“I see that.” I stepped over to Willa, who smiled and locked her eyes onto me as I approached. “All right, Sprout—ready to get some shut-eye?”
“I think so,” she said. “Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”
“Of course you do,” I said. “Weekend’ll be here before you know it. We can have some fun then, all right?”
“All right!”
“But only if you’re good this week. So be on your best behavior.”
“OK, OK.”
I leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead. Right after I did, April slipped Michael into Willa’s arms, and Willa squeezed him tightly.
“Good night, Willa,” said April.
“Good night!”
Together, me and April left the room, turning off the light and shutting the door.
“Whew,” said April, letting out a soft sigh.
“Long day?”
“Long, but good.” She glanced down at the wine in my hand. “Offer still stand?”
“Of course. Come on.”
Together we went down the hall, arriving at the office. We made our way through the office, and I held open the door for her as we reached the balcony.
“Such a beautiful night,” she said as we stepped outside, the soft sounds of the city greeting us. “And this view is amazing.”
She was right about that. The balcony looked out over the Upper West Side, the rows of townhomes stretching off into the distance, the green of Central Park visible in the distance. I had my issues with the house and what it represented, but I couldn’t argue with the view.
We sat down, and I opened the bottle of wine, pouring us two glasses. When they were ready, I raised mine, and she did the same.
“To a good first day on the job,” I said.
“I’ll drink to that. I hope.”
We tapped glasses and took our sips, her words lingering in my mind.
“You hope?”
April shook her head. “I mean, it was a good day, for sure. Willa’s a really special girl. But technically this first week is still my probationary period.”
“That’s true. And thank you, she is a special girl. I think having you around will be good for her. Not enough positive female role models in her life. She never really got to know her mother, and as much as I’d like to believe I can do everything on my own, I know that’s impossible.”
April nodded, watching me, and before I realized it, I found myself already concocting an answer to the question she hadn’t asked.
“Willa was only two when her mother passed.” At least that much wasn’t a lie. “Breast cancer. It hit hard and fast, too quickly for us to do anything about it. By the time we’d detected it, it was too far advanced. Not even chemo helped.”
I felt like a total piece of shit lying to her like that. It was strange—lying was part of my job, and I’d known that any nanny I hired wouldn’t be able to learn the truth about my life, my career.
But there was something about April, something that made telling her a lie sit poorly with me. What was it?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That had to be hard on you and Willa.”
“It was difficult, and Willa was too young to know what was happening. I suppose when you’re that age you assume your parents are going to be around forever. Sometimes I think she’s still expecting her mother to come in through the front door like she’s simply been gone on a long vacation.”