“Clearly.” But there’s something almost amused in his expression again, that tiny hint that maybe, possibly, he doesn’t find me completely intolerable. “Are you actually interested in the position or are we wasting each other’s time?”
“No—yes. I mean yes, I’m interested. Very interested.” I’m clutching my purse so hard my knuckles are probably white. “I need this job.”
“Alright.” He shifts, adopting a posture of brisk efficiency. “Monday through Friday. Typically eight to five or six, but my schedule at Columbia is erratic—labs, seminars, committees. Flexibility is non-negotiable. Emma has preschool Tuesdays and Thursdays, nine to twelve, at Broadway Presbyterian. You’ll have those mid-morning blocks free. There’s the library, cafes. The apartment is yours if you prefer.”
I nod, absorbing the map of a new life.
“Around the house, it’s pretty straightforward,” he continues. “Make sure Emma eats—breakfast, lunch, snacks, whatever she needs. Clean up after meals, keep the kitchen relatively tidy. I’m not expecting you to deep clean or do laundry or anything like that, just basic tidying as you go. Take her to the park, to the library, wherever she wants to go within reason. Keep her entertained, engaged, safe.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll pay you ten dollars an hour.” He pauses, probably waiting for me to object, but honestly that’s more than good enough for me. “Plus I’ll give you money for subway tokens at the beginning of each month—call it thirty dollars, that should be more than enough. And my family owns a Greek restaurant, Roussos, down in the East Village. If you and Emma ever stop by for lunch or dinner, they’ll take care of you. No charge.”
Free food. That’s actually huge. I’m already mentally calculating how many times a week I can reasonably show up at this restaurant without seeming desperate or weird.
“She does ballet on Wednesdays,” he adds. “Four to five at the studio on 110th Street. And sometimes she likes to go to the Museum of Natural History—she’s obsessed with the dinosaurs. There’s a good playground on 108th that she loves. And she loves the children’s section at the library on 115th.”
He’s rattling off all of this information like he’s reading from a list he’s memorized, and I’m trying to keep up, trying to commit it all to memory even though I know I’m going to forget half of it the second I leave this apartment.
“I have a calendar on the fridge,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “Emma’s whole schedule is on there—preschool, ballet, everything. And all the emergency contact numbers are there too. My office number at Columbia, my parents at the restaurant, my sister Maria who also works there, the pediatrician, poison control, all of it.”
“Okay.” My head is spinning a little. This is real. This isactuallyhappening. I’m going to be responsible for a tiny human being who throws plates at people’s heads and locks them in bathrooms. “Okay, I can do this.”
CanI do this? I have no idea. But I need to be able to do this, which means Iwillfigure out how to do this, even if it kills me. Or if Emma kills me first.
He watches me, that analytical gaze dissecting my resolve. “Do we have an agreement?”
I think about it for exactly three seconds. I think of my barren bank account. Of Emma’s face, alight with wonder at a simple camera. Of the chance to prove I can build something here, from nothing.
“We have a deal,” I say. “On one condition.”
His eyebrows go up. “What condition?”
“Even though we don’t like each other—and I think we’ve established that we don’t—we can’t act that way in front of Emma. She’s already dealing with enough without having to navigate tension between the adults in her life.” I pause, making sure he’s listening. “And you can’t be all micromanage-y about everything. I know you’re going to want to be, I can already tell, but you hired me to do this job so you need to let me actually do it. You can’t hover or second-guess every decision I make or call me every five minutes to check in.”
“I wouldn’t—” he starts to protest.
I just stare at him.
He sighs, running his hand through his hair again. “I’ll try my best.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“Fine.” He stands up, extending his hand toward me like we’re closing a business deal, which I guess we are. “Deal.”
I stand too, reaching out to shake his hand, and his grip is firm and warm and his hand completely engulfs mine. We’re standing close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him, close enough that the smell of him fills my senses again. For just a second we are simply two people, anchored by a handshake, the past and future a silent charge in the space between us.
Then he lets go and steps back, and I can breathe again. “Can you start Wednesday? My parents have her covered the next couple of days,” he says.
Wednesday. That’s three days away. Three days to mentally prepare myself for this, to read whatever books exist about taking care of four-year-olds, to convince myself that I’m not going to completely screw this up.
“Wednesday works,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
“Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t be.”
“Good.” He walks me back toward the front door, and I can hear Emma singing something in the bathroom, some song I don’t recognize, and it makes me smile. “I’ll see you Wednesday, Annie.”
