I hate having a nanny in my private space, interfering with my day-to-day life, but for Nico, I’m willing to do just about anything. While I could easily raise my son with my family’s help, Nico needs a motherly figure in his life.
He needs Ellie, as much as I hate to admit it.
I remind myself of just that as I lean against the wall across from my son’s bedroom door and stare at my Richard Mille watch, my annoyance growing by the second. The obnoxious diamonds lining the face glint as the small hand ticks toward the number ten.
Usually, I’m not a stickler for bedtimes, but lately, Nico has been acting crankier than usual, and I only have his blond-haired, curfew-breaking nanny to blame.
Her soft laugh carries through the door and down the hall, followed by Nico’s airy giggle soon after. That heartwarming sound coming from my son is the only reason I hired someone with no nannying experience and a penchant for driving me insane to begin with.
When Hillary left over two years ago after I filed for divorce, Nico started changing. His fluctuating mood and irritability, while understandable, were unbearable, especially when I felt responsible.
I’m the one who filed for divorce, and while Nico has never blamed me for his mom leaving, I can’t help assuming he does.
Our relationship only became more strained after he found out about his retinitis pigmentosa diagnosis eighteen months ago. Little by little, his condition became difficult to ignore as his eyesight worsened and he started pulling away from all the things he loved, like his friends, my family, music, and me.
Music was always Nico’s outlet, so in a desperate attempt to help him, I paid for music lessons at The Broken Chord almost a year ago. At first, Nico gave me a hard time about it. He was quiet and unmotivated to pick up an instrument, but with Ellie’s help, he slowly opened up again.
For a solid four months, it felt like Nico and I were finally in a good place together, but then we had another setback at the start of the year.
One that I haven’t been able to overcome, no matter how hard I try. Asking him what is wrong gets me nowhere, while giving into his wishes only eases the tension between us temporarily.
Sure, changing our summer trip destination from Europe to Hawaii like Nico wanted earned me a small smile and a whispered thank you from him, but Nico’s good mood didn’t last long.
At least not with me.
Ellie steals me away from my thoughts as she walks out of his bedroom and shuts the door softly behind her before slumping against it.
She unleashes a harsh sigh as her hazel eyes shut. Her long blond hair rests near her waistline, the color looking more silver than gold because of the moonlight streaming through the window.
I rarely get an opportunity to look at Ellie without her noticing. Usually, she catalogs my every glance, smile, and comment, making me feel like a research subject lately with that stupid smile tracker of hers. So rather than immediately making my presence known, I conduct a drawn-out assessment of my own.
Ellie isn’t one for colorful accessories or frilly, designer-labeled clothes like my cousin’s girlfriend of nine months, Dahlia Muñoz. Nor is she the type to keep up with the latest makeup trend or hairstyle like Lily, the other Muñoz sister. In fact, Ellie does a good job of keeping her personality hidden, dampening it with her limited range of black, white, and gray clothing. I’m surprised that she hasn’t dyed her blond hair to match the Edgy Barbie look she is going for, given how much she favors dark colors.
If it weren’t for the small, dainty tattoos scattered across her body, I’d consider her as interesting as a blank canvas.
Liar.
Fine. She is as interesting as a canvas solely painted with one color.
Black.
A deep, inky shade that matches the somber music she plays late at night when she thinks everyone is asleep. She doesn’t know that I listen from the shadows sometimes, but I find it hard to resist the pull I have toward her. Her music speaks to me in a way words never can, and I can’t help being drawn to her in that sense.
If it’s only about the music, how do you explain being drawn to her right now?
The thought has me snapping out of my daze, and a floorboard creaks beneath my boot as I step out of the dark corner.
Ellie’s eyes snap open. “Good God! How long have you been standing there?”
I keep my face expressionless despite my escalating heart rate. “Long enough to notice Nico was up past his bedtime.”
She stands to her full height. While she is taller than most women in town, she still only reaches my chin without shoes. “We were practicing his braille.”
“Surprised you could get much done with all that laughing.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m sure humor is a foreign concept to you, but people tend to laugh when they read something funny.”
“You don’t say,” I reply with a dry voice.
Whatever she was about to say is cut off by her yawn. “That’s my cue to go to bed.” She attempts to walk past me.
Without thinking, I latch on to her elbow before she has a chance to walk around me. The warmth of her skin seeps through the thin barrier of mine, sending a wave of heat up my arm.
I want to shake her off and run from the sensation, yet my hold remains strong as I ask, “How’s it going?”
“What?” She stares at the goose bumps forming on her skin.
I release her and take a long step backward. “How is he doing with the braille practice?”
“Oh.” She shakes her head. “Good, although he unfortunately inherited his impatience from you.”
I give her a look. “Is he struggling?”
“A bit, but we’re working on it. You know, if you have some time to spare, it wouldn’t hurt to practice with him too.”
Ever-present dread makes my stomach sink until I’m drowning in negative thoughts. I’ve tried so damn hard to practice with Nico, but my son has slowly closed himself off from me over the last few months, and I can’t figure out why. Something shifted after the holiday season, and no amount of probing has helped me uncover the reason.
You could ask Ellie what she thinks. I shut that thought down. She wouldn’t understand, seeing as she and Nico have a different kind of relationship that I love and hate at the same time.
I’m jealous of the carefree, easygoing connection Ellie has with my son. While I know it’s not fair to hold their bond against her, I can’t help myself.
Ellie has what I want and crave. Nico enjoys spending all his free time with her while he pushes me away without an afterthought, making me feel useless and dejected—two emotions I’ve spent decades trying to avoid.
“Why don’t you join us for story time tomorrow?” she asks in that delicate voice of hers that threatens to slip past my defenses.
“No.” I sound like more of an asshole than usual.
“Why not?” The way she stares at me makes me feel uneasy, not because of how she does it but rather because of what she may see if she looks hard enough.
A coward who would rather hide his shame behind a lie.
“I’m not very good,” I say.
The muscles beside Ellie’s eyes soften until she is no longer glaring. “I’m by no means an expert either. Whenever I struggle with a word or sentence, I say something ridiculous instead, and it never fails to make Nico laugh.”
“Must be nice.” I can barely get my son to talk to me for more than a few minutes, but here Ellie is, making him laugh without trying.
Her icy gaze returns with a vengeance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’d join you, but I already made plans for tomorrow night with Julian.”
Her nose scrunches like usual whenever I piss her off. “Since when?”
About ten seconds ago. “Today.”
“Thanks for the last-minute notice.”
“Do you have something better to do?” The question comes out all wrong.
“It’s a mystery why you have no real friends.”
“Some of us prefer not to waste our time on meaningless relationships.”
Rather than becoming further enraged by my comment, Ellie looks at me in the same way I’ve seen far too many times around town.
Pity.
“I feel bad for people like you,” she says, stunning me into silence. “You work double-time to keep everyone at a distance because one person gave you a reason to.”
More like three people—two of whom brought me into this world.
I don’t say that, though.
I don’t say anything.
It’s easier to keep my feelings at bay when I don’t acknowledge them. Call it cowardliness or repression, but I prefer the term survival. Because to think is to feel, and I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to control myself once I start.
My toxic trait isn’t the fact that I don’t have feelings; it’s that I feel too much, all at once, so I suppress it instead of learning how to cope. I’ve always been that way, long before my mother packed her bags and left my father and me.
Ellie shakes her head. “Whatever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should get some rest.” She scurries around me, the scent of her fruity body wash lingering in the air long after she is gone.
