Page 26 of Pick-Up
She is starting to scare me. I can’t tell if I want to avoid her or be her when I grow up. In all seriousness, I feel sure I’ll disappoint her. I’m kind of a lightweight, and I really want to ace this assignment. I’m way too square for her squiggles.
With such a tight turnaround, I set out right away to secure childcare, imagining I could cobble together ample coverage between my family and babysitters.
Not so much.
Finding babysitting is like anything else: sometimes it happens with ease. Other times, it’s like apartment hunting in New York City without a broker—depressing, futile and almost reduces you to giving up and moving to New Jersey.
My parents are traveling to an education conference over the same dates. And my mother, true to her new spacey persona, called me back once to say she was mistaken—they actuallycouldbabysit!—and then again to crush my dreams and say she’d actually been right the first time. Maybe it was okay. As horrible as it felt to admit to myself, I wasn’t totally sure I could rely on her.
None of our regular babysitters were free either, even for an exorbitant fee. I sat at my kitchen table staring at the linen runner, both hands on my head, racking my brain for a solution.
Out of ideas, I did the unthinkable. I calledhim.
“Sash?”
“Hi, Cliff.”
“Wow. Great to hear youractualvoice!”
“Oh. Is it?” I said. “Okay. I’m glad.”
“Well, usually, you text or email. Like most people. Which is less invasive, it’s true. But you miss a kind of real connection that way. You know what I mean?”
Original-thought alert.
“Yes, of course.” I do know what he means—and so does every other cogent adult in the modern age.
“I was actually just talking to Ryan about this exact thing,” Cliff was saying.
“Ryan?”
“Oh, sorry. My friend Ryan Reynolds. Do you know who he is? We’re in development on a movie together.”
“Yes. I know who he is.”
“You’d like him. He’s actually so cool. So down-to-earth. Really kind.”
“Yes. Well. He’s Canadian.”
“Right, right. Hang on one second.”
I was treated to some rustling and then the clinking of utensils. “Hey, can I get a matcha latte with oat milk and a wellness booster?” I heard a distant woman’s voice, muted like the adults inMuppet Babies.
“What are the options?” Cliff said.
Murmur, murmur.
“Um. I think I’ll try the vanilla adaptogen powder with chaga mushroom dust? Thanks, love!”
I rolled my eyes in solidarity at our cat, Larry, who never liked Cliff. His expression was resigned.What did I tell you?
“Sorry,” said Cliff. “I’m at a Café Authentique. Meeting an exec from Sony to talk about this pilot I’m shooting next month. And then I’ve got to meet Ryan to plan our trip to the Himalayas. That’s where he likes to brainstorm his next projects. So, unfortunately, I don’t have long to talk.”
The only person more annoyed than me by this conversation had to be the person sitting next to Cliff in real life, trying to drink their mushroom latte in peace.
“I’ll be quick, then,” I said, so very accommodating. I am revving up for the big ask, swallowing a supersize serving of pride. “I just got an important opportunity, maybe the one I’ve been waiting for, and I’m having a ton of trouble finding childcare. Is there any way you’dbe able to fly in to New York next week for a few days to hang with the kids? Spend some time together? You’d be saving us, and I know they’d love to see you.”
He lets out a slow stream of air. A whistle through his teeth. “Oh, wow. Sash. I’m so happy for you. That’s amazing! You deserve it.”
