JENNIE
Let me state the obvious—two-year-olds are a lot of work.
Don't get me wrong, Lauren is absolutely precious. Sure, it took a while for the shock of the whole situation to fade, but once I had her wandering along the beach with her tiny hand in mine and the other with a death grip on a strawberry ice cream cone, something in my brain just switched. Yes, I wanted to chop Lisa's balls off the second she walked out the door, but by the end of the day, I was actually a little bummed to be leaving my new bite-sized bestie behind.
Of course, that went away the second I slid into the driver's seat of my car, when exhaustion hit me like a freaking tidal wave. I'm talking about a level of tiredness that no amount of coffee from Lisa's fancy new espresso machine could fix. The kind of exhaustion that makes you wonder if caffeine pills are such a bad idea and, more importantly, if Lisa is superhuman for doing this whole parenting thing all by herself.
How in the world is she managing to raise her daughter by herself while running such an enormous real estate business? And why is Lauren's mom not taking some of that responsibility off her hands?
My mind churns with questions the entire drive home. But by the time I step through my front door, there are only two things on my mind—my comfy pants and my bed.
Yes, it's only eight p.m.
Yes, the sun is still out.
No, I do not care. Judge me if you must.
Between navigating awkward small talk with my ex and putting in a good six hours of emergency babysitting, I need a full eight hours of sleep more than I need oxygen right now. As I lug myself up the stairs, I picture a sleepy little Lauren, nuzzled up in her dada's bulky arms, too tired to even say good-bye to me tonight. That's how I feel right now. Only I don't have a big strong arm to carry me to bed. Just my two very exhausted legs.
Upstairs, I hurry through my bedtime routine, which includes a few additional steps tonight. It's not every day I wash pasta sauce out of my hair and have to scrub finger paint from beneath my nails. I guess I should start getting used to this, though. I accepted this nannying job, after all.
Once I'm feeling fresh and clean again, I slip into a pair of comfy pajama pants and a tank top. Two seconds later, I'm beneath my fluffy white duvet, letting out an audible sigh of relief as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Time for some much-deserved me time. Maybe I should zone out and fall asleep watching some dumb reality show. Or I could finally start that book that's been gathering dust on my nightstand.
But before I can make up my mind, my phone buzzes on my nightstand with a text from Lisa.
Are you sure you're a teacher and not a chef?
My brows push together as I text back a string of question marks, but she replies right away with a spaghetti emoji, an equals sign, and a flame emoji.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. So this is how we're communicating now? Emojis?
I guess I'll play along. Scrolling through my emoji keyboard, I hunt down the chef, the shrugging guy, and the girl tossing her hair. No use acting humble. My pasta game is killer.
She shoots back the laughing so hard you're crying emoji before switching back to real words.
Seriously, though. The food, the finger-painting, everything. You're magical. You're like freaking Mary Poppins or something. I don't know what I would have done without you today. I owe you big-time.
I picture myself floating through the sky on a magic umbrella, waving at a chimney-sweep version of Lisa below. It actually makes me laugh out loud. I shake my head, still chuckling to myself as I type out my reply.
IDK, I don't have a magical bag like Mary Poppins does, but I guess I do have a few tricks up my sleeve.
Her response comes almost immediately.
Yeah? I can't wait to see.
I stare at her text, reading and rereading it. Am I overthinking this, or did that seem vaguely flirty? And worse yet, did I kind of like it?
No. Bad Jennie.
I'd better stop this thing before it starts. And the best way to do that is to keep this all work, no play.
I'm headed to bed. Let's discuss schedules and payment tomorrow.
I hit SEND, congratulating myself on my save. Good work, me. Nothing cutesy or flirty about discussing wages.
But once again, my phone buzzes with a reply that throws me off.
You'll be worth every dime. Sweet dreams.
With a sigh, I flip on DO NOT DISTURB mode and set my phone facedown on my nightstand.
Tomorrow is a new day with a fresh perspective, and hopefully, it'll bring some answers with it. Luckily, I think I know just where to go to get them.
• • •
While Lisa was off having a real-life baby, my big brother, Hanbin, had a baby of his own. A two-thousand-square-foot baby complete with a pool table and the lingering scent of cheap beer and fried food. Yes, my brother is the proud owner of one of the most popular bars along the beach, and he treats that thing like it's his child.
It's just after two in the afternoon when I push open the door and step into the dimly lit Hanbin's Place, scanning the bar for its namesake. A handful of lifeguards are at a booth near the back having a late lunch, and a few regulars are making good use of the pool table, but the big crowd won't come for a few hours yet. Which means my brother has plenty of time to chat, and hopefully put a few of my questions to rest.
"What's up, li'l sis?" Hanbin waves to me with a dishrag from behind the bar. "Did you come to help me dry dishes?"
"Actually, I'm here for cheese fries. But I'm happy to help out."
As I hop up onto a bar stool, Hanbin calls out my order to the cook, then tosses me a dishrag of my own. He grabs a few freshly washed pint glasses and slides them across the bar, which is built entirely out of repurposed surfboards. With its chill, beachy vibes, Hanbin's has become sort of a staple for both tourists and townies.
"So, how's the summer-break life?"
"I slept in till eight fifteen this morning," I say, unable to keep myself from bragging as I grab a pint glass and stuff the towel inside. "So I'm practically a night owl now, right?"
My brother, who famously slept in well past noon every weekend of high school, chuckles. "Congrats, you made it past the ass crack of dawn, you psycho. I don't know how you survive those five a.m. alarms during the school year."
I let the jab go. It's all part of the brother-sister banter that's normal for us. "How are things here?" I gesture to the bar, noting that it's even cleaner than usual. "It looks great in here, by the way."
His eyes brighten. "I have to keep it looking good since Lisa is swinging by soon. I can't believe she's never been in this place."
"And I can't believe she has a daughter." I meet Hanbin's eyes, and his brows scrunch together.
"You didn't know about Lauren?"
I shake my head. How is he surprised right now? Every time Lalisa's name's been brought up for the past several years, I've shut the conversation down, as fast as I possibly could.
"How long have you known?" I ask.
Hanbin's lips form a tight line as he flips through the calendar in his brain. "Two months before she was born, I think. Maybe three. I just remember that they let the gender be a surprise. Personally, I was hoping for a boy so they could name him Hanbin Junior."
"They? So Lauren's mom was closely involved?"
A snicker leaks out from behind his smug smile. "Uh, yeah, she was involved. Do you know how babies are made? It takes two to tango, you know.."
I roll my eyes so hard, I'm slightly nervous they may never come back down. "You know what I mean, Hanbin. I'm asking what the story is. You know, was she a girlfriend? Or . . . a wife?"
"What's it matter to you?" His tone is gruff as he folds his arms over his toned chest. "For the past ten years you've practically plugged your ears every time I mentioned Lisa. Now you suddenly want to know all the dirty details of her life. What gives?"
Okay, so I guess she did notice that.
I straighten and finish drying another glass. Play it cool, Jennie. "I think it's reasonable to want to know the origin story of the little girl I'm suddenly responsible for."
Hanbin lifts a brow, his lips barely hinting at a smile. "So you took the nannying gig?"
"I guess so."
"What do you mean, you guess so? Either you accepted it or you didn't. Which is it?"
"I'm not answering your questions if you aren't answering mine. Whatever happened to Lauren's mom? Was she, like, a criminal or something? Or did Lisa end up a parent the old-fashioned way—somebody left baby Lauren on her stoop in the middle of the night?"
Hanbin shakes his head. "Two very interesting theories, drama queen, but they're both wrong. It's not my story to tell, though. You should just talk to Lisa about it."
I squirm on my bar stool, remembering how I so blatantly asked about Lauren's mother when I first ran into Lisa in the park. A move that bold might not bear repeating. But if I can't get any answers out of Hanbin, I might not have a choice.
"Yeah, maybe I will," I mumble, sliding the now dry pint glasses back across the bar to him. "Thanks."
"No, thank you," he says. "For helping out here and for helping out Lisa. She really needs another set of hands, and I know you could always use some extra cash in the summer."
"Speaking of, what's the family and friends discount on those cheese fries?" I ask, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes.
Hanbin chuckles, tossing his dishrag over his shoulder as he shakes his head. "For you? They're on the house. A favor for a favor."
