“I don’t have a choice. I’m so fucking far behind,” I tell Andrea. “I haven’t even had a chance to look at the proposal.”
Ping, ping, ping, ping.
How many fucking emails are my co-workers sending? For fuck’s sake.
“Grayson,” she sighs.
“Grayson,” Rose says.
I can’t even think. Female voices are coming at me from all directions and I’m distracted and frustrated. It reminds me of a threesome I had a decade ago where both girls wanted my attention and I was forced to make a sex game out of gagging both of them so I could focus on fucking and not their competing demands.
“Can we just—” I start to say. To who, I’m not even sure.
A baby shriek cuts through my words. It’s loud. It’s shrill. It’s at decibels that could shatter glass. It’s incredible that so much volume can come from such a tiny, tiny human, but Evelyn has proven to be the most demanding female I’ve ever encountered in my entire life, and frankly, that is saying a lot.
It’s entirely possible my head is going to explode.
“I have to go. I’ll call you back,” I tell Andrea and end the call, her protests echoing in my ear.
I turn to Rose, who is holding the baby on her hip, jiggling her up and down.
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound impatient and failing miserably. I drop my phone on the kitchen counter and reach for my coffee.
“You put formula in your coffee, not creamer,” Rose says, gesturing to the mug in my hand.
I hear her words, but I don’t process them. “What?” I ask, running my hands through my hair.
I’m exhausted. The baby was up and down all night and only agreed to sleep if she was on my chest on the couch. My neck hurts. I haven’t taken a shower, and my coffee is officially cold. I take a sip, absently.
“That’s formula, not creamer.”
And…I’m drinking baby formula in my coffee. “I know that.” I didn’t know that. “I just don’t care.” I do care.
“Okay, I just didn’t think you knew.” Rose, who is probably around sixty-five, with a chic gray bob and crinkles around her warm brown eyes, thrusts the baby toward me.
I take Evelyn, awkwardly. I still haven’t gotten the baby transfer part down. The baby frowns up at me, her eyes wet with unshed tears. I settle her against my chest and run a hand over the wispy baby hair on her round head. Her tininess both amazes and terrifies me a thousand times a day.
“Grayson, I love you, but I quit.”
Those words I comprehend immediately. “What? Rose, no, no, no, please, you can’t quit. Why would you quit?”
“Because I’m old and you’re a terrible boss. Too demanding.”
The kitchen floor of my apartment feels like a black hole that is going to open up and swallow me. But there is nothing, and I mean absolutely fucking nothing, that money can’t solve. “I’ll double your salary.”
“No.” Rose picks her purse off of the counter and slides the strap onto her shoulder.
“Triple?” I sound as desperate as I feel. Maybe money can’t solve this. But it has to solve this. I can’t do this on my own.
She can’t leave. It’s noon. I have twelve hours of work ahead of me today and a baby who makes sounds I don’t understand and who refuses to sleep unless she’s draped on me like a weighted blanket.
“Grayson, I agreed to help you out short-term, but I’m retired. You need a young nanny. In fact, you need two, really. A day nanny and a night nanny.”
“They have night nannies?” That sounds…amazing. Like God’s gift to corporate single men who suddenly discover they have a child they didn’t know existed, foisted on them in the middle of a midtown high-rise.
“Yes, of course. For people who have demanding careers. A day nanny does eight to five and a night nanny does eleven to seven.”
“Who is supposed to watch Evelyn from five to eleven, then?” I’m joking. I know the answer. I’m just not thrilled with what it’s going to be.
