How the divorce—ha,divorceis a mild way of putting it—has affected her grades, her behavior, her friendships. Questions I don’t have answers for.
But if I’m going to make real changes around here, I need to have them.
Next, we go over the apps and school emails. Once Mia’s satisfied, she settles onto the couch with her laptop. I try to get her out of the house—and my mind—but it’s no use. She refuses to take the day off or to stay in her lane. Even when I hide in my room for the better part of the morning to avoid her scent, her curves, her annoying way of speaking to me with a hand on my body, she texts me, invading my mind.
And my mind can’t make peace with the fact that she’s here to be my daughter’s nanny. Not after hearing about her plans with her list. I appeal to reason, which has always been a friend of mine. I remind myself that this is temporary. That temptation won’t last forever. That Icanstop myself from raising my hand in the air and volunteering as her sex instructor. Of course I can.
My stomach rumbles. It’s way past 1 p.m., and hiding in my room isn’t just ridiculous—it’s downright rude when I’m supposed to be handling lunch for the guest in my house. I make my way down with heavy footsteps to announce my arrival.
“Mia?”
“Yes, Dr. Preston?”
Never thought I’d see the day I hated being called “doctor.”
“I don’t think there’s much in the fridge, and it’s your first time in the city. Let me take you out for lunch.” The house might implode with us inside otherwise. Or just me with my inappropriate thoughts.
She seems reluctant at first, but ends up shuttingher laptop and asking for five minutes to change. She takes three or four times that.
Once we’re outside, we head straight to my favorite ramen spot on Ninth Avenue. The place is a hole-in-the-wall. All steamed-up windows and handwritten specials, but I’ve yet to find better. From there, I get the brilliant idea to buy us last-minute tickets to a matinee musical. That’s two solid hours of enforced silence.
Afterward, we take the train and walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve been obsessed with this bridge since I was a kid and know everything about it. By the time we cross it, I’ve told Mia enough geek-filled facts for her to run her own guided tour of the bridge.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
mia
This is way betterthan the afternoon I had planned. Dr. Preston had been in his room for hours, so I assumed he’d slipped into a coma instead of just napping and had left me to fend for myself. I’d already downloaded an American food delivery app for lunch and was going to look one up for groceries next.
Seeing the city up close annihilated any guilt I had about not being home, preparing to be the best nanny in history.
New York is busy, loud, and breathtaking. She's a temptress. Even if the company of the day is monosyllabic.
That is, until we hit the Brooklyn Bridge. All that steel turns Dr. Preston into the chattiest, nerdiest, most eloquent guide alive.
As we get closer to the Brooklyn side, the doctor turns me around and points out the Statue of Liberty. He says we can go there one day with Lily—she loves riding boats.
It’s golden hour, and the view knocks the air from mylungs. I step back, blinking to make sure I’m not making this up. It takes me a few embarrassing seconds to realize I’m leaning against the doctor’s chest.
I turn around. “Oh, my God. Sorry, it’s just…” I gesture toward the culprit: the lady with a torch.
“Don’t apologize. The view does that to people. Good thing I caught you.”
He steadies me with both hands on my shoulders, then takes a respectful step back. My skin pebbles under his touch. Weird. The temperature must have dropped. I don’t overthink it.
“Would you mind taking some pictures of me?”
“Not at all.”
I’ve barely hit my first pose when a woman—maybe a few years older than Dr. Preston, with a girl maybe a few years younger than me—stops and turns to him.
“Would you like me to take a photo of you and your daughter, sir?”
Fantastic. The last pic in my photo gallery is one of my chin rolling across the Brooklyn Bridge’s asphalt.
Preston’s arms drop to his sides. His grip on my phone looks strong enough to crack the screen. He seems both pissed and embarrassed, and something in me snaps on his behalf.
How dare she?That woman doesnotget to ruin our day, not when he finally started to loosen up. Oh no, ma’am.
