Holy shit. I was a nanny.

Of course, by the time that fact finally sunk in, I had been one for almost a month already. Yet, I felt like Ari, who had discovered yesterday that when a dolphin is asleep, only half of its brain shuts down while the other half stays awake, and had been trying to make half her brain go asleep ever since. I had highly encouraged her little experiments because she'd be quiet for a while, and when it came to her, silence was even more of a miracle than a dolphin's brain activity.

My probation period was slowly coming to an end, and to my surprise, Elizabeth hadn't mentioned it yet. Highly aware of what was about to come, I'd decided I would have to actively try to teach the kids stuff instead of just entertaining them all day long. Or like Elizabeth had snarled at me when I'd been pretending to be Ari's pony one afternoon: "you're their nanny, not their home entertainment system".

Trying to please her, I had started to give the girls chores. Camille had to help set the table and put her toys away before bed. Ari had to empty the dishwasher a few times a week and sweep the kitchen floor regularly. Manon had to fill up the dishwasher after dinner and assist miss Schneider when she was doing the laundry. Obviously, this schedule had been met with a loud chorus of protests, except from Camille, and Ari had complained about it to her mother. Elizabeth, however, had told her very sternly she thought it was a good idea and that she should've thought of it herself much earlier. From then on, it had been a daily fight trying to get Ari to do her chores. By the time Camille's birthday was around the corner, I must've sent Ari to take a time-out on the stairs for a hundred times already. Being a nanny was not easy.

The hardest part, though, wasn't making Ari do her chores, or even endure her mother's glares and snide remarks. No, the thing I dreaded most every day, was bedtime.

The night before Camille's birthday, I sat on the edge of Manon's four-poster, one of her books in my lap. She lay under the covers, clutching a mint green fox to her chest, watching me with her lips pressed into a tight line, her thin straw blonde hair spread around her like a halo.

Until now, I'd only read to her sisters, which I'd managed well enough when I put some effort into it, seeing as how they were too small for overly complicated stories. Tonight, she had asked me if I'd read to her as well, from Roald Dahl's Matilda, and even though my stomach turned at the prospect, I'd said yes. It had seemed like a nice bonding experience.

Boy, was I wrong.

My finger moved to the next line. I stared at it. It looked so familiar... "Oc— oc— occas — occasion — oh wait! Occasionally. Who puts words like that in a kid's book?"

With a deep sigh, she sat up, yanking the book from my hands. "Let me do it," she said, throwing her hair over her shoulder like her mother sometimes did. "Honestly, didn't you ever go to school?"

"I did! I just wasn't very good at it. And I missed a lot of first grade; I suppose that didn't help." We'd moved to a new school district, and as it was too far for me to walk to the bus stop, an adult had to drive me there, only Ma and Uncle Ray sometimes forgot to take me.

She straightened her back and cleared her throat, as if wanting to show me how it's done, and read out the whole paragraph without stumbling once. The little girl Matilda had asked her father for a book, and he'd responded she should be happy with the television, which, I mused, was probably how my Ma would've reacted too. Apparently, Manon was thinking along the same lines because she looked up and said: "Jessie, do you have a dad?"

"Nope. Ma says I have a number of possible dads, and that's as far as I want to think about that. I don't ever want to picture her flirting with any man, let alone multiple." I shuddered, trying to push the image of her batting her eyes at some mustached dude out of my head. What a nightmare.

She nodded thoughtfully. "And you've never been curious?"

I knew where this conversation was going. Finally, we were going to breach that one subject — that thing that made her relationship with her mother so tense. One thing was sure: I was going to have to approach it carefully.

"Well, maybe as a kid," I said, scratching my hair. "But we had an uncle, Uncle Ray, and he was the best man in the world." Except for the drinking. "He always made an effort to take us somewhere nice, like a theme park or the movies. He was kind of my dad, I think. And I had a step-dad for a few years. Wasn't around much, though."

Manon was fidgeting with the arms of her fox, turning them around and around. She seemed to be contemplating something, staring into the distance, then said: "I don't really remember mine very well. But I do know he was very funny."

"How old were you when he left?"

"Six. Camille was just a baby."

Poor girl. What kind of dad was that, to just get up and leave your daughters? It didn't even matter if Elizabeth did what they say she did — you shouldn't abandon your kids, ever. Period.

She opened her mouth, closed it again, looked me over, and said quietly: "Sometimes I wish mom had left, and dad had stayed."

What did you say to that? She was watching me like she expected me to have some great answer to her troubles, and oh, did I wish I had. "Well," I said, "we all think stuff like that sometimes. But it's no use, because things are what they are." She didn't seem satisfied with that, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Hey. I know your mom isn't exactly the easiest person to be around. She has her flaws. She could do with a bit more smiling, for instance." I glanced over my shoulder, suddenly scared she might be listening in, ready to tear me to shreds. "Still, she is here, you know. And this might sound cruel, because I know you miss your dad a lot, of course, but... he's not. Here, I mean."

I had always been a firm believer in serving kids the full truth of a situation. God knows it'd saved me from many disappointments in my life. If I thought it would've done her good to idolize a man who would probably never show up again, I would've held my tongue.

"Oh, but he sends us a postcard and a gift for our birthdays every year!" she said, like that made it alright she hadn't seen him in three years. Opening her nightstand drawer, she picked up a thin stack of cards and handed them to me. "Look!" Her small face was glowing with excitement, a little like Camille's whenever she was eating a Hawaiian pizza, and my heart broke a bit for her.

A postcard and a gift. Well, that'd really get him a dad-of-the-year award...

The cards were frayed around the edges, the ink of the words smeared in some places like she'd read them a thousand times. The first one showed a picture of the Eiffel Tower, the second an idyllic bridge over a narrow channel, and the third an immense old grim-looking church. I turned the one with the Eiffel Tower around and read:

My sweet Manon,

I can't believe you turned seven already! Happy birthday, sweetheart. I hope you have the best day, and that you like my gift. The moment I saw it, I knew it was perfect for you.

I love you very much, and your sisters,

Dad

All of them contained roughly the same hollow phrases. I tried to keep my face straight, even though a flare of anger was whooshing through the whole of my body. Loved them very much, huh? Then why did you leave them alone with a mother who had no clue how to raise her kids?

"So, he's in France?" I asked, inspecting the foreign, unreadable words on the edge of the stamp.

"Yes. Maybe, when I'm older, I can go live with him."

I doubted it. In any case, it seemed they were better off with their mother after all. Yeah, she did work all the time, but at least she showed up. At least she was there to hug them every once in a while. The neighborhood was way too judgmental, blaming Elizabeth for everything when she was the one who stayed.

"Do you think..." Manon started to say, trailing off. I looked up at her, and when I did, her cheeks flushed red, her blue eyes glittering eagerly. "Do you think he will ever forgive mom?"

For once, I didn't say anything, even though I was pretty sure of the answer. No. If he packed his bags and moved to Europe, I couldn't see him suddenly changing his mind and coming back.

Manon mistook my silence for confusion. "For having sex with other men," she added earnestly, her hands folded on top of her book. Although I knew she was very aware of the technicalities of sex, as I had heard her explaining it to Ari, and the reason people did it, I had the feeling she had no idea what it meant to be cheated on.

I sighed deeply. "I don't know, sweetie. The thing is... when you're in a monogamous relationship — that is, with one other person... How do I explain this?" I rubbed my face. If I managed to get through this conversation, I definitely deserved to keep my job and get a raise too. "You promise each other you won't have sex with anyone else because you love each other. So, when one person breaks that promise, it's a deep betrayal to their partner, and they'll feel incredibly hurt."

The second I finished my sentence, I wondered if maybe this time, I should've kept my mouth shut. My stomach plummeted. Oh no, I'd just made it worse, hadn't I?

"Are you sure it's true, though?" I added quickly. Shit shit shit. Me and my big mouth...

Manon nodded. "Yeah, dad told me before he left. That it wasn't my fault, that it was hers."

Oof. He told her that when she was six? Just to get back at Elizabeth? What a dick move. Honestly, had I ever heard of a more selfish couple? They should've never had kids together. "Well, he shouldn't have said that. What happened between your parents is between them. You have your own relationship with your mom, and it shouldn't be influenced by what she did to your dad."

Her face fell. "But you just said it. She did a horrible thing. I can't just forget that."

Well, fuck. Why did I have to be so stupid? I shifted in place, wishing I could turn back time. "Have you ever talked to your mom about this?"

"Yes. A few times. She always tells me she is sorry and that she loves me blah blah blah. And then she usually cries."

Elizabeth crying? That wasn't something I could easily imagine. "Seems like she really regrets it."

Manon shrugged, carefully placing the cards back into her nightstand and slowly closing the drawer. When she turned back, she wore a somber expression, her shoulders dropping. "I just want to read by myself a bit," she murmured.

"Alright." I hesitated, then asked: "Can I give you a hug?"

She seemed like she really needed it. To my surprise, she nodded noncommittally and let me hug her, her arms loosely around me. When I let go, I smiled reassuringly. "Hey, if you ever want to talk about something, anything at all, you can always come to me, okay?"

"Okay." She mustered up a small smile. "I like you, Jessie. You never treat me like a baby."

The weird desire to squeal overcame me — maybe I'd been spending a little too much time with Camille. I held it in, though I couldn't help but grin. "I like you too, Manon," I said. "Sleep well. You can read another twenty minutes, okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight."

I closed the door behind me. Keeping my lips tightly shut, I threw my hands into the air, doing a funny sort of wave dance.

I was pretty sure I had just passed my probation period with flying colors.