“Even Birgitta?”
As he says her name, Max’s nanny walks into the kitchen.
Tall, lithe, blonde. Always clad in some kind of Lycra. Typically Swedish, objectively beautiful. As usual, her eyes fall on Miles before anyone else, only he’s now nose deep scrolling on his phone, probably liking Instagram pictures of Lando and Holiday onthe red carpet—his latest achievement is getting the hashtag #hotduke to go viral.
After he slept with Max’s previous nanny and she quit when he didn’t want a repeat, he’s been banned from being within twenty feet of anyone else without supervision, so he finds it easier to ignore her.
Unfortunately for him, she’s excellent with Max. And Max loves her. So for now, she’s staying as his nanny. I don’t have time to initiate someone new. Not to mention the impossible feat of finding a nanny who doesn’t want to sleep with Miles.
“Even Birgitta what?”
“You’re coming to school with me, and Daddy, and Uncle Miles,” Max shouts because it’s his only volume. “We’re all going.”
Birgitta looks at me for confirmation because it’s not what I told her this morning when I went to wake Max up. That she’d need to do pickup and drop-off until further notice. Until I caved.
It’s the God’s honest truth. I thought I’d last longer than one day.
“Yes,” I reply reluctantly. Miles is right. I can’t avoid Story forever, no matter how much I want to. But if I have to be wildly uncomfortable, then so does Miles. Therefore, Birgitta is coming with us. I turn back to my son. “Now stop wriggling and sit still so I can do your tie, or we’re going to be late.”
Easing his collar up, I fasten his top button and loop the tie around his neck. I have vague memories of my father doing the same to me, but it was Alex who taught me how to tie one for myself.
Max’s eyes are on me as I cross the thicker end over the narrow part, loop it around, and thread it throughthe knot. He knows exactly what I’m doing, and if I get it wrong, he’ll call me out on it. It’s the mirror he gets confused in front of, but soon, he’ll be tying his own tie, so I want to savor these moments for as long as possible.
Once I’m done, I tuck it inside his school jumper—gray with red piping—just like the rest of his uniform, the same all five of us wore, and lift him off my lap.
“Did you brush your teeth after breakfast?”
Max’s face screws up. “Um . . .”
“Go brush them, and I’ll meet you by the front door.”
“Oh-kay,” he groans dramatically with a well-practiced eye roll, but he rushes off with Birgitta following close.
My cheeks puff out on a long exhale.
Miles picks up my phone and passes it to me. “You need to cancel your cat thing.”
I snatch it out of his hand with a tut.
“C’mon, it won’t be that bad. What did Story always say?”
A hazy memory flashes in my brain, and I huff a laugh. Everything was a story for her. A chance to build up experiences she could look back on. Nothing ever went wrong because she wouldn’t allow it. She’d just change the direction and say, “More fuel for the plot, Hen,” then add a wink that always made me laugh.
“I’m not sure this is a plot.” Plots aren’t supposed to feel like someone’s reached into your chest and ripped your heart out.
“Of course it is.” He slings his arm around me. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”
Clemmie’s heading down the corridor toward the kitchen when we walk out. She’s still in her pajamasand looks barely awake.
“Are you off to school already?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.
“Yup.”
Her gaze darts to Miles and widens. We all know Story is Max’s new teacher. I’m just glad my mother’s still in Switzerland with her girlfriends, because I literally wouldn’t hear the end of it. I’m surprised she’s not called already this morning.
“Oh. Okay, good luck then.”
I’m about to say thanks, but my sister crosses her arms over her chest and pops a hip. Her eyes drop down to my feet, and by the time they arrive back up to the baseball cap I’m pulling on, her lip’s quivering.
