For the rest of the day, I managed to avoid Royce by hiding out in the baby’s room assembling one of the strollers so I can take the baby around the patio again before I go home.

I’ve long since given up on trying to justify what happened. I’ve even come to terms with the fact that I crossed to the dark side. I suck. I’m repulsive. I’m not even original, because how may nannies-to-the-stars before me have been home wrecking, horrible people?

So. Many. That’s how many!

Like it might help, I again wipe at my lips with the back of my arm. I’ve done it so many times I think I’ve chapped them. With the baby happily playing under her little baby gym, I tiptoed out and asked the security guard if he knew of any paper or pens I could borrow to make a list.

The guard directed me to a huge stack of Moleskine brand notebooks that the guard said the guys used for writing songs or ‘group meetings’ they always hold in the living room. I got a pack of these sketchbooks for Christmas last year, but they weren’t leather like these, they were this paper coated cardboard. I really love them because, well, real artists use them all the time for sketching, and they’ve got this sewn spine so they lie flat while you’re working. They’ve also got this cool string-ribbon bookmark and the paper they use on the insides is always cream colored, thick and awesome.

The stack of books reminds me of the over-purchased baby stuff I’d found on day one. It’s like someone had been given a similar order to go buy these, but then the shopper had gone out and bought way too many plus half of an office supply store pen-and pencil section to go with them. There were sharpies, and pencils, G2 Pens, colored pencils and colored pens of every sort. Hoping no one would mind, I took one notebook and a pack of fine point Sharpies with me back to the nursery.

Settling back in next to the baby I stare at the open sketchbook while trying to make myself feel better. Better about myself and better about the kiss by repeating to myself over and over: “Royce is not your actual employer. You don’t work for him, so technically you did not make out with your employer; you only kissed a family member of your employer. You’re not a bad person. A weak person, maybe, but not bad.”

Though it doesn’t quite delete my dying inside feeling, it does flood my head with words other than the ones Royce whispered to me while we were kissing. It also helps to erase the constant replays of how Royce’s lips felt against mine—as in how amazing they felt.

How hot and soft and muscled his skin felt under my hands—

“No!” I say, out loud so the words inside my head will quiet. The baby jumps a little and I laugh at her surprised expression. Ever forgiving, she giggles back at my laughter as I say, “This could have happened to anyone, right?” I sigh, deciding to sketch the baby’s sweet face so I don’t have to picture Royce’s sharp planes and the curves of his lips in my mind’s eye anymore.

She’s cooing and kicking her legs, and because she seems to always like the sound of my voice I start talking to her like I always do. “What’s next for me, little baby? Do you think what happened in there was like one of those awakening moments you hear about? Will it start off a string of one-night stands? Or do you think what happened was a one-time reaction to a guy who obviously knows how to make a girl swoon? I’m sure that’s what it was.”

I lean back against the rocking chair, bringing the sketch book up to my knees. “This conversation would be much better if I knew your name. You know?”

The baby blinks back at me and kicks her legs.

“How about, even though it’s obvious, we guess that your name is…Ginger?” I shake my head, smiling. “Thessa? Tanya? Sonia? Lana? Michelle, Jennie? Mimi,” I chatter on, feeling the heat leave my cheeks as I sketch more of the contours of her round, rosy face. When I pencil in the whispers of her nearly invisible brows, as well as the lines of her perfect rosebud mouth, I wonder more and more about this baby’s mother. The baby’s features are so soft and round compared to Royce’s sharp angles. Sketching on, I try other names. “Ashleigh? With those big blue shockers, how about…Kayla? Danielle? Leah? Ali—Allison—Emily? Mandy? Judy? I know, Lisa! Neilli?”

Frustrated, I stare down at my sketch, already knowing that none of these names fit this baby. The baby burps so loudly she stills her legs, and we both blink at each other in surprise again.

“Right? That about says it all.”

The baby giggle-gurgles and smiles her response.

“Aww. So, you do forgive me, sweetie? You believe it was only a momentary slip, and that I will keep my promise to do better?” I rub her little tummy and smile back at her. “Well then, let’s make a little list of some real and wholesome goals for me to focus on, shall we?”

I roll her gently onto her tummy and scoot some toys within her reach, then settle in next to her with my composition book. I turn the page in the sketch book to one that’s blank. “Let’s call this list What a real family needs. Or how about…Robin and Sage need a miracle?”

I pause to help the baby latch her little hand on to a soft rattle and guide it to her mouth so she can gnaw on it, and I turn back to my list. “First. Let’s talk about the money.”

I write: Ten. Thousand. Dollars.

“It’s so much money, isn’t it? But hey, that’s what they offered. When you’re down to your last four bucks and have a broken car, well, that offer was like a dream.” I blink down at the huge number, adding in a few more lines under it, then, scribble some calculations. “With Mrs. Perino asking five hundred dollars per month for the cottage, and waiving the damage deposits we’d have to put down anywhere else, we’re doing pretty good.”

“There,” I whisper, staring at the page. “If we’re careful, and even if Mrs. Hildebrandt doesn’t come through with a job like she promised, we could float on the remaining nanny pay for a good three months. But let’s assume I’ve got the job. What would be next? We have a great kitchen table, couches and beds already, so we only need cozy things to make it ours. Soft blankets, towels, some kitchen stuff, and of course internet. Can we afford Amazon Prime?” I add a few more lines. “With the way we consume music, movies books and audio books, we have to try.” I draw a line through the word cable-TV and tell the baby, “No cable, only Prime.”

I squint at the list. “What’s missing? Oops. The survival-type things. Water.” I write. “Electricity, gas and heat.” I write those down, too. “Is paying for gas and electricity the same thing as paying for heat?” I hold the pen in the air. “Hmm, I have no idea. Yet. No idea, yet. But I will. The whole planet of real adults figures this stuff out and pays it all off every month, so how hard could it be to learn it? I will simply guess that all of that stuff will cost 2k to set up and then about 1k a month to maintain, and I know that number will be more in the winter when it’s cooler.”

I feel my chest tightening with anxiety and a stupid wave of self-pity is threatening to take over. To push all of my fears away, I write my brother’s name down and stare at it, because he’s the reason we’re doing all of this. His name helps.

“What, after a house, internet, and soft sheets, would Sage need the most,” I whisper.

The baby gurgles like she’s helping me. “Oh. Yes. Thank you for the reminder. Food. Nonstop, food.”

I write: Food — figure costs out later.

“Last item for Sage is...school. Once we get him signed up, he needs clothes and supplies. And a haircut. New sneakers, probably. But we don’t have to worry about that for another month. I just need to figure out which school is closest to the Perino’s house and I guess get him registered and then I could ask if there’s any help for…single parents.” I chew my bottom lip, thinking of how our father filled out all of these forms online each year for us at our old school.

I pause to write: KNOW MORE. FIGURE OUT SCHOOL. LEARN FAST. Then I sit up and smile. “See? It always helps to write things down. It’s only a few simple things. A tiny list of achievable, real goals.”

I help the baby turn on her side and stretch back out so we are face to face. I take up her tiny hand and let her wrap it around my finger. “You’re so cute.” I blink at her and she blinks back, kicking her little legs, and sucking on her little fist like she’s getting hungry. “I just bet your daddy is looking at the photos I left of you and falling in love so hard right now.” I rub her tiny feet. “Oh, yes he is. Isn’t he?” I say in my baby-nonsense voice. “No wonder adults are cranky and worry about insurance and boring stuff all the time. This is hard. Oh, gosh. Insurance. I need to figure that out too.”

I sit up and write health insurance and car insurance at the bottom of my list, sighing heavily, then compare my list to what Joanie said the social services people would ask of me. “If I can secure all of this right after my birthday, and get an appointment with a judge, I will be a perfect example of what a stabilized, responsible, and proper adult-parent needs to look like for taking care of a kid brother. Because that’s me. Stabilized. Responsible. Proper. Not counting today, of course.”

The baby starts to fuss, so I shove the composition book next to the sketchbook on the lower shelf of the changing table and scoop up the baby into a little cuddle, breathing in that soapy, clean smell of hers that I love—only suddenly she’s not so clean smelling.

“You little stinky. What have you done?” I sigh, scanning her little snap-up outfit, then laugh at her little responding smile and stand with her in my arms. “Once we fix this diaper, we’re going to get you a bottle, wheel out the stroller, and make a break for it so you can eat outside and maybe nap next to the pool. We can cower in the cabana until I’m off work—because that’s what all stabilized and proper adults would do after they’ve shamed themselves by kissing boss-rockstars in closets. They hide.”