Unbound

Lila's POV The tiny dorm room felt even more cramped with Becca's gaggle of sorority sisters giggling and gossiping all around us. I tried to drown out their incessant chatter by cranking up the music, but it was no use. "Oh my god, Li, are you seriously still babysitting for those rich suburbanites?" Becca rolled her eyes after shooing her friends away. "When are you gonna get a real job?" I groaned, flopping back on the bedspread. Even with my eyes closed, I could see her judgy side-eye burning into me. "It's not that easy, Bec. Those gigs are the only ones with any flexibility around class schedules." "But watching snotty little brats and putting up with their pretentious parents? I thought the whole point was saving up enough to move out of this shoe box." Dragging myself upright, I shot her a look. She wasn't wrong - paying exorbitant rent for a cramped closet was a special kind of undergrad purgatory. But I'd been flat broke before, and it wasn't an existence I was eager to revisit. "You know I need the money. It's this or go back to skipping meals and dressin' in Salvo." I shrugged. "Not like I have marketable skills for anything else right now." Becca sighed, finally relenting. "If you say so. Just don't come cryin' to me when some snooty divorcee tries hittin' on you." I snorted at the idea. As if. The women in these uptight suburbs were more likely to look down their sculpted noses at a charity case like me. But Becca didn't understand what a privilege it was to be treated as an actual human being by these families - even temporarily. "Don't worry. I can handle a few 'forgettable wombfer-tilizers'," I teased, quoting her nickname for the kids. She stuck her tongue out as we headed out, her for Political Science, me to my very unofficial babysitting career. Jack's POV Another day, another failure with a new nanny. I tiredly stuffed the check into her hands, a peace offering on top of her day's pay. Patty - or Pat? Pat seemed to shuffle out without a backwards glance. So much for her 20-plus years' experience. I dropped my head in my hands, mentally going through the choking pile of bills and bankruptcy paperwork on my desk. If I didn't find a permanent situation soon... "Dad!" Oh hell. Tommy again. I braced myself as my eldest stomped into the room, eyes blazing. "What did you say to poor Mrs. Henderson?" I gritted my teeth. "You can't just go around -" "I didn't say anything!" he shouted. "She smelled like freakin' urinal cakes and kept callin' me Thomas!" "Oh for - you know what? Never mind." The ten year old glared at me, unrepentant in his self-righteous anger. The sound of shattering glass interrupted whatever snotty remark was no doubt about to grace his lips. I rushed towards the kitchen, toddlers versus fine china never a bet worth taking. Sure enough, Ricky stood in a minefield of grandma's antiques, iPaw clutched in his chubby hand as he regarded the devastation with dark glee. "No nanny! No yucky nanny!" he chanted, stamping his tiny foot. I wanted to laugh at his blatant manipulations - if they weren't so amazingly effective. Frustration spiked hot in my throat. "Hey! We don't break things in this house, got it?" I tried to retain some sanity, some air of parental authority. But it was like scolding a furious tornado. "I! HATE! NANNIES!!" he screeched, green eyes sparking. God, he looked just like his mother in the throes of a meltdown. Before I could really process the spike of tangled emotions over my ex, the brat launched his 8-pound terror-tool straight at my head. I barely had time to flinch before the heavy iPad bounced off my shoulder. Not hard enough to seriously injure, but the symbolism stung. My own son, hurling objects at me like a deranged ex-wife. "Ricky! That's it, you're going to your room mister!" I tried to muster some semblance of stern fatherly discipline, but he just stuck out his tongue and ran off giggling. Uttering a few curses under my breath, I rubbed my throbbing shoulder and surveyed the wreckage of family heirlooms. This was so far beyond my abilities to handle. How did other single parents do it? "What's going on?" Tommy stood in the doorway, hunched like a sullen gargoyle masking his obvious glee at the chaos. "Don't start," I muttered, leaving a wake of porcelain dust as I brushed past him. I needed to figure out a better system for this nanny rotation before it broke me. And maybe invest in bubble wrap for the antiques. The living room was an equal disaster zone, with pillows and toys strewn everywhere. At the eye of the storm, Ricky rolled on the floor laughing hysterically at some inane kids' show. Resisting the urge to strip off my jacket and loosen my tie for the bazillionth time, I plopped onto the sofa. Kids, work, divorce - it was all so overwhelming lately. I wondered if this was the same sofa Donna had straddled me on all those years ago, before things went nuclear. The memory made me flinch, pushing it away with a bitter grimace. There was a time she wouldn't have dared pull this kind of entitled jackassery. But then, I was a very different man back then. A firm knock at the door finally broke the tension clogging the air. "Thank god," I muttered, standing to answer it. Surely this new nanny would be the ticket - or at least last more than one day. I opened the door, ready to paste on my most reassuring smile. But it froze solid as I took in the petite, angel-faced blonde smiling sunnily up at me. She couldn't be more than a teenager. "Hi! I'm Lila, your new babysitter," she chirped, all breezy lightness. In her tight white shorts and belly-baring crop top, she looked like she'd gotten trapped in some deranged closet audition rather than arrived for childcare duties. Clearing my suddenly dry throat, I tried for a level tone. "I...think there's been some kind of misunderstanding." But Lila just blinked those big blue Bambi eyes at me, seemingly unaware of the effect she was having. Or how badly I suddenly needed her to leave. "Oh no, I was sent over by the agency! We can get started whenever you're ready, Mr...?" "Morrison," I croaked out the last name like an admission of guilt. Her bright gaze travelled over my shoulder into the living room disaster area, smile faltering slightly. But she was quick to recover it as her eyes fell on Ricky watching her with rapt interest. "Well, hi there!" She waggled her fingers at him in an exaggerated wave, like he was a puppy or baby instead of a child terrorist. I expected a fresh wave of screeching, but he grinned back toothlessly. "I'm Ricky! An' that's my mean brother Tommy. We hate nannies," he stated with blank certainty. I cringed, shooting an apologetic look at Lila, but she just laughed - a bright, tinkling sound utterly at odds with the circumstances. Tommy, however, rolled his eyes and abruptly turned away, stomping up the stairs without a word. Before I could try explaining my eldest's brooding demeanor, Lila had already breezy stepped around me and plopped right onto the couch amid the rubble. "Well it's a good thing I'm not a nanny then, huh?" She directed the sunny comment at Ricky, who crowed in delight, clambering onto her lap like a puppy. As she fiddled with his video game, clearly just as befuddled by it as I would've been, I watched in surprise as she rolled with it, letting him guide her with endless patience. Even Ricky's usual disdain for newcomers seemed melted by her warmth and willingness to just genuinely engage with him. ***