Where her father is all dark features—dark hair, dark eyes, that olive-toned skin—she’s the complete opposite. Her eyes are a shocking, cerulean blue, fringed by pale lashes. She has his lips though, those same full lips that sit in a natural pout, and she’s tall for four, all long gangly limbs that she hasn’t quite figured out how to control yet.
There’s something almost angelic about her, something cherubic and sweet, like she should be painted on the ceiling of a church somewhere.
I set my purse down on the end table near the door, my hands shaking slightly, and the little girl looks up at her father.
“Who’s this?” she asks, and her voice is higher than I expected, still carrying a little-kid lilt.
Before he can formulate a dismissal, I step forward—not too close—and lower myself into a slight crouch, bringing myself to her level. I extend my hand, a formal, adult gesture in this bizarre circumstance. “Hello. I’m Annie. And you are?”
She ignores my hand, her gaze fixed on Leo. “Is she the new nanny?”
I look at him, too, waiting for the axe to fall. He drags a hand through his hair, and the weariness on his face deepens, etched into the lines around his eyes.
“Em,” he says, and his voice is softer now, gentler. “We talked about this. You have to have a nanny because I have to work, and you can’t—”
But Emma’s already moving, walking right past me to the end table where I just set my purse down, and before I can process what’s happening, she pushes it off the table with both hands.
The thud is shockingly loud. The contents erupt in a chaotic diaspora: my wallet spewing receipts, a constellation of subway tokens, keys, makeup, and—mortification blooms hot in mycheeks—a tampon, which rolls to a stop near Leo’s foot. My disposable camera lands with a plastic clatter.
Everything clatters across the floor, loud in the sudden silence, and I just stand there in shock staring at the mess.
“Emma!” Leo’s voice is a whip-crack of frustration.
Emma folds her arms across her chest and stares at him with such pure defiance that I almost want to laugh. Almost. Because underneath that cherubic exterior is clearly a kid who knows exactly what she’s doing and isn’t sorry about it at all.
Okay, so maybe she’s not so angelic after all.
I crouch down slowly, not going for my stuff yet, just lowering myself until I’m in Emma’s line of sight. She’s still glaring at her father, pointedly not looking at me.
“Hey,” I say quietly, and she shifts her glare to me, those blue eyes sharp and assessing. “I get it. You’re angry.”
She doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m a threat.
“You don’t want another nanny. You definitely don’t want some random person coming into your house and touching your stuff and acting like they belong here when they don’t.” I pause, making sure she’s still listening, and she is—I can tell by the way her shoulders have gone a tiny bit less rigid. “But those are my things on the floor, and I need them. So I’d like you to help me pick them up, please.”
Her eyes dart to Leo, seeking reinforcement or rescue. He meets her look, and after a tense beat, gives a single, slow nod. He is ceding this battlefield to me.
Emma looks back at me, and I can see the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out what to do now that her little act of defiance hasn’t gotten the reaction she wanted.
Then, without saying anything, she turns around and starts picking things up. Not all of them, and not quickly, but she’s doing it. She bends down and grabs a subway token, thenmy keys, offering them to me in her small hands like they’re something precious instead of the junk they actually are.
Relief floods through me, sweet and cool, and I start gathering my stuff too, reaching for my wallet and the receipts that have scattered everywhere. We work in silence for a moment, this weird little team, and I’m trying not to think about how Leo is still standing there watching us, probably wondering what the hell is happening.
Emma picks up the tampon.
“What’s this?” she asks, holding it up like it’s a prize she’s won.
My cheeks immediately flame hot and I can hear Leo behind me making this sound like he’s choking, trying not to laugh. I want to turn around and strangle him but I’m trying to maintain some semblance of composure and also I have no idea what to say.
Should I lie? Tell her it’s a toy or a magic wand or some other ridiculous thing that will inevitably make this worse when she figures out the truth? Or should I just be honest?
I clear my throat. “It’s a tampon.”
Emma’s eyes go wide, interested now instead of suspicious. “What’s it for?”
Oh my God. Of course she’s going to ask follow-up questions.
“It’s…it’s something women use when they have their period.” I’m trying to keep my voice matter-of-fact, like this is a completely normal conversation to be having with a four-year-old I met thirty seconds ago while her father watches from three feet away. “Which is something that happens to girls when they get older. Your body does some stuff and you need these to help.”
