Chapter 44

Liv

Even though she’s known it was coming, Katie flips out when it’s time for me to say goodbye.

“But I don’t want Liv to leave. She is the best with my nightmares! She is the best with making a table! She is the best with helping me shop for things! She is the best with singing ‘Let it Go’! She is the best with getting library books!”

She starts to cry. My own tears spill over, and I do my best to swat them away before she can see.

“I don’t want another new mommy!”

For the first time since our conversation Monday night, Chase makes eye contact with me. His expression is utterly stricken, and I’m flooded with guilt. I never, ever should have said yes to this setup. Look what I’ve done. I’ve made Katie’s transition harder; I’ve ruined a friendship.

But what’s done is done. The past is rearview, and I have to keep moving forward. It’s the best thing for me and it’s definitely the best thing for Katie.

“I’m not your mommy,” I say as gently as I can. “I’m your nanny. And you’ll love Gillian. She’ll be your new nanny, and she’ll come soon and play with you and you will have such a good time with her. Nannies come and go, Katie. They don’t stay forever. But your daddy will always be your daddy. And he is a really great daddy. You are super lucky.”

Chase’s face has that same blank look it got the other night when we were talking about me staying. When he realized I was right and there was no way he could promise me what I needed. But he gathers himself, pulls himself together, for Katie’s sake. A deep breath, and he kneels to face Katie at eye level.

“That’s right, baby. I will always be your daddy. And I will help you with all those things. Singing ‘Let It Go’ and even going shopping and helping you make a table,” he says.

I wait for him to cast me an eye roll, something, but he is entirely focused on Katie. And for some reason, that’s when it really sinks in, that I have lost him. We will not kid around anymore about the ways we are different and the shit that bugs him about me and the shit that bugs me about him. I won’t teach him hairstyles and marketing techniques, and he won’t teach me how to camp or cast or whatever you call what you do with fishing line. We won’t spar or kiss or make love or watch different movies side by side.

It’s over.

Oh, Chase.

I knew this would be hard. I just didn’t know it would be this hard.

Katie tugs my sleeve. “Livvy. Why do nannies come and go? Why do you want to be a come-and-go person instead of a stay person?”

Oof.

I open my mouth to try to explain, when there is no way to explain it at all, but Chase says gently, “Liv has to go to Denver to take her perfect job, doing what she is best at, marketing.”

“She is best at nannying,” Katie pouts.

“She is very good at nannying,” Chase says. “But she deserves to have a chance to do the job that she went to college for, and for that, she needs to go to Denver. And we need to let her go, because that is one of the things you do when you love someone. You let them go be who they need to be.”

Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back.

I am determined not to cry, because it will only make things harder for Katie.

Gillian arrives as I am packing the car. She’s brought a tub of little troll dolls and a stack of different-colored pieces of felt and some kid-friendly scissors. She gets down on the floor and shows Katie how to cut holes in the felt to make rudimentary troll clothes. Katie is enchanted, and before too long, she and Gillian are immersed in their troll world.

I kiss Katie on the top of the head and tell her goodbye. She stops cutting troll outfits long enough to hug me, then throws herself back down on the floor.

I walk with Chase to the door.

“I’ll walk you to the car,” he says.

I put my suitcase in the trunk.

“Oh, um, shit,” he says, and fumbles in his pocket. He pulls out his wallet and, to my horror, begins counting out money. The rest of what he owes me.

“Chase, no,” I say, but he keeps counting, carefully, bill after bill, and then he hands them to me, still without looking at me.

I fold the money over, trying not to cry.

We stand there awkwardly for a moment, and then I get in the car.

I wave to him through the window. He waves back, his gaze faraway and impersonal.

I almost get out of the car. But I don’t know what I’d say.

You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.

These have been two of the best weeks of my life.

I wish things were different.

I’d stay if I could, but I can’t.

When I’m out of sight, I throw the money across the seat and burst into tears.