I don’t know what to say for a minute. “My mother just left me at home when she went on a bachelorette trip. I think she forgot about me. It wasn’t the first time, if you read my social worker’s reports.”
Now I’ve made things awkward. Imogene doesn’t know what to say. Laurel squirms in my arms, impatient for her diaper change.
“I’ll never leave Laurel. Never ‘just forget’ about her. That’s why I needed help, and I was willing to do anything to get it,” I finally say.
Imogene leaves the bowls, and for a glorious second, she leans on me and strokes Laurel’s cheek. “Oh, Laurel’s never going to think she was unloved or unwanted. Not with us around. You. Not with you around,” she corrects hastily.
“I liked it better the first way,” I murmur. I turn my head—and her face is there. So close to mine.
Her eyes are so wide. So beautiful in a startled face that’s somehow so smooth and serene at the same time. When I look at her, she gives me peace. I’ve only ever known peace that I’ve built carefully, by myself. Even life with Laurel, while beautiful, has been chaotic until now.
Will I ruin everything if I lean forward and brush my lips to hers?
Probably.
“Weh!” Laurel lets out one emphatic cry, and that breaks the spell. (And saves me from ruining everything, probably.)
But I’m floating away, pretending Imogene was in that same enchanted moment with me.
I’VE BEEN HIRED ASa nanny, posing as a wife, to take care of a beautiful little girl.
And I find out that not only am I a person who has never been with a child or even seen one in person until Laurel, but I’m also from a line of horrible child-hating monsters.
I’m falling in love with this life, and the kind, gentle man in it, and I’m the worst person for him. For them.
This can’t last long, I tell myself, and then Artie pours me coffee, makes the oatmeal, and sits beside me.
“I’m going to apply for your birth certificate—but we’re going to need those records from your school. It should be simple enough to say you need your password changed and a new email.If you help me, we can do it before I start work. I’m going to be applying for Laurel’s birth certificate, too—with a petition for a delayed birth certificate request. If we need to, we can probably do something similar for you.”
“Would I be listed as the mother?”
Artie hesitates. “If you do that, you’ll always be bound to her. You could file for custody when we—”
I cut him off, rising, pretending I want milk and sugar for the coffee. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Someone will sweep you off your feet. Especially now that you know most of the world can’t see anything unusual about you. They’ll just see how beautiful and kind you are. I just... I think I need help until she’s a little older, and then I can send her to daycare. If I can afford that.” Artie finishes changing Laurel on the thick, plastic, padded changing mat on the couch. He comes back with her strapped to his chest in the baby sling and washes his hands.
“Daycare? That’s expensive,” I blurt. I don’t know if it is, but I know I’m cheaper. And that Artie called me beautiful. “And you work at night sometimes. Or on the weekends. You’ll have to hire sitters, I guess, and that would be expensive, too.”
“Not as expensive as trapping someone in a loveless sham marriage where they don’t want to be,” he huffs, breathing out hard and sending his overgrown bangs over his glasses.
“I like it here. So much. I love the town. The people I’m meeting. Laurel. You.” I say the last words quietly and don’t know if I hope he heard me or not.
He did. Because suddenly, he’s leaning beside me again, his arm warm on mine. “I want to believe that, but... but I think you should probably give this a few weeks before you say stuff like that. You’ve been in a rough situation, really isolated, and I might seem like some superhero.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m not.”
He is. Oh, God, he is, and he doesn’t even realize it.
“You might not like me in a couple of weeks. I... I don’t have experience with kids, not hands-on experience, but I’m learning. I’m part-monster. I—”
“I figured the first part out right away, Immy, but you’d never know it. I had no experience either. Sometimes, first-time parents don’t. They just have to stick it out and learn.”
Immy. He called me Immy. I have a nickname. Part of a friendship, a family.
“What about the second part. What... What I am?” I push, swallowing down the fear.
He shakes his head. “I don’t care what you are. You know, in Greek myths, the only minotaur I know was some blood thirsty killer in a maze. Milo Angelakis is the chillest, nicest guy. Do you know he and his wife met over fostering kittens?”
I nod. “Libby told me that. She’s a vet tech and a vet student. Well, she’s on part-time hours right now because she’s on maternity leave.”
