Joy juggled Aubrey and Ella, who was dressed in a pale pink crocheted ensemble with white tights and a matching white beret. On her feet were delicate cream-colored plush booties. I kissed my niece on the head.
Joy sputtered, “Ashley! Okay, okay! Since when do you even have a job? I can’t do this every day, you know. I’m busy.” Joy headed toward the kitchen to finish feeding Aubrey.
“Busy doing what? Dressing Ella in perfect outfits?” I would have said if I hadn’t needed my sister so much.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I said instead, leaping upstairs with my phone and notebook in hand.
When I was finally sitting down, cross-legged on my bedspread, my home phone, notebook and pencil in front of me, I took a deep breath. I’d done it. Joy was probably in my kitchen judging the number of dirty dishes in the sink, but I’d done it.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I could hear the dishwasher whirl downstairs. Typical Joy.
The phone rang. I answered it immediately.
“Dreamstar Direct, how can I help you?”
A hoarse male voice answered. “You’re supposed to tell me your name.”
I flushed. He was right. And Wanda was on the line.
“Thank you for calling Dreamstar Direct. My name is Tiffany.”
“Hi, Tiffany. I’m Greg. What are you wearing?”
My mind went blank. What am I wearing? Is Dreamstar Direct some kind of fashion hotline?
I looked down at my red and gray checked pajama pants and oversized black T-shirt.
“Sir, I’m wearing a designer black dress and Gucci sling-backs.”
“Take it all off,” said Greg, his voice thickening.
“EXCUSE ME?” I yelled into the receiver. I heard a click and Wanda’s gravelly voice interrupted.
“Greg, we’re going to redirect this call to Cinnamon, your regular girl.”
Another click.
Wanda came back on the line.
“Ashley. You’re fired.”
The line went dead. I sat with the phone to my ear in disbelief. What just happened?
Standing up, I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen in a fog.
Joy was standing at the counter chopping pears and dropping the pieces into a mini blender with FirstFoods written across the side. Neat little jars filled with pale green puree sat on the counter beside her. She was wearing a sleeping Aubrey in the baby wrap. She must have found it balled up in my laundry basket in the living room.
Ella sat in Aubrey’s bouncy seat, jumping up and down. In her formal day outfit, she looked like some kind of little duchess.
Joy takes care of two kids better than I can take care of one.
“Already done, Ashley? This wrap is divine. Do you ever use it?” Joy gushed without looking up.
I sat down at the kitchen table behind her and put my face in my hands as hot tears slid down my cheeks. Within moments, they turned into sobs.
Joy rushed over and put her hand on my shoulder. “Ash, what happened? What’s going on?”
I sniffled and raised my head. “I got fired.”
“Fired? On your first day? Did you sign a contract? They can’t just fire you without notice!” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling Grover. He plays racquetball with an employment lawyer. What’s the name of the company?”
I wiped my face with my arm. “Dreamstar Direct... Joy, don’t, it’s f—”
Joy’s face went red and she plopped down in the seat next to me. “Did you say Dreamstar Direct?”
My face flushed with embarrassment.
“Ashley. Why were you working for a phone-sex hotline?” she said and I felt like a fifteen-year-old being scolded by her mother after being caught smoking.
I blew my nose into a paper towel. Ella laughed at the sound. I’m glad someone was finding this funny.
“Because I didn’t know it was a phone-sex hotline! I thought it was a customer service agency!”
Joy looked at me incredulously. “How could you not know? Their ads run nonstop all night! When I’m up nursing Ella, it’s the only commercial on!”
I blew my nose again. “Yeah, if only I were breastfeeding, I wouldn’t have accidentally become a phone-sex operator,” I said sarcastically. I knew I sounded immature, but did she have to mention breastfeeding in every conversation?
Joy sat up straight. “That’s not what I said.”
I stood up. “I know. Sorry. Well, I’ll take it from here, I guess. Thanks for coming over.”
Normally I wouldn’t have rushed Joy out so quickly, especially not before bumming a jar or two of organic baby food off her, but I needed to wallow alone.
Before heading out the door with Ella, she touched my arm. “Don’t let it get you down, Ashley.”
I smiled and kissed my niece again before closing the door.
8 P.M.
I personally have never needed a nanny, but when you need help, don’t be ashamed to get it.
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better
I had a realization this evening as I was standing in the kitchen trying to do dishes while holding a screaming Aubrey because David was working late for the 300th week in a row: Mary Poppins isn’t a child’s fantasy, she’s a mother’s. Isn’t it your dream to have some maternal figure float in out of nowhere, no background check needed, and take your kids away for an indefinite amount of time? All of this and your children come back better people with no money exchanged.
I’ve decided to hire a part-time babysitter so that I can...wait for it...start freelancing again! I miss the marketing world so much. The whole phone sex debacle was a wake-up call (no pun intended). I need to do something in the field I love. I know I can do this. Maybe David and I will end up doing business together! Just the thought of us brainstorming client product launches over hazelnut-flavored coffees got me excited. Finally, I’d be in my element again!
We don’t really have extra money, but if I cut back on spending we should be able to swing five hours a week. Now I just have to find someone with the right qualifications.
I know I want someone younger than me. Not too much younger. I want them to have common sense, experience and a good head on their shoulders.
No one under twenty-six. I know someone in their early twenties can be responsible, but I want the person to have seen enough terrible things in life that they know to be alert with a baby around. In your early twenties you still think life is all good and that nothing terrible can happen. By twenty-six a person starts to get a sense that bad things don’t just happen to other people, they happen to babysitters who leave babies in high chairs unattended. By one’s mid-twenties, some of the glitter has worn off of life, leaving behind a matte finish.
Also, I don’t want some hot young thing running around my house. Not while my stomach looks like some kind of front butt hanging out of my tank top. My fragile ego can’t handle it.
Yes, there are lots of hot women in their late twenties, but they’re less willing to lose their jobs for making a pass at their bosses’ husbands, I think.
And the butt-stomach thing.
In summary, I need someone who is capable and not too hot.
David’s working through the weekend so it’s just me and Aubrey. I’m never going to get any work done if I can’t find someone to watch her.