“I think I have a solution.” I reach in my bag and remove something that looks like a paper credit card with five cotton tabs on the bottom. “This is a drug test dip card. They’re a buck a piece on Amazon, and I will happily pay for them out of my own wages. They test for meth, opiates, amphetamines, cocaine, and THC. Results take five minutes and I will voluntarily submit to testing every week, on random days of your choosing, so you never have to worry. Would that put your mind at ease?”
I offer the card to Ted and he holds it at a distance, like he’s disgusted by it, like somehow it’s already dripping with warm yellow urine. “No, see, this is the problem,” he says. “You seem like a nice person. I wish you all the best, I really do. But I want a nanny who doesn’t have to pee in a cup every week. You can understand that, right?”
* * *
I wait in the foyer of the main house while Ted and Caroline squabble in the kitchen. I can’t hear the specifics of the conversation but it’s pretty clear who’s arguing what. Caroline’s voice is patient and pleading; Ted’s responses are short, harsh, and staccato. It’s like listening to a violin and a jackhammer.
When they finally return to the foyer, their faces are flushed, and Caroline forces a smile. “We feel bad keeping you waiting,” she says. “We’re gonna talk more and be in touch, okay?”
And we all know what that means, right?
Ted opens the door and practically shoves me outside into the sweltering summer heat. The front of the house is so much warmer than the backyard. I feel like I’m standing on the border of paradise and the real world. I put on a brave face and thank them for the interview. I tell them I’d love to be considered for the job, that I would really enjoy working with their family. “If I can do anything to make you feel more comfortable, I hope you’ll ask me.”
And they’re about to close the door when little Teddy squeezes between his parents’ legs and hands me a sheet of paper. “Mallory, I drew you a picture. As a present. You can take it home with you.”
Caroline looks over my shoulder and sharply draws in her breath. “Oh my gosh, Teddy, it’s beautiful!”
And I know it’s just a couple of stick figures but there’s a sweetness to the drawing that really gets me. I crouch down so I am staring eye to eye with Teddy, and this time he doesn’t flinch or run away. “I love this drawing, Teddy. As soon as I get home, I’m going to hang it on my wall. Thank you so much.” I open my arms for a quick hug and he gives me a big one, wrapping his short arms around my neck and burying his face into my shoulder. It’s the most physical contact I’ve had in months and I feel myself getting emotional; a tear squeezes out the corner of my eye and I wipe it away, laughing. Maybe Teddy’s father doesn’t believe in me, maybe he thinks I’m just another burnout doomed to relapse, but his adorable little boy thinks I’m an angel. “Thank you, Teddy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
* * *
I take my time going to the train station. I stroll along the shady sidewalks, past little girls making chalk drawings and teenage boys shooting baskets in driveways and lawn sprinklers going fitz!-fitz!-fitz!-fitz! I walk through the little shopping district, past the smoothie shop and the mob of teenagers standing outside the Starbucks. I imagine how nice it must be to grow up in Spring Brook—in a town where everyone has enough money to pay their bills and nothing bad ever happens. And I wish I didn’t have to leave.
I go inside the Starbucks and order a strawberry lemonade. As a recovering addict, I’ve decided to avoid every kind of psychoactive stimulant, including caffeine (but I’m not totally crazy; I’ll still make an exception for chocolate, since it only has a couple milligrams). I’m spearing my straw through the lid when I recognize Russell on the far side of the dining room, drinking black coffee and reading the sports pages of the Philadelphia Inquirer. He’s probably the last man in America who still buys a print newspaper.
“You shouldn’t have waited,” I tell him.
He closes the paper and smiles. “I had a hunch you’d stop here. And I want to know how it went. Tell me everything.”
“It was horrible.”
“What happened?”
“Your trump card was a disaster. It didn’t work.”
Russell starts laughing. “Quinn, the mother already called me. Ten minutes ago. As soon as you left her house.”
“She did?”
“She’s afraid some other family is going to steal you. She wants you to start as soon as possible.”
3
Packing my stuff takes ten minutes. I don’t have a ton of belongings, just some clothes and toiletries and a Bible. Russell gives me a secondhand suitcase so I won’t have to carry everything in a plastic garbage bag. My housemates at Safe Harbor throw me a sad little going-away party with take-out Chinese and a ShopRite sheet cake. And just three nights after my job interview, I leave Philadelphia and return to Fantasyland, ready to start my new life as a nanny.
If Ted Maxwell still has concerns about hiring me, he does a great job of hiding them. He and Teddy meet me at the train station and Teddy is carrying a bouquet of yellow daisies. “I picked these out,” he says, “but Daddy bought them.”
His father insists on carrying my suitcase to the car—and on the drive to the house, they give me a short tour of the neighborhood, pointing out the pizza shop and the bookstore and an old rail trail that’s popular with runners and cyclists. There’s no trace of the old Ted Maxwell—the unsmiling engineer who grilled me on foreign languages and international travel. The New Ted Maxwell is jovial and informal (“Please, call me Ted!”) and even his clothes appear more relaxed. He’s wearing a Barcelona soccer jersey, dad jeans, and pristine New Balance 995s.
Later that afternoon, Caroline helps me unpack and settle into the cottage. I ask about Ted’s abrupt transformation, and she laughs. “I told you he’d come around. He sees how much Teddy likes you. More than anyone else we interviewed. It was the easiest decision we’ve ever made.”
We all eat dinner on the flagstone patio in the backyard. Ted grills his signature shrimp-and-scallop kabobs and Caroline serves home-brewed iced tea and Teddy runs around the grass like a whirling dervish, still astonished that I’ve come to live with them full-time, every day, all summer long. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it!” he exclaims, and then he falls back onto the lawn, deliriously happy.
“I can’t believe it, either,” I tell him. “I’m so glad to be here.”
And before we’ve even had dessert, they’ve already made me feel like a member of the family. Caroline and Ted share a gentle and relaxed affection. They finish each other’s sentences and pick food from each other’s plates, and together they tell me the charming fairy-tale story of how they met at the Lincoln Center Barnes and Noble some fifteen years ago. Midway through the story, Ted’s hand reflexively drifts to his wife’s knee, and she rests her hand on top, weaving their fingers together.
Even their disagreements are kind of funny and charming. At one point in the meal, Teddy announces he has to go to the bathroom. I stand to go with him, but Teddy waves me off. “I’m five years old,” he reminds me. “The bathroom is a private place.”