“Those are two different things.”
She ignores me completely, as per usual, but then says, “Pah! They don’t have to be. Now, you need a plan. Step one is admitting what a donkey hole you were. Step two, stop running from your own shadow. Unlearn all that bull poopy from the past. Stop thinking you’re ruined and incapable. You’re neither of those things. And get your shit together, Tor. This is a second chance. You likely won’t get a third.”
“You must be so happy to learn you have a great-grandson,” I grumble.
“Yay,” Granny claps. “I must say, it was hard keeping it a secret. I’ve been waiting to celebrate all this time! Happy learning about my great-grandson day to me!” She gives me another stink eye, this one stinkier than any I’ve ever seen. Granny can look like a junkyard dog when she wants to. She can be totally terrifying. “Don’t mess this up, Toren. I’m serious. No more self-pity. And no more douddy duddy fluff about your father. That man was an idiot, and you’ve had a lifetime to get over it, move on, and become smarter about it. You’re not him, and you never will be. You have a good head on your shoulders. Put it to use. You’ve read more than half this country combined, so learn something from it. I know you have a heart in there. Figure out how to use it. You have this magical chance most people never get. If you blow it, I promise you that I will shrink you to the size of my finger and throw you down the kitchen sink’s garbage disposal.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure, Granny, how do you plan to do that? You have some hidden powers I’m not aware of?”
The delivery bastard chuckles. I wish I could grab that drill and teach him a thing or two about putting the desk together. Damn, I’m not a violent person, but I really would like to show him up at the moment. Outman him in some sort of pissing contest or other.
“Don’t underestimate me, sonny,” Granny threatens. “I managed to curse the heirlooms, didn’t I?”
Yes. Yes, I have to admit she did.
I really can’t screw this up, and not just because I don’t want to end up as human goo.
CHAPTER 7
Toren
Late last night, I got a text from Luna:
Fine. Be at the shop tomorrow morning at 9. You’ll be there until 6. I pay $14 an hour. This is an interim nanny position. I’m still going to find a new nanny. Don’t tell Milo who you are. (Skull and crossbones emoji). Use the back door when you get here, please.
So, here I am this morning, standing on her doorstep. It’s a very tall doorstep, given that it’s around the back of her store. A massive set of metal stairs ascend from the ground straight to the back door of her apartment. There’s no doorbell, but there is a knocker. What do you know? It’s also in the shape of a skull and crossbones. Maybe Luna has a secret obsession with pirates, and she wasn’t trying to threaten me in her text. Or it could be that she bought this door knocker and installed it last night, specifically with me in mind as yet another warning.
I get it. I really do. Don’t fuck with her life. This is a rare privilege she’s giving me. She’s letting me right into the core of things, where stuff gets touchy and messy. I pick up the skull’s jawbone and rap it against the rest of its face a few times.
Footsteps thunder inside, and then the door opens. But it’s not Luna. It’s Milo. He’s wearing an adorable set of white pajamas with little green, red, and blue dinosaurs on them and a big t-rex on the front of the top. I wonder if he likes dinosaurs or if Luna bought them because she thought they were cute. I start trembling in my shoes when I realize just how little I know about this person who shares my DNA. I know even less about taking care of a kid.
“Mom, there’s a guy here,” Milo yells.
Luna appears behind him with her cheeks flushed, a smear of peanut butter across her forehead. She looks rushed, harried, and a hot morning mess. All of a sudden, my mouth floods with moisture, and I’m thinking about leaning in and licking the peanut butter off her forehead.
She frowns at me like she knows my game. “That’s not a guy,” she corrects Milo, setting both her hands gently on his shoulders. “Well, I suppose it is, but he’s your temporary nanny until I can find someone to replace Charlotte.”
Milo’s frown now matches his mom’s. He studies me, looking quite concerned. “But he’s a he.”
“Yes, a nanny can be a he or a she.”