“They know the places you want to go, you talk about it all the time.”
Were we arguing? Was this what an argument with Paul would be like, because it sure sounded as if we were at least talking at cross purposes.
He stopped in front of the tree, raking his hands through his hair as the movie played behind him. “I don’t want to tell them that I was always going to be leaving.”
I stood and brushed cookie crumbs from my shirt, then, hands on hips, I was ready for a heated debate given that he was attempting to say something and all he was doing was confusing me.
“You were always leaving,” I said, “you told me in the interview.”
He looked stricken. “We never warned them, I never… I should have… what will they think?”
I felt a surge of understanding and a need to make things better. I’d always known he was leaving, and he was right, we’d never spoken to the children about any of it. “It’s okay, I’ll handle it because it’s on me that I allowed them to fall in love with you.”
Emotion flared in his eyes, but I couldn’t make out what it was, because he didn’t smile, or cry, or say a single word to help me understand. I left him standing there, going into the kitchen, anything to get away from the pain in his expression. How could I not love someone so desperately upset about hurting Aden, AJ, and Anna? I poured a generous tumbler of eggnog, then found the brandy and dumped at least a couple of extra measures into it. One thing Paul hadn’t said was that he wanted to stay, or that he regretted his life choices, or that he felt he had a reason to stay. So tonight I wasn’t going to follow Maria’s advice to be honest, and instead I had to soften the edges, because tomorrow was Christmas Eve. I had to pretend that it was okay for Paul to leave, that the children would be fine and that I would be fine.
All I need to do is tell him how I feel about him.
Yeah, like that would go down well. I could imagine it now.
By the way Paul, I fell in love with you a long time ago when a spark of hope flared in my lonely, fucking heart.
“I’m sorry,” Paul said, leaning against the counter and glancing from me to the bottle of brandy and back.
“What for?” I took another gulp, the brandy burning with the cream soothing the way, and shrugged. “It’s all good. The kids will understand.”
“What if I had a reason not to go to those places?”
“Don’t you have enough money? I thought you said you’d saved enough?”
“I could stay here,” he said, and pressed a gentle hand to my elbow.
Was it in reassurance, or apology, or did he just want to touch me? He was too close, I was dizzy with the alcohol, the tiredness, the utter despair that I was too chickenshit to tell him how I felt and the pain at the thought of my children being sad because I didn’t warn them about their beloved nanny leaving.
“Why would you stay?” I blurted, and took another swig, anything not to look at his face. “You’re a nanny, there’s nothing holding you here.”
“Austin, what about you?” he touched me again. I could feel the warmth of him, smell the cookies he’d baked, feel overwhelmed with the love for what he’d created for me, Aden, AJ, and Anna. He’d made a home for us all, and was I just confusing that with love? Was he convenient? How could I even think of stopping him from fulfilling his own dreams of seeing the world. Volcanoes in Iceland, Stonehenge, the Eiffel Tower.
“Me? You’re indispensable with the children,” I began.
He recoiled instantly, stepping away from me and throwing me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “There are other nannies, Austin, and they’ll be just as good as I am.”
They won’t! I won’t love the other nannies. I won’t see them as part of our lives forever. Marriage. The whole thing. Forever. I need to get him to see that.
I went to follow him, the alcohol and exhaustion and sorrow all wrapped up in one big mess and I stumbled over a chair, caught myself, and then knocked into the table. I felt myself fall, braced myself, but Paul was there, catching me, pulling me to