Hungry for More (2012) (5 page)

She couldn’t bear for anyone to watch her eat.  Her shoulders sagged dejectedly.  She knew what they were all thinking when she put food in her mouth; how they were all sneering and judging her…
disgusting fat woman, stuffing her face like a pig
… She would rather starve.

Despite the fact that she had not eaten anything of substance for almost twenty-four hours, Bridget actually felt rather good.  Perhaps she would actually manage to lose some weight this time
.

Bridget did her best to push those thoughts aside as she reentered Tad’s bedroom.  He was still sitting on the bed sniffling unhappily, hugging one of his toys close to his chest.  The sight of him made Bridget cross with his father all over again. Still, she didn’t think that Paul meant to be harsh with Tad.  He just didn’t have a clue about being a father.

“Hey there.  How are you doing?”

“I want to go home,
N
anny!”

Bridget’s heart clenched.  “This is your home now, sweetheart.”

“I don’t like it!  I hate it here!”

“Oh there now- no you don’t,” Bridget said gently, scooping Tad up onto her lap.  “I went and told your daddy how sad he made you. He worked hard to make your breakfast.  I think it hurt his feelings that you wouldn’t try it.”

“It looked yucky!” 

“Yes, but Tad, you didn’t give it a chance. He was only trying to be nice.”

“It’s not nice to shout.”

“No,” Bridget agreed. “It’s not.  I’ll talk to your daddy again,” she promised, giving Tad an extra big cuddle.  “Why don’t we-” she stopped when there was a knock on the door.  Tad jumped off her lap and ran over to the corner of the room.

Bridget sighed and went to see what Paul wanted.  Maybe he had come to apologize? 

He wasn’t there when she opened the door. However there was something sitting outside and it brought a small smile to Bridget’s lips.

“What is it, Nanny?” Tad whispered from across the room, curious when he failed to hear his father’s voice.

Bridget picked up the tray of food that had been left outside in the hall.  “I think this is your daddy’s way of saying sorry,” she smiled, showing Tad the new breakfast of boiled egg and toast that were sliced into thin strips: “soldiers
,
” as Bridget had taught Tad to call them.
She wondered if Paul already knew what they were or if he had taken the time to look it up on Google. Either way, she was impressed.

This time, Tad eagerly cleaned his plate. Having something in his tummy went a long way toward improving his mood. After he was finished, he picked up a picture book and started showing the pages to his stuffed rabbit. Bridget took advantage of the quiet to slip back to the kitchen.

Paul was just finishing the dishes. She was surprised to discover that he did the dishes by hand.

“Phoebe leaves those for me to do,” Bridget said without thinking. She cursed under her breath when Paul turned around and she realized what she’d said. “
Left
,” she corrected quietly and hurried forward to pick up a dishtowel to start drying the pans that he had left on the rack.

“You washed dishes?” he asked, arching a brow.

Bridget nodded, “Well, I did all sorts of tidying…”

“I thought you watched Tad.”

“I did that too…” Bridget said with a shrug. “I did a lot of stuff, actually.”

“Like what?” Paul pressed. When Bridget hesitated he continued, “I guess I should know if you’re going to be working for me.”

“Oh. Right…” Bridget felt an excited flutter in her stomach as the possibility of staying on with Tad once again seemed within her grasp. “Well, I did whatever she needed me to, really. I picked up the dry cleaning and I ran errands. I took Tad to play dates and to the doctor. I did the grocery shopping…” She very much doubted that Paul was going to let her do
that
job here.

“What did Phoebe do for herself?” Paul muttered, with a hint of bitterness in his voice that heavily implied the answer.

“Er…”

“Right,” he didn’t make her say it. He turned around to face her. Bridget kept wiping the plates. “How much does a job like that pay?”

“Er…” she hesitated, “…six hundred a week?” Bridget breathed out unsteadily, wondering if she was going to get away with giving herself a 20% raise. “Plus expenses,” she added hurriedly before she lost her nerve, “And room and board, obviously…and I’m off every Sunday afternoon and Thursday night.”

“Damn!” Paul said and whistled. “I should have been a nanny instead of going to cooking school.”

Bridget bit her lip and held her breath, hoping that she hadn’t just blown her chances. She would honestly work for free if it meant staying close to Tad. She was just about to say so, when Paul shrugged in agreement.

“Ah, well. It’s only money, right? I guess I don’t pay child support anymore.”

“Quite,” Bridget answered, a little annoyed by the way that he had phrased his acceptance. “I’m
actually
quite a bargain,” she said with a bit of wounded pride, “I’m qualified as an elementary
school
teacher, you know-
and
I have a first aid certification.”

Paul didn’t speak, but he flashed her a playful smile.

He was really rather attractive when he did that.
Bridget thought, finally bothering to notice his chocolaty eyes and handsome face.

Bridget tore her eyes away from her new employer and tried to concentrate on finishing up the dishes, but her gaze kept sneaking sideways. Paul had finished washing, but he was still lean
ing
up against the sink. The front of his shirt was damp and it clung to his torso, hinting at a physique that was toned and lean. Bridget thought that he must get a lot of exercise, although she couldn’t imagine when he found the time!

“When do you go in to the restaurant?” she asked, hoping to distract herself with conversation.

Paul shrugged, “Whenever I want. I’m usually there already…but I may wait out the lunch.”

Bridget nodded, “Good. Do you think you’d be okay with Tad for a half an hour while I pop back and get my things?”

“
Alone?
” Paul asked.

Bridget sighed. She didn’t like the idea any more than he did, but she didn’t think that it would be good for Tad to go back to the old apartment. He might get confused and think he’d gone home to stay.

“Just for a few minutes,” she told him. “My bags are already packed. I saw that video you had sitting out for him last night. He
loves
Robot
Q & Friends…just pop it on the telly and he won’t give you any problems at all.”

“But- but-”

“It’s honestly not that hard,” Bridget said.  She summoned a smile, trying to instill some self-assurance in Paul. In truth she didn’t have a great
deal
of confidence in him herself, not when it came to looking after his young son anyway, but she would have to take a risk.

“But what if he needs something?” Paul asked lamely, following Bridget as she walked out of the kitchen.

“Then you’ll get it for him, or help him with whatever he needs.  I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out,” she said.  “I promise not to be long.  Tad!”  At her call, the little boy appeared.  “What do you have to say to your daddy?” she prompted.

Tad looked up at her. He hesitated for a moment, but after a nod and an encouraging smile from his nanny the little boy turned to his father.

“Thank you for my breakfast, Daddy,” he said obediently, as if he had been practicing the words over in his head.  Bridget relaxed a bit when he added more naturally, “You got the yellow bit of the egg just right on your first try!”

Bridget thought she saw Paul’s lips twitch in an uncertain smile.  “Thanks. Uhm…how do you like your… yellow bit?”

“Gooey!”

Paul nodded.  “I’ll remember,” he assured his son.

Bridget took advantage of this promising moment to remind Tad that she had to go and pick up her things.  He was obviously reluctant to let her go, but she managed to distract him with the promise of his favorite television show, and sent father and son off to watch it together.

Bridget crossed her fingers and hurried out to her waiting cab. She prayed that Tad would still be in one piece when she got back to Paul’s apartment.  She really shouldn’t have to worry this much about leaving the boy in the care of his father.

It didn’t take long to get to Phoebe’s old brownstone. Bridget was already packed. She wasn’t sad about leaving Phoebe’s house now that she knew that she could stay with Tad.  Phoebe’s place was slightly cozier than Paul’s apartment, but the difference was negligible. Most of the homey touches around the place were attributable to Bridget.  Phoebe had never been home long enough to add any real imprint of her own.  To her, the space had been nothing but a landing pad between Telluride and Los Angeles- and a place to warehouse her son.

Bridget checked each room for anything that she or Tad might have forgotten.  Finding nothing, she moved her suitcases into the front hall and called for a cab.  She had ten minutes to kill until it arrived. She drummed her fingers on her thigh and eyed the bag that contained her stash of food. It was English biscuits and sweets mostly, but there were also some chips and dip. She kept a considerable stock. One humiliating day when Phoebe had caught her with them she had had to tell her boss that the only cost
-
effective way to get them in America was to order in bulk.

Bridget’s stomach rumbled hungrily.  Perhaps she could just have
one
biscuit, she bargained with herself.  She hadn’t eaten for more than a day after all.  One biscuit wasn’t going to hurt. She had to start up her metabolism if she wanted to lose any weight at all.  Really, it would
benefit
her to have one biscuit.

Bridget didn’t remember opening the bag, but she was suddenly sitting with a packet of chocolate Hobnobs in her hand.  Her breath quickened a little as she anticipated the first bite of sweet chocolate and oat biscuit.  She ripped the packet open and portioned out one biscuit, already knowing that she would eat at least two.  Two turned into four, and four into half the packet… two thirds of the packet… it was silly to repack so few biscuits, so she decided to polish them off.

Utterly disgusted with herself, and on the verge of tears, Bridget decided that the damage was already done. Even though she was no longer hungry, she started on a bag of Fritos.

She was near the bottom of the bag when the buzzer sounded, informing her that the cab was downstairs.

Bridget crumpled the cellophane bag, crammed it into the trash, and then wiped her greasy fingers on a rag. She felt sick to her stomach and absolutely disgusted by what she’d done, but there was no way to undo the damage. She simply pledged to do better.

Gathering the shreds of her dignity, Bridget dabbed her eyes, and then began the task of lugging her baggage down to the waiting car.

Despite her promises to Paul, Bridget was gone for close to an hour and a half. She had taken a bit longer at the apartment than she’d intended, and then her taxi was stuck in traffic on the way back Uptown. She was feeling very anxious as they neared the apartment- and even more so when she stepped inside and discovered Tad watching videos
alone.

“Where is your father?” she asked, a little more sharply than she’d intended.

Tad didn’t turn around. “In the kitchen,” he told her as his eyes remained glued to the screen.

Bridget exhaled. She supposed that was permissible- although, she wondered if Paul could hear Tad’s call over the din of the cartoon.

“Mr. Devoe?” she asked, testing her theory.

As she expected, he didn’t answer. Then again, he didn’t seem to notice when she repeated her call while standing five feet behind him either. He was standing over the stove, absolutely
intent
on his cooking- and otherwise oblivious to the world.

She actually had to tap him on the shoulder to make him turn around. When he did, he blinked in surprise like a man coming out of a trance.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she murmured, taking a step away. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m back.”

“Already?” Paul asked.

Bridget nodded at the clock, and his expression turned sheepish. “Oh.”

“Yes. I’m sorry that I was delayed. The traffic…” her excuse died on her lips when Paul turned around to the stove again. “Right. Well…it seems like everything went okay?”

“It was fine,” Paul responded. “Tad’s just been watching TV.” Paul reached for a plate, which he covered with an
amazing
looking sandwich and then topped it with a lid to
keep
it warm. “He said that he was hungry. It’s a bit early, but he didn’t eat much breakfast.”

Bridget nodded. She was beginning to suspect that the cooking was more for Paul’s benefit than for his son
’s
. The practice obviously soothed him, and it was the
one
area of parenting in which he was more than competent.