it’s impossible not to compare where she is with where I am.
“Last week, one of my kids said his first word. His mom cried, I cried—it was amazing.” She laughs, eyes glowing. “And they bumped me up to lead my own little team. It’s busy, but I love it. I still do rounds at the hospital twice a week.”
I smile, genuinely proud, but the weight in my chest only grows heavier. This is where I should be too. Thriving after grad school. Building a career. Making a difference.
Instead, I’m broke, infamous, and crashing at my parents’ house. I grip my glass tighter, swallowing down the envy with a gulp of water gone lukewarm.
Maris watches me for a beat, then softens. “You don’t have to drive tonight. Stay here. I’ve got a sofa, fresh sheets, the works. I have an early shift in the morning, but you can sleep in, make yourself at home as long as you need.”
I shake my head, even though the offer tugs at me. “Thank you. Really. But I need to get back to Atlanta. Put out résumés. Start digging my way out of this hole. Sitting here drinking won’t fix anything.”
Her brow arches. “Drinking? You had one glass, Sloane. An hour ago.”
