It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

In Every Job There Must Be Done

By the start of the second week, Matthew was certain he couldn't leave the job. Consequently, he was also questioning his sanity.

His first Sunday off had him fielding the children for most of the morning while their father/uncle sat in his office, complaining about the noise. By afternoon, the blue Beetle swerved into the parking lot of the nearest bookstore. He bought as many cookbooks as possible, a good portion relating to vegetarian and child-friendly meals. Along with the initial eight-cookbook haul, he bought books sewing, basic DIY, parenting, restoration, mid-century design, books on Henry Sullivan, and VW engineering (they were on sale). Matthew left that store carrying his twenty-one books in four bags, having spent well over $500 of money he barely had.

The cookbooks received a particular spot in the kitchen, arranged neatly against the counter's grimy backsplash, its grout flecking away like peeling skin. The rest were relegated to his room, unceremoniously dumped on the floor by his built-in desk. He spent the rest of his day off designing posters concerning household rules, rewards, and consequences. He sacrificed his evening to make them with the kids, who battled over discipline policies and the bedtime routine.

Subsequently, he missed two calls from Toby and Liza. He never called them back.

Despite Mr. Yang's continually promising to dine with the children, the man very seldom came for dinner, citing the insurmountable workload that he was sifting through. By the start of the second week, Matthew had stopped bothering to call him for meals; he saw no point in it.

"What do you guys think?" Matthew asked one evening, spoon poking at the risotto swimming in its creamy soup. Sprinkled with herbs, diced red onion, and finely-chopped sauteed mushrooms, a sweltering, deeply unearned, sense of pride filled his stomach. Hands squirming under the table, trying to ignore the cuts and light burns that now decorated his hands, Matthew swallowed. "Is it...what do you guys think?"

Elliot shrugged in his seat. His eyes moved back and forth between Matt and the dish. "I don't like it."

"You haven't even tried it yet," he sighed, pushing the bowl back towards the brooding child. "I know you got used to microwaved stuff, but your uncle told me that if he finds another microwavable thing in the freezer, he'll fire me."

The boy grumbled and sank into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't like it."

Lilliana, meanwhile, picked her way around onions. Despite this, she gave Matthew a thumbs up. "The soup's good, Matt!" she told him, then promptly asked, "Where's Daddy?"

"He's working," he whispered, taking another bite of the risotto, though his appetite was waning. The answer had become a gut reaction. He was right most of the time, anyways.

"Please go get him?" she asked, leaning over the corner of the table. "He said he would."

"I know, Lilly, but –"

"Please?"

Sighing, Matthew departed from the table for the second time. He knocked, got the same answer, and returned to the table. "He's working," Matthew sighed as he sat down, picking up the spoon, but not eating.

Elliot wiped his mouth with his hand and said, "Don't be mad. None of the other nannies could get him to eat with us." Sitting up a little straighter, he continued, "He's always working."

Matthew dropped his spoon into the bowl, the sauce splashing over the sides. "Does he always work this much?"

Elliot nodded. "He only really comes out when we're in trouble or he's going to bed."

Sighing, he brought another spoonful of the risotto to his mouth, but it didn't go in. A dull ache coarsed through every joint. His hands trembled, stomach unsettled. Matthew put the bite of food back in the bowl.

The girl shifted in his seat. "Did Daddy do something?"

Matthew turned his eyes to her, confused.

"You're really mad."

Matthew forced a smile. "I promise, I'm all right."

Lilly stood on the booth seating and wobbled her way across to Matthew, only really stopped by her cousin. "Daddy's made all the other nannies go crazy."

"Has he?" he asked, smirk undiminished. 'No wonder. The guy's an asshole.'

She tilted her head to the side, frowning. "He doesn't mean it."

Elliot scoffed.

Scoffing, Matthew bit the inside of his cheek. "Sorry, Lilly, but...my feelings towards your dad are mine. They're not going to stop me from doing my job."

"But you don't like him, right?" asked Elliot. "I mean, it's okay. He's an asshole sometimes."

Matthew glared, mouth ajar. "Elliot Yang-Snyder."

"Well, he is!"

"But that language."

"He is, though!"

Lilliana touched his arm.

"I'm – " He stopped himself, watching the children intently; letting out a low grunt, he conceded, "I'll talk to you about the language later."

Elliot sneered at him.

Matthew turned to the girl. "It's not that I don't like him." Even if he was growing more and more to despise the man. But as soon as he said it, Matthew bit his tongue. Wiping his brow, he sighed. "Okay...fine. I'm going to be honest with you guys, because...because I...you guys deserve it." He turned fully to them. "I don't like the way he talks to me. I think it's really rude, and disrespectful, and it doesn't make me feel good about being here." He took in another breath, the frustration softening into disappointment. "I don't want you guys to think that it's okay to talk to people like that when they say something you don't like. Because talking to someone like that, in any way, is not okay."

Lilly's frown grew. "He doesn't mean it."

"Lilly, I think it's really sweet of you to say that, but at the end of the day, he still talks to me like that. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't seem like he knows any better. He might just be really stressed out with work, but that still doesn't make it okay to talk to someone like that." Clenching his jaw, he turned away.

"Are you going to be fired?" Lilly whispered, her gaze low.

Matthew couldn't answer. He tried returning to eating, the food already eaten sitting like lead in his stomach; he pushed it away. 'Please, for the love of God, don't let him fire me yet,' he found himself thinking, his eyelids heavy by the time he released the children from their silent dinner.