“I’d never ask.”
“I guess I could ask Grandpa…”
Seventh-grade math was no challenge for me, but I wanted Lizzie to figure it out on her own. “There are so many online resources for you, like YouTube. You can figure it out, Lizzie.”
“I’m not very smart, Mom.”
I nudged her in the side. “Come on, that’s not true. And even if it were, you can always improve. You’re never stuck with the hand you’re dealt. You can always get a better one.” I put the meat in the pan with oil and started to sauté.
She used another pan to grill the asparagus and Brussels sprouts. “So, what’s this guy like anyway?”
“Brilliant. Interesting. Kind.”
“How old is he?”
“A few years older than me.”
“Really?” she asked in surprise. “I was picturing my history teacher—super old.”
I chuckled. “He’s very young, especially for the amount of success he’s had.”
“What does he look like?”
“I don’t have any pictures of him.”
She pulled out her phone from her pocket to Google him. “What’s his name?”
I’d never Googled him because I didn’t want to snoop. I’d also never told him about my daughter, because any time an employer knew you were a single mother, they assumed you wouldn’t be able to handle the workload. If every boss could just Google that information, I would have a much harder time finding a job. So out of respect, I didn’t Google him. “Derek Hamilton.”
She typed it into Google, and the hits popped up.
I kept working and didn’t look at her screen.
“Wow…this is him?”
I flipped the chicken. “Dark hair and eyes?”
“Uh, yeah.” She abandoned the veggies and held the phone up to my face. “Mom, he’s gorgeous.”
I suppressed my smile as best I could and took over the vegetables. “He’s not bad to look at.”
“Come on, you’ve got to think this guy is hot.”
“Lizzie, he’s my boss. I don’t see him like that.” When the food was done, I scooped everything onto plates.
“Uh, you should.” She held the phone up to my face again. “Because he’s hoooooot.”
I chuckled. “You’re way too young to describe a man like that.”
“Mom, I’m almost thirteen.”
I rolled my eyes because that number was so small and she had no idea. I didn’t have my shit together until a few years ago. Juggling my education with a small child made me straighten out and really understand the definition of responsibility. I did everything the hard way—and learned difficult lessons because of it.
She pushed the phone farther into my face. “Mom, you can look at this guy every day and not think he’s got eyes like chocolate?”
I laughed as I yanked her phone away and put it down. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You think you guys will get married?” she asked excitedly.
“No.”
“Do you want to get married?”
“Lizzie.” I forced myself to be serious even though her reaction was hilarious. “He’s my boss. I don’t see him that way. He’s just a guy.”
Lizzie put one hand on her hip and stared at me, giving me a meaningful stare full of a teenager’s attitude. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
“Sure…”
“Shut up and eat your dinner.” I handed the plate to her.
She carried it to the dining table and ate.
I sat beside her and ate, my feet tired from wearing heels all day, from running around and taking care of every aspect of Derek’s life. The job gave me so much fulfillment, but there were moments of regret, when I wished I could spend more time with my daughter. I missed more sports practices than I wanted to. I missed helping her with her homework. I missed making her dinner. If I didn’t have my parents to help out, I’d have had to turn down the job, because I didn’t want to pay a stranger to raise my daughter. But the money was so beneficial to our lives that I had to do it, and they never made me feel bad about it. Because of the generous salary, I could pay for my father’s surgery, help my parents with other medical bills, and even set up a college fund for Lizzie. I still had student loans so far up my ass, and I didn’t want Lizzie to have the same problem because she wanted a better life.
So, I just had to make the best of it.
Lizzie ate as she worked on her math homework, using her phone to look up examples for how to do the problems.
More than likely, these math skills would never help her in life, but learning how to find answers would. I forced her to use other resources to solve problems—and that was the skill that would make her successful. That was my entire job with Derek—finding ways to solve his problems.
“Does he have a son, by chance?”
I turned back to her, my eyebrows furrowed.
“Smarty-pants.”
“We’re still on that?”
“Does he?” she pressed.
“No kids.” And he didn’t want any.
“Dang. They’d be smart and beautiful.”