time.”
“Every connection is for a reason. Even if it’s not for this job, it may be for something else. You never know, darling. Just go at five, be on time, and represent your Mama well. She’s proud of you, girl.”
I nodded and stood up, determined to see this through.
“Thank you, Mrs. Edness.” I smiled. “I’ll be there.”
“Good, check in with me tomorrow, and let me know how it went,” she answered with a nod of her own, and then she stood. “Tell your mama we’re on to her ways.”
“Will do.” I took the one-pager all nannies received about the families. “Thanks again.” As I was leaving the room, Mrs. Edness called my name.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered as I turned my head to face her.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this.” She nodded and waved me away.
I smiled and left out so that I could go to my make-shift studio, which was in the basement of a beauty supply store. My art was mostly posted up in the windows of the store, but maybe once a week, I’d get a sale. On a good week, it was five sales, but still, I was not getting enough to make a living. It was enough for it to be a hobby still.
I almost lost track of time as I began to paint one of my favorite things to paint—my city, Brooklyn and all its glory. It was something I’d seen every day of my life; therefore, I knew it on an intimate level because it was constantly before me—the streets, lights, brownstones, projects, buildings, construction, lots, cemeteries, and even the pedestrians and citizens of the great city. My current piece was of the walkup brownstone with its reddish bricks, stone steps, and spiral-rodded banister. It had a basement apartment with barred windows, a cement landing, and a bed of flowers in pots on the ledges lining the walkway. It was enough to bring color to the property but high enough to hide the trash can and recycling bin. This was a typical Brooklyn home, and it was beautiful to me. One day, I’d have my own place, and instead of writing the vision, I drew it.
Little did I know, the Vega family lived in a Brownstone near downtown Brooklyn. That meant it was almost half a million dollars to own one floor. All the ones in the area had been renovated already, so the price was astronomical. How I would ever afford one of these seemed to be far beyond what I could see, but I was a dreamer, and as far as I was concerned, anything was possible.
It was four fifty-two when I rang the doorbell of the main entrance. A few moments later, a woman answered the door with chestnut-brown hair, pink lips, tired eyes, and pale skin with freckles splattered on her cheeks.
“Hello.” She gave me a genuine smile. “You must be Faith. I’m Gail Vega.”
“Hi, Mrs. Vega.” I smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Come on in. You’re the last person we’re interviewing today. We’re a bit tired, but you came highly recommended,” she shared as she led me upstairs to the second floor to what I presumed was their apartment.
The interior wall was brick as well, which made me almost happy to be there. I’d only seen those in HGTV homes, but up close and personal, I could see the attraction.
“So, Faith, you’ll be meeting with me and my husband, Logan Vega. We’ve looked over your credentials already, so we have some questions for you.”
“Okay,” I replied as I went into the kitchen to see a small dining room table that sat four people.
“Have a seat, Faith,” the woman told me. “I’ll go and grab Logan.”
I sat down and took inventory of the large space that was hidden by the skinny outside of the home. One wall in the living room was that of a blackboard. It had scribblings at the bottom, love notes in different color chalk at the top, and on the side, it had schedules and agendas outlined for Mama Vega, Daddy Vega, and baby Vega. It was kind of cute—well, except Daddy Vega was gone most of the damn time. In his calendar, the man was away for weeks at a time, which seemed to be sort of crazy. How did they make that work? I guess a nanny was one way they would at least try.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Vega walked through the kitchen door with a tall man trailing behind her.