Chapter 5

Mazzy

My parents’ Mt. Lebanon house is right off Highway19, which runs south out of Pittsburgh. Every time it comes into view, a familiar warmth floods through me. This is where I grew up and where so many good memories were made. Even though I’m living here full time right now until my next nannying job, it’s still special when I see the sloping lawn that rises upward, bordered by a stone retaining wall with colorful summer flowers spilling over the top. It’s always looked to me as if it came straight out of a storybook.

The facade is done completely in warm-toned stone and timber with a steeply pitched gable roof, weathered shingles, a massive chimney and two front-facing dormers. A wide porch stretches across the front with heavy wooden beams supporting a deep overhang. It looks like a whimsical cottage that might be in the middle of a forest with a Disney princess living inside.

It’s always a good time when the Archers get together for my mom’s southern cooking. As much as we grew up enjoying foods from my dad’s Polish side, my maternal grandmother’s influence, we ate chicken and dumplings, collards and corn bread. Our Sunday meal has been going on for as long as I can remember. With my parents’ busy lives, between their careers and raising five kids, Sundays seem to be the only day we can all have quality time together.

I made a late-morning run to the gym and then stopped by the grocery store for my mom on the way home for ice cream to go with the peach cobbler she’s making for dessert.

Tim’s and Brian’s cars are already in the long driveway that curves around the back of the house to the detached garage. Brian followed in my mom’s footsteps and became an engineer. While he has a close relationship with his mother, Brian always seemed to gel with mine just a little more. I think it’s because their brains are similarly wired. Tim went to college to become a landscape architect and works with Dad in the landscaping business. With Tim’s skills and degree, they’ve expanded into more high-end residential homes and he’s the heir apparent… the one who will take over when Dad hangs up his Weed Eater.

Of course, who knows what the younger boys, Landon and Mason, will be, but at twelve and fourteen, they really just want to be boys and play video games and sports.

I park behind Tim’s Ford Bronco and nab the grocery bag as well as my gym bag out of the back. Given the very good money I make, along with having my housing needs covered, I save almost everything I earn, but I do splurge on my gym membership. I showered after my workout, so my mop of auburn curls is still slightly damp.

With everyone home, including Tim’s and Brian’s wives, plus Leo who will be joining us, it’s a bit crowded. Lucky for us, my father built an incredible outdoor living space which is where I’m sure we’ll be eating, around his handmade oak table that seats fourteen.

When I enter the front door, I’m not surprised to find Mason and Landon on the couch playing Gran Turismo on their PlayStation. They don’t even cut me a glance, so intent on their race. Mason’s tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth telling me he’s in full concentration mode. The more competitive of the two boys, he’ll get upset if he loses. Landon, on the other hand, is grinning like a fool as he maneuvers his digitized sports car around the track. The boys sit side by side, nudging each other with their elbows and swaying left and right as their cars bank along the curves.

Grinning, I duck low so as not to obstruct their view of the TV and head into the kitchen where I find the rest of the crew. Mom is at the stove, working small batches of her southern fried chicken. My mouth waters at the heavenly smell of the seasonings and oil. Tim and his wife, Mandy, are at the kitchen island. Mandy is a fitness instructor and I actually go to the same gym where she teaches, although she does group classes and that’s not my jam. Brian and Dad are at the nook table, each kicked back with a beer and laughing about something. Brian’s wife, Susan, comes out of the half bath, nearly running into me.

“Mazzy,” she exclaims, tossing her arms around my shoulders for a quick hug.

“Hey, sis,” I reply, unable to return the embrace because I’m holding a bag in each hand. I lean into her all the same. Susan is a dental hygienist and has the straightest, whitest, most perfect teeth I’ve ever seen. Her smile is wide, like Julia Roberts, and it lights up the room when she turns it on full wattage.

Pulling away, I drop my gym bag at the foot of the staircase that leads up to the bedrooms, intent on carrying it up later. I move to the freezer and deposit the vanilla ice cream, then stuff the plastic bag in the recycling bin.

I take a moment to dole out hugs to Brian, Tim, and Mandy, receive a wink from my dad, and then move to my mom’s side at the stove. I watch silently as she carefully turns the chicken with a pair of tongs. I’ve watched her cook this dozens of times over my life and I have the recipe card, which will pass down to me and the boys at some point, but I’ve never attempted to make this meal. It’s so freaking good and I’m just afraid I’ll never do it justice. Plus, I feel a bit like a fraud since I don’t have pure southern blood the way Mom does.

“How was your workout?” she asks.

“Good.” I reach over to the large platter lined with paper towels where cooked chicken sits cooling. I snag a piece of fried crust that fell off and pop it into my mouth. “What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing,” she says, taking a moment to step back from the stove and bend to peer into the oven at the baking biscuits. “Table’s all set out back and as soon as this last batch of chicken is done, we’re good to go.”

I glance over at the others. Mandy and Susan are deep in discussion and Tim moved over to the table with Brian and Dad. The boys are occupied with their game and Leo will slide in at the last minute, so I use the moment alone with my mom to get her feedback.

“You know I had the interview yesterday with that Titans player, right?”

“Right,” she replies, keeping her eyes focused on the chicken but I can tell I have her full attention. “You thought it was too risky to accept the position because he doesn’t have full custody.”

“Exactly. But I can’t stop thinking about the opportunity and wondering if I should consider it further.”

“You told me the money was much better and he’d pay you a signing bonus. So that’s a consideration. But you also said it would be a bit more demanding of your time.”

That’s a succinct recap of my thoughts on the job. But it isn’t so much what Foster is offering as it is the one little doubt I have about the other job offer. “There’s a bit of a weird vibe coming from the other family.”

“Like what?” Mom asks.

I explain to her the family dynamic. The father is an older man who I’d guess is in his early fifties and he married a very young, very gorgeous woman who I’d say was my age or younger. I’d call her a trophy wife and she’s in fact a model who travels a lot for her work. They just had their baby, but she doesn’t seem to want to raise it. She’ll be gone a lot and I’ll be at home alone with the baby and the father.

Mom glances at me, slight censure in her tone. “You’re not the type to dock a woman for being career oriented. Besides, isn’t that the same scenario with the Titans father?”

“A little,” I concede, trying to articulate the difference. “Except the Titans dad will be gone a lot. But it’s more that the other dad—the older one—makes me a little uncomfortable.”

Her eyebrows raise but she focuses on the batch of chicken she’s pulling from the cast-iron skillet. “You think he’d cross a line?”

“No, that’s not it either. It’s just… he has a bunch of rigid rules regarding the baby, none of which by themselves are concerning, but I get the impression that I won’t have a lot of latitude. On top of that, he’s just really austere and a little intimidating. At first I didn’t think that would be a problem because he’d be working and I’d be taking care of the baby, but after interviewing with Foster, who’s so laid-back and trusting of my abilities based on the Hamberlys’ recommendation, I’m wondering if I wouldn’t be happier in that environment.”

Mom places the last piece of cooked chicken on the platter and clicks off the stove. She turns to face me, kitchen tongs still in hand. “So basically, one job will be fewer hours and a more consistent schedule, but less pay. The other is a bit more demanding of your time, but for more money. Outside of that distinction, one dad seems very rigid and may be difficult to work for, the other laid-back and trusting of your skills.”

“Exactly,” I reply, not needing to add a single clarification.

“Seems like an easy choice to me,” Mom says, except she doesn’t tell me what the choice is. Because it’s not easy for me.

“The Titans dad, right?” I guess.

“Right.”

“But there might not be an actual job,” I remind her.

Mom grins at me. “This was the guy who handed you a blank check for a signing bonus.”

“Yeah, but I can’t just take some man’s check and fill in an amount. That’s, like… tacky.”

Chuckling, my mother shakes her head. “No, you could never do business that way, but it goes to show you that this is someone who really wants to hire you. Which means things are negotiable. Make a counteroffer that protects you.”

“Like what?” I ask.

Megan Archer is a brilliant woman and while she dispenses the most amazing advice, she doesn’t provide answers to her kids when they can find them on their own. She just waits me out.

I consider how to best protect myself. If I accept the job from Foster McInnis and he doesn’t get custody of his daughter, I’m going to miss out on a good opportunity with the other family. However, I won’t be unemployed for long. The need for good nannies in this area is immense, given the number of executive working parents. Pittsburgh has become a financial mecca in recent decades.

An idea strikes. “I know what to do,” I say with excitement.

“I suggest you go make your calls then because we have about five more minutes until dinner is ready. Hopefully Leo will be here by then.”

“On it.” I kiss Mom’s cheek. “Thanks.”

Rather than head upstairs to my room for privacy, I step out onto the back patio through the glass-paned wooden door off the kitchen. My father is an absolute craftsman and created this outdoor living space to match the rustic charm of the stone house.

It’s an open-air chamber of tranquility that marries the house with nature. The expansive stone, all uniquely shaped and sized, has been laid in a random pattern of autumn colors like sienna, ochre and charcoal. The ceiling is comprised of thin boards in a dark polished wood with subtle recessed lighting and a large fan in the center for hot summer nights. The beams supporting the wood canopy are rough cut and unadorned, contrary to the polished ceiling, but somehow it all works together.

My favorite parts are the gas lamp sconces my dad installed on both sides of the kitchen door and the cut stone columns that surround the edge of the patio. The lamps come on automatically at dusk, which is imminent, and the ambience of the flickering lights is truly magical.

Someone has already set the table—most likely my father, as he likes to be helpful when Mom is in cooking mode. It’s not fancy but it doesn’t need to be for our family. Regular plates, worn and scratched over the years, a folded paper towel on top of each, along with a fork and butter knife. In the center are trivets to hold the hot dishes and we’ll pass the food around family style. There aren’t any cups or glasses for drinks, as we’ll all help ourselves to whatever we want, but you can rest assured there’s a large pitcher of sweet tea my Georgian mom made chilling in the fridge. I know a lot of my northern friends gag over the sweetness of the drink but I was practically raised on it, and I drink far more of it than is healthy.

I pull a chair back from the table’s end and place a call to Foster McInnis. He answers on the third ring which surprises me as I assumed I’d get his voicemail. He clearly has my name programmed in his contacts because he merely says, “Mazzy?”

“Yeah… hi. Is this a good time to talk?” I ask.

I can hear the smile in his voice. “It is if you’re accepting the job.”

Laughing, I tuck a wavy lock behind my ear, then sift my fingers through the back of my hair. “I want to talk further about the job,” I correct him. “I have to admit I’m interested but if I accept with you, I lose out on the other opportunity. If you, God forbid, don’t get Bowie Jane, then I’m screwed.”

“So tell me how to make you feel better about it,” he says.

“You agree to pay me the monthly salary I would have gotten with the other offer until I can find another position. I’ll, in turn, promise to look diligently for something else, but I’ll need at least a three-month commitment from you to pay me. I should be able to find something easily in that time frame.”

“Deal.”

“Deal?” I echo back incredulously.

“Did you not want me to do what you just asked?” There’s playfulness in his voice. For some reason, it doesn’t irritate me but in turn amuses me.

“No, it’s just… I thought you might balk or at least make a counteroffer. Isn’t that the way normal business negotiations are done?”

“I suppose,” he drawls. “But honestly, I just want to get you on board so I have that in my back pocket when I ask for full custody. So yes, I agree to your terms and any others you want.”

“Um… well… okay then,” I say hesitantly.

“Okay, as in you accept my offer?” he probes.

“Yes, as long as you cover my salary up to three months if your job falls through.”

“Then we definitely have a deal. I’ll call you as soon as the hearing is over and I know what’s going to happen. But assuming I get custody, I’ll be heading straight to California to get Bowie Jane. You’ll need to be ready to start probably by Thursday and I have an away game on Friday.”

A flush of concern moves through me, heating the back of my neck. “Oh, wow… that’s moving kind of fast.”

“You can’t start that soon?” he asks, worry evident in his tone.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… that’s going to be a lot on your daughter. A switch in custody, a cross-country move, then you dump her with a stranger and take off to an away game.”

Foster huffs into the phone. “Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that but you’re absolutely right. It’s going to be hard on her to leave her mom but I also know she doesn’t want to go to Singapore. The timing on the preseason games starting isn’t great.”

“Are you going to enroll her in school when you get back? Assuming you win.”

“Yes, assuming I win,” he says gruffly, and I can hear in his voice he’s going to be devastated if he doesn’t.

“At least she’ll have school to distract her a bit. Even though it’s a new school, it’s structured and that will provide some comfort. But I’ll give her extra attention and make it a good time.”

“She’s a strong kid and very independent. I’m sure it will be fine.”

The kitchen door opens and Leo steps out onto the patio. The top part of his longish hair is pulled into a ponytail, the rest left to hang down just above his shoulders. He’s got on a Ramones T-shirt and a pair of frayed cargo shorts with flip-flops. He’s got a beer in his hand and because he’s so comfortable in my house, having practically grown up here, I’m sure he went and fished that out of the fridge on his own.

My eyes are on Leo who kicks a chair out opposite from where I’m sitting and plops down. I say to Foster, “How about you call me after the hearing tomorrow and let me know if I have a job?”

“It’s a plan,” he replies, relief evident in his tone.

The slight fullness in my chest tells me that I feel good about helping him, and that he really needed me to further his quest to get his daughter. “Good luck, Foster.”

“Thank you, Mazzy. Talk tomorrow.”

We disconnect and Leo stares at me from across the table. “What was that about?”

“Nosy,” I chide, but then fill him in on my interview with Foster, my doubts about the other job and the most recent conversation. “So tomorrow, if he gets custody of his daughter, I’ll have a job with them.”

Leo pulls at the label on his bottle. “And if he doesn’t win?”

“Then I’ll be job hunting again.” There… the absolute validation I needed that the other job offer just didn’t feel right—the circumstances and the father’s personality. I wouldn’t have liked it at all.

Which means I need to decline that job. “Why don’t you get me a beer? I’ve got one more call to make.”

“Go get your own beer,” he replies, slouching further in his seat and grinning at me.

I kick him under the table, hitting his shin, and he yelps, scrambling backward. “Go get me a beer,” I reply. “You’re here eating my family’s food and sucking on our happiness. It’s the least you can do.”

“Bitch,” Leo says, but it’s done fondly and with a quirk to his lips. As he heads back inside, I flip through my contacts so I can make the call that could leave me completely unemployed for the near future.

While I advised the family that I’d accepted another offer—much to the husband’s dismay and he let me know it in unkind terms—Leo fetched me a beer and set it before me. He resumed his seat at the table and when I finished the call, he asked, “So you’re going to nanny for a single dad, huh?”

“Hopefully,” I say as I pick up the beer and take a sip.

“That’s a bit different from what you’re used to doing.”

His tone is almost… accusing. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean… single professional hockey player and you swooping in to be mother to his child.”

I kick Leo under the table again, this time not playfully, and he winces, sitting up straighter in his chair. “You better not be inferring what I think you’re inferring,” I warn.

“And what might that be?” he grumbles, bending over to rub at his leg.

“That I’m looking to score a rich husband or something like that,” I snap.

Leo’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, words sharp as a knife. “Fuck no, Mazz. I’m worried about him taking advantage of you.”

“What?” I exclaim. “No. That’s silly. Foster’s a nice guy and—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. They’re all nice guys. I’ve heard it before. But I also know how men react around you—”

“You’re crazy! Men don’t react around me—”

“Men trip over themselves around you and you know it,” he accuses. “You’re gorgeous, smart, talented and then you add on that you’re going to be nurturing and caring for his kid, well, that’s a recipe for him wanting to get in your pants.”

“Jesus, Leo… did you hit your head or something? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Leo shrugs but before he can answer, the kitchen door opens and Brian steps out, followed by his wife. Brian has the platter of fried chicken and Susan has a bowl of fresh pickled cucumbers and Vidalia onions.

But not the Vidalia onions that grow in Georgia. The Pittsburgh grocery stores don’t have the good ones. I can practically hear my mom praising one of the finest products of her southern home. “We grow Vidalia onions so sweet you can pull them out of the ground and eat them like an apple.”

Next, Tim comes out with a pan of mac and cheese, Mandy with the biscuits, and my dad with the collards. Landon and Mason follow, one with a bowl of white gravy and the other with hot vinegar sauce for the greens.

The food is set along the center of the table, and everyone moves back and forth through the kitchen, grabbing their own drinks. Lastly, my mom comes out after checking to make sure nothing’s been left behind. As everyone takes their chairs with no particular hierarchy of where we sit, Mom fusses with the placement of all the bowls and ensures each dish has a spoon.

When we’re all settled in our seats, there’s no passing of the food because the platters and bowls are just too heavy. Instead, plates are passed back and forth across the table and whoever is nearest the fried chicken uses the tongs to fulfill the request. Whoever is nearest the mac and cheese will dollop out a scoop and hand the plate off to someone else.

It’s disorganized and chaotic and utterly perfect as we all laugh and chatter at the same time.

Leo’s engaged with Landon about Gran Turismo and as I watch them, I’m still peeved about his assertion that Foster will try to take advantage of the situation. It’s preposterous for him to assume that without even knowing the guy.

Except… I don’t know him either.

But that’s beside the point. The Hamberlys vetted Foster, just as he vetted me. He’s an upstanding guy with the backing of Brienne Norcross. We didn’t talk long but I got no weird vibes from him. I had more concerns about the other father.

I made a good choice and I’m irritated that Leo is making me doubt it.

What does he know anyway? Ludicrous assertions about guys tripping over themselves to be near me. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be twenty-seven and solidly single. For all the supposed men attracted to me, I haven’t even been invited on a date in… well, I don’t know how long. There’s nothing special about me that lures men to my doorstep.

Leo’s lost his mind.