I hate that I should have known what Luca was like. I hate that I’m telling a stranger that I don’t know my son well.
“His mother used to live in LA, and I…” I don’t want to tell her that Luca was conceived with a donation I made after thinking about it for ten seconds. I want Patricia to live with my family for a while, and I don’t want him to ever have any doubt about how important he is.
Maybe it’s premature to say I love him, but even though I only learned he existed yesterday, all I want is for him to be happy. He is sweet and shy and struggling, but I’m here for him now. It feels like love.
“I’m used to blended families,” Patricia says.
“Are you also comfortable with, uh, same-sex attracted people?”
Her eyes widen, and my cheeks warm. I hastily take a sip of water.
She’s probably googled me. In fact, if she used to nanny for Stella, she might follow hockey. Boston is a sports town, and she might have been watching hockey for years. That’s not important.
She probably thinks I’m bisexual. She can assume whatever she wants to assume. I’m pretty sure Enzo wouldn’t be comfortable with her assuming anything though. I’m not even sure that Enzo is gay, but it’s good to make sure he’s in a comfortable environment just in case. If he is gay, he hasn’t announced it to anyone, and that’s my sign not to ask or speculate about it.
“I know Luca’s young, but, uh, they say kids are sponges…”
She smiles. “They are.”
“I have gay and bisexual friends and?—”
“My brother is gay. I would never criticize anyone for falling in love with someone of the same sex. Love is precious.”
I try to nod knowledgeably, but it occurs to me that I’ve never fallen in love. Is that weird? I’m twenty-eight. That’s probably weird. I wonder if Enzo’s ever fallen in love.
My gut prickles, and I force my mind away from that thought. Thankfully I’m conducting an interview and don’t have to imagine Enzo staring at someone with delight and murmuring how that person is so important to him.
“Mr. Knight?” Patricia asks.
I blink. Okay, I did get a bit derailed. I force myself to smile, though my lips feel tight, like I’ve been drenched in one of those chemicals found in mortuaries.
“Please, call me Axel.”
I glance down again at the list of questions I prepared for the interview after I asked the internet for advice on hiring nannies, and we go through them.
Patricia seems cool and she’s available.
“Can you start tomorrow?”
Her eyes round. “I can.”
“I have a bedroom for you,” I say. “We want a live-in nanny. Like, um, Mary Poppins.”
She smiles. “I’ll do my best. I can’t sing, but I’m excellent at putting on Mary Poppins music.”
I chuckle. “Excellent.”
“I’ll take care of your son. I’ll give him a happy, warm environment,” Patricia promises.
I bite my lip. “My son’s uncle will be living with us. He—well, I guess you’ll find out, he plays for the Boston Blizzards too. He’s new.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Your son’s uncle is Enzo Bellanti?”
I stiffen. Shit. I should have given her an NDA.
“I would appreciate it if you kept it quiet,” I say. “And I guess this needs to be a three-month trial, just to make sure you two click too.”
“Of course.” She gives me an odd look, and I wonder if she’s remembering that I made a big deal about being okay with same-sex attracted people. I probably worded that wrong too.
