Drew brings up finding a nanny. The disability payments have ended and you’re officially on unpaid leave. Your savings are going faster than expected and you’re annoyed with yourself for not moving into Drew’s much cheaper apartment in Harlem when you were planning all this. You didn’t want to give up your doorman building and easy commute to midtown. You assumed you’d go right back to work. Why wouldn’t you? You were a Managing Director at one of the top agencies in the city. You’d worked your entire adult life to get there. Stepping away, even briefly, was not an option. You’d get a nanny like everyone else on the Upper East Side.
But now here you are, unable to stop crying long enough to get a toothbrush in your mouth. Crushed by empathy and fear. Talking to Madison’s mother every day like she’s in the apartment with you. Asking how: how does she go on living for even one minute? Your body is as sloppy and loose as your mind. You’re leaking from everywhere and can’t imagine stuffing yourself into Spanx and a pencil skirt.
“I can’t go back to work,” you say. “I can’t leave Caroline with a stranger.”
“I really wish that were an option,” Drew says, looking worried.
“What if we move?” you say. “To the Midwest or something. Someplace where the cost of living isn’t so high. Where I can be home with Caroline for longer.”
“What are you talking about? Our whole lives are here.”
“I don’t care about anything anymore,” you say.
“Well, I still care about some things,” he says. “I just got tenure. I don’t want to move.”
“Really?” you say. “You’re going to use your job as a reason?”
“I think it’s a pretty good reason,” he says.
“Maybe if your salary wasn’t such a joke,” you say.
You recognize the look on Drew’s face. It’s how Anthony used to look at you.
“I’m going for a walk,” Drew says.
You made a mistake. You can’t say things like that, even if they’re true. When Drew comes back, you try to apologize, but he doesn’t want to continue the conversation. His tone holds both authority and care. His teacher voice.
“We still have time,” he says. “Let’s revisit this next week, okay?”
You should be quiet and let him guide you on this path to calmness, but your heart thumps words into your mouth.
“Nothing will be different next week,” you say. “Nothing will ever be different. I could lose her at any time. Madison was ten!”
“Who’s Madison?” Drew asks.
You are alone.
“She’s the little girl who was kidnapped from summer camp. It’s been all over the news.”
“Oh, right,” Drew says. “I mean, it’s awful, but honey, we have to live our lives. Terrible things happen all the time.”
“Exactly!” you shout. “Terrible things happen all the time!”