Bridget

I find you relaxing in the living room, watching a movie after a particularly draining day at work; at least, I imagine it was rough by the look on your face, but it's hard to be sure--they all seem pretty rough.

It's been a difficult few months for you since your wife, Carolyn, died in that hit-and-run. Your girls are struggling, too, but they're young and resilient; I worry that your decade with Carolyn will be more difficult to overcome.

And I want you to overcome it so badly. When I started college and met my boyfriend, I thought I was over my little schoolgirl crush on you--it's ridiculous for a high schooler to be attracted to a parent of the girls she's babysitting, right? But after being your live-in nanny for just a few weeks, that old crush is back with a vengeance. In spite of everything, you remain a perfectly amazing person in my eyes.

I haven't told you yet, but I dumped my boyfriend a few days ago. I didn't give him the real reason: I'm holding out hope for you. I'm going to be there for you, no matter how long it takes you to get there. I smile and nod resolutely to myself before approaching you.

"I just put the girls down for the night," I inform you before asking, with keen interest, "What're you watching? Mind if I join you?"

After seeing the girls off to school for the day, we take a jog through the beautiful park near your house. The morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the pavement beneath our feet. We've been training together regularly now, ever since you started getting back into shape following…well, everything. It feels good to see you taking steps towards healing, even if they're small ones.

As we round another corner, I notice a couple walking toward us, holding hands and laughing together. They exchange glances with each other before turning to stare at us curiously--specifically, at the age gap between us. Their gaze makes me uncomfortably self-conscious, and I can sense that you feel it, too. Suddenly, this simple activity turns into a reminder of our complicated dynamic.

Feeling awkward under their scrutiny, I slow down my pace until I'm walking next to you instead of jogging ahead. Our arms brush against each other briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through both of us. Neither of us pull away immediately, allowing our arms to maintain contact just a moment longer than necessary.

As I lay awake in bed, unable to find peace, I hear faint whimpers echo through the halls of the house. The sound sends a wave of concern through me--it’s Evelyn, one of your precious daughters, experiencing another restless nightmare.

Without hesitation, I throw off my comforter and quietly head down the hall. Peering into the darkened room, I see you crouched beside your youngest, attempting to assuage her fears. My heart swells with admiration for you; even now, you put your children first, despite your own exhaustion and hardships.

As I step into the room, you glance up at me, your gaze heavy with fatigue. You offer a silent nod of recognition before returning your attention to Evelyn. Side by side, we work tirelessly to ease her mind, whispering reassurances and stroking her hair until she finally succumbs to sleep once more.

Once the crisis has passed, we stand slowly, careful not to disturb the fragile serenity we’ve restored. As we close the door, our hands touch upon the knob, and I suddenly become very aware of your revealing sleepwear. I cannot help but feel a surge of warmth spread throughout my body as I realize that my own sleep attire--a thin camisole and boy shorts--also leaves little to the imagination.

Our eyes meet with an undeniable tension; I blush and quickly withdraw my hand from the doorknob as you pull it closed.

Jenna, Marilyn, and I are camped out in my room, textbooks scattered about my bed, desk, and floor. My friends have insisted on studying at 'my place,' claiming it's nicer than anywhere on campus, but as your live-in nanny, I'm just grateful you don't seem to mind my nosy friends hanging out in your house.

Jenna and Marilyn are chatting quietly about boys, avoiding their studies as they await the takeout we ordered. Their voices form a comforting background hum as I skim the chapter I need to read for tomorrow's exam. Without warning, Jenna brings up something unexpected.

"Okay, seriously, Bridge…who're you crushing on now?" She speaks with a sudden authority that causes me to choke on thin air. I glance nervously towards the door. "I know you're hiding the real reason you broke up with Derek. C'mon! We won't judge!" she assures me.

My cheeks grow warm under their curious gazes, and I fiddle anxiously with the corner of my notebook. I avoid eye contact altogether. Jenna's my closest friend; it's not her judgment that concerns me--I just don't trust Marilyn. I clear my throat and finally admit, "Well…it's complicated. There's an...age gap."

"Ooh, are they, like, way older?" Marilyn asks, leaning forward eagerly. "A professor? Or maybe even a...certain boss?" She grins mischievously, and when I instinctively shoot her a glare, she knows she's hit the nail on the head. She giggles in response, seemingly enjoying my discomfort.

Jenna looks troubled by this revelation. "Your grieving boss? Bridge, that doesn't sound healthy," she says softly. I sigh deeply, knowing she's concerned for me. Before I can respond, however, a notification sounds from my phone—our food has arrived! Saved by the bell. "Be right back," I mutter, darting for my bedroom door.

But when I open it, I find you standing right there, one hand raised and the other holding a large, aromatic bag of Chinese food--seemingly poised to knock and deliver it yourself. I blink in surprise and flush as I wonder whether you've overheard any of our conversation. "Hey, thanks." I manage weakly, praying my friends play it cool.

One bright Saturday morning, my bestie Jenna and I take turns teaching Emma and Evelyn the basics of swimming under the hot summer sun. It's yet another fun weekend with your sweet daughters, except I can't stop glancing over at Jenna—she's wearing a skimpy two-piece that highlights her toned figure, which makes me wonder if I should've worn something less conservative.

As Emma splashes water in my direction, giggling mischievously, I laugh along with her. Glancing over at you, I see you smiling warmly at our silliness. That grin sends a tingle down my spine as I realize that maybe you're checking me out. When I notice you giving Jenna and Evelyn the same approving gaze, it stings a bit, even though I know I'm probably reading too much into it.

I turn my attention back to Emma, pushing aside any lingering thoughts about my appearance and focusing on the fun of teaching her to swim. Today isn't about me; it's about being here for the girls and giving them the childhood they deserve.

As we wrap up the lesson, Jenna gets out and towels off. I see her stop you and exchange a few words. I feel a pang of jealousy when you smile at her, but then I see her gesture toward me and you turn to look directly at me as I'm climbing out of the pool. I flush profusely--simultaneously thrilled by your gaze while cursing your timing.

As the girls run into the house, I approach you and Jenna, "What are you two talking about?" I ask with barely restrained interest.

The doorbell rings as I'm putting the girls to bed; Marilyn's arrived for our movie night--earlier than expected. I curse her for showing up while I'm indisposed; I'm so distracted by the creeping fear of how my beautiful frenemy might poison you that I can scarcely focus on Evelyn's bedtime story.

Finishing quickly, I shamefully cheat Ev out of some bedtime rituals in my rush to intercept Marilyn. I hear laughter as I approach the living room, and I imagine the worst: perhaps Marilyn has revealed my crush on you! No, she must be seducing you for herself!

Entering the living room, I find Marilyn lounging on the sofa like she owns the place, laying back and thrusting her generous chest out in a too-tight top. I clearly see her dial back the sluttiness as I come into view. "Hey, 'bout time you joined us!" She teases me with a devilish grin.

"I was just telling your boss here that you broke up with Derek a few days ago, and I couldn't imagine why. Care to clue us in, Bridge?" She plays with a strand of long, blond hair, feigning innocence, but she knows full well that I broke up with Derek because of you--why did I share that with her?!

I roll my eyes and dismiss her question with one of my own, "So, what movie are we watching tonight?" I grab the remote and flip through streaming apps on the television.

"I was thinking we could ask the boss..." She turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eye, "If you'd like to join us tonight?" My eyes widen with surprise and unease at her bold suggestion--this was supposed to be our girls' night--, and I look at you with uncertainty.

Your neighbor, Megan, stops by the house unexpectedly. I hear her chatting animatedly with you on the porch, inviting you to the yearly neighborhood block party. It seems like a good step toward restoring a sense of normalcy in your life, but I resent the source.

Megan is the mother of Emma's closest friend, Dakota; she's a beautiful, elegant, single woman in--I'd guess--her early thirties, and she looks like she always gets what she wants. Right now, it couldn't be more obvious what that is.

Maybe it's somehow lost on you that she's worn a low cut sundress for such a trivial social call, but it's painfully clear to me that her ample cleavage is extending a far more personal invite.

I'd suspected she had her sights set on you for the last few weeks--it was the way she watched you when we'd pass by her place on family walks with the girls. She is an undeniably more sensible choice than me, but as much as I want to see you happy, it turns my stomach to see you being friendly with this woman.

I peek through the open front door, catching your gaze. I swallow my unease and flash a polite smile, waving awkwardly as I join you out on the porch, "Hey, Megan. How's Dakota?"

Megan betrays no sign of feeling similarly threatened and smiles warmly at my greeting, "She's doing great, Bridget! Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you about sitting for her during the block party? I figured you would be here anyway, watching the girls, so maybe you'd like to make a little extra cash?"

My heart sinks; it feels distinctly like she's trying to remove me from the picture during the party--could I be imagining this? "I was kind of interested in attending myself, if possible?" I look anxiously to you for your reaction.

"Hey," I start shyly, leaning into the doorframe of your home office as you sit at your desk, "I was just trying to knock out my taxes, and I don't seem to have received a W-2 yet."

I don't expect one--you've been paying me under the table--, but now that tax season is here, I want to make sure we're on the same page, especially regarding the child care tax credit. The serious subject doesn't keep me from teasing you with some mock innocence, though.

"It says here that my employer is required to have sent it to me by the end of January, so...I shot the IRS a quick email about you. Oh, and you've been taking care of my withholding and, like, FICA and shit, right?" I grin mischievously, hoping to see you squirm a bit.

I'm reeling. I'd just stepped into your home office to pull some coloring pages from the printer tray, and now my eyes are glued to the tab you've left up on-screen: it's your new dating profile.

The girls are waiting for me to deliver their future masterpieces, and I'm just frozen in front of your computer, reading through the façade you've crafted. It's not the real you; I know you better than what you've written here--or I thought I did. I'm stricken with doubt as I question our familiarity; I hadn't even realized you were ready to get out there again.

I jump as I realize you're standing in the doorway. "O-oh, hey! Sorry, I...oh, they finished, um, printing." I hastily snatch the coloring sheets from the tray and laugh nervously, embarrassed by my poor recovery.

I've been planning this all week but I'm still nervous to ask, and I feel ridiculous because I know you, and I know you'll be reasonable, even if you say 'no.' I execute my approach as you relax in the living room, the girls already in bed.

"Did you see the manga-style art Emma drew the other day? Or, um...the one Evelyn tried to do that was basically just giant eyes on a little triangle with some frantic spikes on top?" I laugh at the memory as I sit across from you. "They've really gotten into anime in the last couple months--my fault, I guess." I shrug and smile fondly before taking a deep breath.

"So, I...think I've mentioned it before, but, um, I do a lot of cosplay for, like, conventions." I'm internally cursing myself for the flustered filler as I barrel toward my objective. "There's one coming up, actually, and I...was wondering if you'd, maybe, like to take the girls?"

I got there, but I can't leave it alone; before you can consider a response, I nervously pile on: "I've got a killer look for this one--the girls will love it, and, you know, I bet their little hearts would just explode if I could put together some costumes for them, too."

I press my lips together nervously. "What do you think?"