Oh boy. “It’s your favorite story, the one about the train that—”
“Don’t want that!” Cole’s voice is rising.
Mary’s mouth hangs open. She looks confused—maybe because normally she’s the one who doesn’t want to hear the story about the poop train.
Yeah, I’m trying to potty train Cole and made a little story about it. He likes it, but resists my efforts to wean him off his diapers.
“If you don’t want the poop train, what story do you want?” I sit down beside then and ladle their mac and cheese into their plates. It’s their comfort food, and I made it for this precise reason since they’ve been sick, to cheer them up, but they both give it suspicious looks.
It’s going to be one of those days… I love being a nanny to these kids, and they are so clever and affectionate and cute, but today they’re a total frigging pain in the neck.
I take a deep breath and smile. “How about the one about the princess and the—”
“I want to talk to grandma,” Cole says.
A small silence spreads.
Mary stares at him hard, as if trying to read his thoughts running inside his head, and then says, “Me too. I miss grandma.”
I freeze. What do I do in such a situation? I should call Matt and ask him about this. Tell him what the kids want. In fact, he’s the one who should call his mother and talk to her, have his kids talk to her.
This isn’t my decision.
Then I think of all that has happened in the past days, all he has been through, all the kids have been through. Does he need to worry about this, too?
And will he call? Or put it off like he’s been doing with his life? Pushing it back, shoveling guilt and anger over it until he can barely breathe anymore?
I’m the nanny. These kids are my responsibility. And to my judgment, they need to hear their grandma’s voice today.
They need all the help, all the affection and love they can get.
So I’ll do my best to give it to them.
Mary gives me the phone number. It’s on a piece of paper decorated with red hearts and unicorns.
“She gave it to me before we left,” she tells me seriously. “So I could always find her. But only my daddy has a phone, and he won’t call her.”
Oh God. I swear I can feel my heart cracking in my chest.
Also, I’m getting seriously pissed at Matt for doing this, taking this from them after they lost their mom.
Why won’t he let them talk to their grandma? What’s the harm in that? Come on!
So I take the kids to the sofa, and punch the number into my cell phone to call, with Mary on my one side, Cole on the other, both looking up at me with huge, anxious eyes.
The line rings and rings, and for a moment I think nobody will answer. That maybe the grandma is not at home, just our luck—or maybe the number Mary has is wrong.
Then a voice says from the other end, “Hello? Who is this?”
A woman’s voice, distorted by distance, and I swallow hard, wanting to cry and not even sure why.
I pass the phone to Mary who grabs it eagerly. “Grandma?”
No way can I hear what the grandma is saying, but watching Mary’s face is worth it. Her eyes light up and she grins widely showing the gap in her front teeth.
Adorable.
And then Cole grabs the phone from her and then his little face lights up, and aww.