Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush 1)

"We're going to need you to get the lipstick off the walls," Mr. Schneider says, like he's daydreaming about Uncle Bobby.

"Nothing a magic eraser can't remove," I respond, my appeasing robot personality kicking in. What the fuck! Why wasn’t his precious wife watching the little shits so they didn’t highjack her makeup?

Fuck my life.

The moment we pull up the driveway, Spawn One and Spawn Two run outside in their sagging cloth diapers, along with their mother. I get out of the car and open my arms to them. Their faces are covered in dirt and there's snot running down their noses into their mouth, but I hug them anyway, because they really are the cutest fucking kids. They're a mess, but this is because Leslie likes to teach the boys through playing. They jump in muddy puddles in the rain, have action figures with no faces, and all natural, biodegradable toys. No Playmobile for these tots. It's all wood and peasant clothing. I don't really get it, but it's another thing that's not my problem. I just do what I'm told and they pay me well. It's a good system and I try not to ever ruin a good thing.

"We've all missed you," Mrs. Schneider says. Leslie really is a nice woman, just a doormat kind and I find it annoying. "You're here until Sunday night, correct?"

I smile at her and nod. Her eyes are full of relief and I can't help but wonder what she'd do if I put my two weeks in.

"I'm all yours." I turn to the little monsters. "I heard you guys drew me some pretty pictures. Ready to show me?"

They don't really speak, but they understand what I'm saying and reach for my hand. I get by because I understand their mumbles.

We walk inside and I look around. My jaw drops the moment we reach the living room. I try to mask my reaction, but it’s a serious struggle. There are shades of pink lines everywhere and I feel like Leslie purposely gave them the makeup now as a fuck-you for leaving her with her spawns last weekend.

I have my work cut out for me.

Saturday morning, I wake up and realize Mr. and Mrs. Schneider never called to check on their kids. I scrub the walls again while the boys sleep, this time with an old container of bleach. I had to go on a scavenger hunt to find it, as the Schneiders only use natural products.

Once the boys get up, my day is filled with chasing toddlers, making airplane sounds so they eat a few bites of food and changing handmade diapers that I have to wash immediately after. I make sure to run the boys ragged by playing with them outside for hours so the fresh air knocks them out. After the day I've had with them, I'm so tired. All I want is to go to bed as soon as they do.

Sunday comes and I've yet to hear from the Schneiders, which is strange because they always check in. They haven't picked up one phone call from me either.

"Um, Nat, the parents still aren't home."

It's six in the morning and I call her first thing. I don't even bother making coffee, even though they have the best tasting coffee I've ever had.

"See, you wouldn't have that issue if your new name was Sparkles."

Her voice is groggy, and even though I'm worried where the hell these people are, I still laugh.

"The prospect is looking brighter, that's for sure."

"What are you going to do if you haven’t heard from them by late afternoon?"

I glance around the quiet house searching for an answer. "Well, I obviously can't leave the kids alone. What can I do?"

"I think if you don't hear from them around noon, you should start blowing up their phone. This is a little crazy. They didn't tell you where they were going?"

> I glance out the kitchen window, hoping to see their car pull up any second.

"I didn't ask. It's none of my business. I just find it so incredibly rude to do this. Like it makes me never want to come back here the way they’ve left me in limbo."

I sigh, deciding I would text them around lunchtime telling them I have an emergency with Grammy. Surely they would understand.

"Tell me what you did last night," I say.

"A man in his thirties."

My brows raise. Doesn't seem too bad. "That young?"

"Yeah. Every once in a while you get a spring chicken. He wanted to hit the hottest clubs and fuck all night long."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, I mean he was doing coke off my boobs so he could have sex all night long—I hate sex on coke—but I got six thousand dollars for it, so I'm not complaining."