His expression is genuinely stunned, which makes me feel a little better about being duped. At least it doesn't appear as though he did it on purpose—just a storm of circumstances that got him through the door without me being my usual meticulous self.
"Blimey," he says. "What do you reckon the chances are of that?"
Right now? One hundred percent.
Part of me wants to grill him on what he actually knows about running a household and looking after children. Almost every man I've ever known, including my father, left child rearing and housework to their partner. It's one of the reasons I've preferred raising Joey on my own. Most of my friends seem to be parenting solo anyway or relying on nannies, who are also women. Might as well cut out the stress of having to consult a partner or pretend to consider another opinion. What I want, I get. Easy and clean.
Chloe is drooling around her fist, and her brown eyes are fixated on me. She looks healthy and happy. Points for him. Despite the choices I've made, true single parenting, especially of an infant, has substantial challenges. It's why I've always had a nanny. A female nanny.
But maybe this arrangement will be fine. As long as I feel safe and Joey is safe, our employment deal will stand. Prove to my sister she doesn't know me as well as she thinks. Not only can I keep a nanny for a whole year, but a male nanny at that. Who wouldn't be impressed by that flexibility?
Of course, the only way out would be if I could find a woman named Ashley to replace this one. Then my sister would be none the wiser since all she knows right now is the name of the person I hired. But if women in England aren't called Ashley, finding a substitute might be too tall of an order. My mind spirals into a few other scenarios where I could get rid of the male Ashley in favor of a female one, but all of them require elaborate ruses and a high chance of discovery when Gwen comes to visit. She'd sniff out my lies like she always does.
"If you don't need me," Ashley says. "I'll go unpack. Send us a text, yeah, when you fancy the curry? Me and Chloe will come down to sort out the takeaway order."
"Oh, I—" But he's gone from the kitchen before I can mount a protest. Did I agree to the curry? I'm not even sure I like Indian food.
On the counter, beside the sink, is the dirty bottle. The temptation to clean it is very strong, but if I start doing his work for him now, there'll be no end. I've never lived with a man before, but I've seen and heard enough from friends. Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile.
Rather than succumbing to the urge to clean, I scoop Joey and his car off the tile floor, and I carry them both into the living room. If I can't see the bottle, it won't bother me so much.
~ * ~
Since I don't let Joey watch television or have any other electronic devices, I'm reading him a book when Ashley and Chloe wander into the living room.
"Tea time?" Ashley asks. "I'm feeling a bit peckish."
Words are coming out of his mouth, but the meaning might as well be a foreign language. "You're looking for a cup of tea?"
A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "No, that'd be 'do you fancy a cuppa'." He adjusts Chloe in his arms, and she snuggles into the crook of his neck.
I cannot deny the appeal of a man with a baby. Something instinctual is sprouting in my abdomen, as though my ovaries are flowering, watered by the tenderness and warmed by their obvious closeness. Whatever else I might believe about other men, he seems to be a good father.
"If tea is a cuppa, then what is the tea you're asking about?" Joey takes the book from my hands when I don't turn the pages fast enough.
"The evening meal?"
"Right, and you would...peck at that?" I raise my eyebrows, hopeful there's a better explanation.
The smile that threatened earlier breaks out across his face, and his teeth are white and straight. Trust me, not only to accidentally employ a male nanny, but to hire one who is undeniably attractive. Rough around the edges, but in the way that most women would love. In college, he's the type of man my girlfriends would call dibs on the minute we caught sight of him.
I always considered myself immune to the charms of guys like him. Inevitably the men my friends fought over were gorgeous, like a Salvador Dali painting, and just as fucked up. In the past, I've gone for men who attended a post-secondary institution and worked in an office building. Athletic, but devoid of raw magnetism. Ashley has found a switch in me I didn't even realize could be flipped.
How am I having these thoughts? About my much younger employee who, even if he wasn't working for me, is clearly emotionally unavailable. At least the second part is on brand.
A fire is starting in my cheeks, but I've learned there's nothing I can do about my tendency to blush. Thinking about it only deepens the color. What must I look like?
"Peckish," he says with the wide grin still present. "Hungry. British for hungry."
Heaven help me, he's even got dimples.
"Yes," I say, and I hate the breathless quality to my voice. "I'm hungry."
"Shall I order a curry?" He's got his phone out of his pocket, and he's already hitting buttons with his thumb.
"Is there anything else?" I ask. "Curry isn't normally something I'd eat."
His features are schooled now, and he closes his phone before sliding it into his pocket. Chloe emerges from his neck, and her fist is back in her mouth. I hope he's washing her hands regularly.
"Ever tried it?" he asks.
"Well, no."
"You're not keen to try something new."
It's a statement, not a question, but it gets the wheels turning in my mind as Joey attempts to smoosh the closed book into my face.
"Read," Joey says.
On instinct, I open the book, but I'm not reading, I'm thinking. When I took the job here, I promised myself I'd immerse us in the culture, really experience this part of the world. For one year, I'd open myself up. If British people eat a lot of curry, then I should at least try it. No harm in having one meal, and if I hate it, I can easily beg off next time.
"I can't tolerate anything spicy," I say.
"Korma, chana masala, and butter chicken. Even pensioners with a bad stomach can handle those."
His reference to old people is not lost on me. Thank you for pointing out our age difference, Ashley. My party like a rockstar years might be over (not that I had many of those, anyway), but that hardly slots me into the geriatric category, even with my food choices.
"You reckon Joey will eat it? I'll order a bit of naan too." He's got his phone out again, and he's working it with his thumb while he balances Chloe.
"Joey eats anything I put in front of him." It's a lie I've told countless times at mommy and me groups, but sometimes it's true. Other nights are a battle of wills. At almost three, Joey has reached the stage where telling me 'no' brings him immense joy.
"Food's ordered," Ashley says, closing his phone. "Do you want me to mind them while you go collect it?"
All the color drains from my face in a rush. I'd never make it there and back without having to call for a tow truck. The short drive would take me hours.
"Actually," I say. "Would you mind? It's dark, and I'm still a bit directionally challenged. I can give you the money." Everything I say must reinforce his initial impression that I'm old. Can't drive in the dark. Directionally challenged. The mildest food available. All I need to do now is dig out my reading glasses and stick them on a chain around my neck.
"Can do."
I plop Joey off my lap to go to the front entrance where my purse sits. At the bottom is my wallet, and I draw out more money than he'll need to make sure I cover it. When I pass him the cash, he gives me Chloe.
She comes willingly, but her brown eyes go wide as she stares at me. I can't tell if she'll burst into tears or a grin.
"Twenty quid too much." He passes me a note. "Back in a tick."
Then he's out the front door with his keys and the money in hand. At the click of the door, Chloe decides a cry is better than a grin now that her father is gone, and she releases a mournful wail.
"Up," Joey says from in front of me. "Up. Mommy. Up."
"I can't pick you up, I have Chloe."
Although I've said no to him many times before, I've never done it with another child in my arms, and the rejection sets him off. His wail of outrage harmonies with Chloe's frustrated cries. Wonderful. I knew there was a reason I had no intention of going for baby number two. My ears are ringing.
"Shhh. Shhh." I bounce Chloe as I walk into the living room. Joey falls to the ground behind me, kicking and screaming. In the living room, I hitch Chloe, still howling, to my hip, and I scoop one of Joey's cars off the floor. It's one of the rubber ones, and I give it a quick clean with a baby wipe before passing it to her.
Immediately, she sticks the rubber wheels into her mouth and bites down, chewing with a concentrated effort. Her teeth must really be bothering her.
Joey hiccups from the doorway. His temper tantrums never last long, but they are epic in nature. I've seen other parents who can negotiate or coax their child out of a fit, but I've never been able to go that route. My frustration escalates his frustration and we both end up in tears. As long as he's in a safe place, I walk away now and let him find me when he's ready.
"My car!" he says from the door.
"Chloe's teeth are sore," I say. "We'll take turns. When she's done, Mommy will clean it and give it back to you."
He runs across the floor and snatches up the rest of his cars and sticks them in the basket where his toys live. While I appreciate the tidiness, there's still a tightness in his posture that suggests we could be on the cusp of a second bout of outrage.
"Why don't you come sit beside Mommy and meet Chloe? She's Nanny Ashley's baby."
He stomps over to the couch with his arms crossed, and he gets in Chloe's face. "My mommy."
"Joey." I take his elbow and draw him away. "We don't speak to people like that." Our life has been full of adjustments this last week, and he's only just gotten over the jetlag that plagued us both. Being a bit possessive of me is likely normal. Probably. Hopefully. Heaven help me, I hope I'm not raising a brat.
We're at a standoff for, I don't know how long, when the front door opens, and I breathe a sigh of relief. In the doorway, Ashley has a bag in his hand.
"I set your change beside your handbag. Kitchen?" He raises the stapled package.
Joey jumps up, and he rushes to Ashley. He throws his arms around his leg, and he glances toward us over his shoulder with a glare directed at Chloe. Content with the car soothing her gums, Chloe merely grins back. I chuckle at is obvious attempt to make her jealous.
"You alright, mate?" Ashley ruffles the top of Joey's head with his big hand.
"I think he's a bit worried Chloe might be stealing his mother."
Ashley sets the bag at his feet, and he crouches to meet Joey's gaze. "I'd wager your mum's heart is big enough to love you and tend to Chloe. Come help Nanny Ash set the table." He offers his palm, and Joey sticks his hand in it, sliding another look at me, as though he expects me to stop him.
While I might have preferred Ashley take the drooling Chloe off my lap, it might be better for Joey's jealousy to have this child exchange presented as normal. He's always had his nanny or his grandparents or even my attention all to himself. This arrangement might be more of an adjustment for him than I initially anticipated.
By the time I get to the kitchen, Ashley has Joey seated in a booster. The highchair is set up, and there's a small bowl of rice and sauce on the table along with a bottle. As soon as Chloe sees the bottle, she starts making the milk sign.
"Do you want me to..." I gesture to the highchair.
"Yeah. Do you mind? She can have the bottle." He plucks it off the kitchen table and sets it on the tray. In Chloe's excitement, she knocks it over, and he catches it mid-air. "Not the first time," he mutters before setting it in her eager hands. She tilts it up, her feet kicking softly against the bottom of the chair.
Joey is across the table from her, eyeing her warily with his spoon shoved into the mound of rice and sauce. He's so focused on her, that he takes a bite and chews without a single protest.
I breathe a sigh of relief that my earlier bragging won't be revealed today. Likely tomorrow, when I'm not here, Joey will kick up a fuss, and Ashley will wonder how I ever called Joey a good eater.
Ashley secures the buckles on the highchair, and then he passes me a plate. He walks me along the dishes, pointing out what they are and their heat level. At the end, he points to the bread housed in tinfoil.
"Peshwari naan and garlic naan. I prefer the garlic. The Peshwari is sweeter with bits and bobs in it." He sticks a couple pieces of his favorite on the side of his plate, and at the table, he plops one onto the corner of Joey's dish, before tearing up the bread for Chloe.
I scoop the rice into sections on my plate, and then I spoon sauce and chunks of meat on each section. If I keep them all divided, it'll be easier to figure out what I like and don't like.
When I take a seat at the table, Ashley eyes my plate. "If you're a bit nervous, start with the yellow one." He points the end of his fork in my direction.
I mix up the rice and sauce, and I take a tentative bite. Coconut and cinnamon lend the dish an unexpected sweetness. Not bad at all. "I like this one."
"Sometimes stepping outside your comfort zone works out alright," he says before taking a bite of his dark red curry. I can't remember what he called it, but he warned me it would feel like shoving rice balls made of lava into my mouth.
Who willingly shovels balls of lava into their mouth? Questionable taste and judgement. But whatever I'm eating right now is actually delicious, so I'll give him a pass.
We eat mostly in silence, and when Joey asks Nanny Ash for more of the yellow sauced chicken, I nearly fall off my chair. A miracle. Once Ashley is done eating, he feeds Chloe some of the mixture and she claps her hands in delight at the first bite.
The whole scene is a bit surreal. Yesterday, I never would have guessed my day would have gone like this, and that I'd be happy about it. Yet, here I am with a weirdly content feeling in the middle of my chest.
Perhaps Ashley is right and stepping outside my comfort zone—by moving here, by hiring him, by trying to immerse us in the British culture—really will turn out all right. I've had many doubts this week, and tomorrow I start my new job which will bring another set of challenges, but right now, in this kitchen, I'm giving myself a pat on the back.
Everything seems like it's going to be just fine.
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