Nanny Diaries

Epilogue

A white and blue checked blanket is spread across my lap, one foot underneath the other and peeking out from the side of it. An empty Grumpy mug lays in my lap, once full of delicious coffee. I sigh with satisfaction as I stretch my arms above my head. It’s been a good morning so far. 

Charlie sits in her crib, bicycling her legs and gurgling to herself. She’s a very happy three week old baby. Sure, she cries, but not as often as I expected. It isn’t anything I’m not used to, as I have four siblings and nannied for three years. 

“Mornin’.” My father trumps into the kitchen in his slippers and blue terry cloth robe my mom bought him their first Christmas they ever spent as a couple. It’s gotten a few tears over the years and a brown patch where his sleeve dipped down onto the stovetop when a pan wasn’t there. Luckily we quickly sprayed him head to toe with the fire extinguisher and my mom managed to salvage it. I think he feels about it the way I do about my yellow raincoat. 

“Good morning.” I respond in a chipper tone. He stares at me squinty eyed over the tops of his glasses, fumbling with the cupboard to grab a mug.  

“In a good mood this morning, are we?” he inquires, glancing down to pour his “addiction” into his favorite chipped cup. It says ‘World’s Best Dad’ in faded black bubble lettering. We gave it to him one Father’s Day. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, clearly indicating I’ve no idea why he would ask such a question. 

“Because,” he huffs, pausing to lift the lip of the mug to his mouth and take a rejuvenating sip. “You’ve been moping around the house for almost three weeks now. Ever since you got here it seems like something’s been bothering you.”

I shoot him an eye roll before throwing the blanket off me and walking towards him. “It’s not anymore.” I say with a deep exhalation of breath. 

His eyes smile at me while he takes another long pull. “I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart.”

I move around him to give a yank on the handle of the dishwasher and place my cup inside. My hand move to press the ‘ON’ button and it hums to life, the red light underneath flickering on. 

“Are we out of cream?” Dad asks, his mouth twisting into a grimace. 

“I don’t know. Check the fridge.” I respond with my eyes on the counter as I wipe it with a damp cloth, scrubbing the grout free of black coffee.

“Fine.” he grumbles, feigning annoyance as he walks the two steps to the fridge. A smug smile spreads across my face, choking down my laughter silently with my back turned.

“Find it?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the white tile rather than my father’s stooping frame leering over the open refrigerator and inspecting the shelves for the beige carton. 

“Yeah.” His voice reaches my ears, getting gruffer as he straightens up.