Page 2 of Nanny for the Damaged Ex-SEAL

I’m not always this lackluster about life, but, you see, I lost my job three weeks ago. I used to work at a private elementary school, one of the best in Long Beach. A place where I had the opportunity to transfer knowledge to the most well-behaved set of kids I have ever seen. A nice school where I taught drama. It was a job I enjoyed. It wasn't a job I took because there was nothing else to do. No, I always wanted to be a teacher. Mom was one, and I love the fact that, through teaching, you can change people’s lives. You can mold them and prepare them for the future. I took pride in my work just like Mom did. She did it for twenty years of her life, but barely five years into my own career, I was fired.

I wasn't even given the opportunity to say a proper goodbye to the kids. It was all taken away from me. The abruptness of it all. It was the perfect job. The salary wasn’t a lot, but it covered my expenses, and I felt like I was really fulfilling my purpose. I would have stayed there for many years to come if I'd not been dismissed. But with the economy going to shit comes the need for employers to let people go. And I'm one of those people.

"Aria Shaw, please sit," Mrs. Gilmore had said as I took a seat in a chair that was a little too low for an adult.

She continued, "I know how much of your time you put into these kids. And I know how much they love you. But…"

"But you have to let me go, right?"

She nodded.

After giving the school three years of my life, "letting me go" was how I was repaid.

I found out later that I was one of three people that were let go. I heard they picked the three people who'd worked with them the shortest. As if that had a bearing on how well I did my job.

That's not all.

Only a week before that, I caught my boyfriend cheating on me. Well, my ex-boyfriend. I’d thought I’d walk down the aisle with that man.

Aria! Aria! It's not what you think.Idiot.

He’s been calling me ever since, trying to explain, as if I don’t know what I saw.

"What is it then, exactly? I'd like to know. Please, tell me. I'm listening. I'm listening. Enlighten me.”

"She means nothing to me. You know that," he’d said to me, as though I was the fool in this situation.

"I don't know that. I don't know anything. I thought I knew you. But now I know I don't," I'd replied.

I chuckle to myself bitterly and turn toward the flowers outside. The rain has stopped and the mist on the window is dissipating. I can see outside clearly now. It's crazy how my life is falling apart but everything else is burgeoning. The flowers, my stepmom’s hair, the sky looking bright, the sun peeping through, the birds flapping their wings in excitement…but here I am, dying inside.

And no, that isn't all. Oh, there's more. The floodgates of problems have been kicked wide open, and all of the bad shit one could think of has somehow ended up in my backyard. My list of woes goes on and on. My rent has been due for a month now, and if I don't pay up in the next month, I'll be evicted. The pink slip has shown up already and lays smugly on my coffee table, quietly reminding me of the fuckery that is my life. So, you see, I have a lot going on. A shitload, if you will.

"Are you listening?" Amy's voice pulls me out of my thought storm.

"Mhm,” I say, nodding.

"You weren't listening. You look so dejected. You really need to stop thinking about it all."

But how am I supposed to just stop thinking about the biggest problems in my life? These aren't just any type of problems. It isn't as simple as trying to pick the right hair color —not that I color my hair. It's not as simple as picking what to eat for lunch. Or what to wear to a function. No, it's about my livelihood and my heart. My heart is crushed, shattered beyond repair, and if I don't get a job soon, I’ll end up on the streets, eating from a dumpster with a nonfunctioning heart. It's fucking serious, and I'll think about it!

As if Amy can see through my cluttered mind, I hear her say, "You know you can always come back home. Your father and I will be happy to have you back. There are spare rooms."

I sigh and shake my head. "You know I can't come back home."

I left home three years ago, and I'd rather be sleeping under a bridge than come back. My parents are the absolute best, and it wasn't terrible living with them. But coming back home at twenty-eight isn't something I want to do. It would only confirm my massive feelings of failure. If I still have any money left by the end of next month, I'd rather get a roommate in a tiny, crappy apartment. That's how determined and desperate I am.

She lifts her head to look at me. A strand of dark hair falls across her face and she blows it away. "Why not? I know you’re big on being independent, but there's nothing wrong in coming back home until you can get another job."

I shake my head again. "No, I can't do that."

"Why don't you tell Bria about the job thing again? She knows more people than you do. She could help."

"I told her already, but Bria doesn't run in the same circles I do. I doubt she’s friends with a teacher or principal. But I'll mention it again when I see her this evening."

Bria is my sister, but to say we’re opposites doesn't even begin to describe it. Bria is two years younger than I am, but she has her life together. A solid career, an amazing boyfriend, and a beautiful home nestled in a middle upper-class area of Long Beach. She’s got it. That’s the best way to put it. I walk up her beautiful stone porch stairs that are flanked by pots of dying flowers and press on the doorbell. I hear laughter erupt from the inside and footsteps rush toward the door.

When it opens up, Bria's boyfriend, Chad, is behind her, holding her by the waist. A painful reminder of what I've lost.

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