Page 6 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
While Sunny catches her breath, Oliver lays into Nan. “The dog? You brought the dog. I left simple instructions to leave the dog at the kennel on Westwood Ave. Why is she here? More importantly, why was she running loose around the parking lot?” Ever since the day we brought her home from the shelter, Oliver has refused to use the name Immy chose. I don’t think a female dog named Hairy Styles computes in his cyborg brain.
Nan is whining worse than Immy now. “Imogen wouldn’t let me! She wouldn’t stop crying.” She pleads to me, “Y’all don’t understand how dependent she is on that dumb mutt.”
I swear Hairy’s whiskery eyebrows raise at the insult. She can't be too dumb; she’s disliked Nan from day one—which was exactly eight days ago. Finding a trustworthy nanny is no easy task when you’re Anders Beck.
I grab her slobbery tennis ball and launch it down the hall. Hairy bounds after it, with Immy giggling at her heels. With my daughter distracted I can say what needs to be said.
“You’re fired,” I tell Nan, too hungry and tired to elaborate. This shouldn’t require an explanation. When she protests, I cut her off, “That’s enough. You’re done. James will get you home safely.” He’s going to hate that.
But Oliver tries to stop me. “Think this through. We have a full day tomorrow. I won’t be able to replace Nanny Nan like that” — he snaps his fingers — “or I would have already.”
He’s not wrong. This is going to be a major pain in my a—
“Y’all can’t fire me! I just started. You’ve barely given me a fair chance,” Nan’s grating voice cuts into my thoughts. She stabs her pointed nail into my chest, “On second thought, you know what? I quit. Good luck to you. Good luck figuring out how to take care of thatlittle brat by yourself. You have no idea what that girl needs, and you have no idea how to be a father.”
She spins on her bedazzled heel and leaves.
Her words might have hit differently if she hadn’t spent the afternoon blowing off her one job. She isn’t exactly a credible source. I’m an okay dad. I think.
Oliver runs a hand down his face, releasing a long breath. He curses. Immy and Hairy are back at my side, playing a combination of fetch and keep away with the nasty tennis ball. Hairy runs away with the ball and Immy follows her.
“We’ll figure this out,” I assure Oliver. “It’ll be fine.”
“It’ll be fine for you. I’m the one who has to find a replacement nanny in the twelve hours before you start filming a new project.” His thumbs are already burning a trail on his phone screen.
“Let me find someone. I can find someone.” I don’t know why Oliver doesn’t think I can do this stuff. Just because he usually does it doesn’t mean I can’t. Everything always works out.
“Okay, Hot Shot. We’re hours from civilization, at an empty resort in Utah. Where are you going to look?” How does the man glare straight into my eyes and yell at me while he types on his phone?See? Cyborg.
I look around the lobby like a nanny vending machine is going to appear. Worth a shot. Then I spot Immy at the end of the hall. She’s curled up on a couch next to Sunny. Hairy is on her other side, sitting back against the couch cushions like she’s one of the girls. Sunny runs her fingers through Immy’s curly hair, twisting it into one of her pencil bun things. Hairy lolls her head to the side, leaning her full weight onto Immy, who tips into Sunny. The domino effect makes the three girls laugh. I think Hairy is laughing, anyway. She started it. Something about the sight pinches inside my chest. Now I want to look at herandtouch her, but for entirely wholesome reasons. Sunny is different.
Immy spots me watching her. “Daddy, look how my hair is! It’s got a pencil just like her!” she announces with a giggle, wriggling out from under Hairy. The pencil falls out of her hair with the movement and she whines, “Hairy! You knocked out my pencil!”
Sunny shushes her and whispers, “I’ll fix it.” She drags her fingers through the curls again, twisting them into the pencil on top of Immy’s head. My daughter’s eyes are glazed—she loves having her hair played with. And I don't blame her. I think I'd enjoy having Sunny's fingers in my hair, too. In no time, Immy’s hair is up in the pencil and all is right with the world.
I raise an eyebrow at Oliver.
Oliver raises an eyebrow at me.
Sometimes it’s convenient having my best friend as a manager, because we can communicate telepathically. I want to hire Sunny to be Immy's nanny. Oliver doesn’t think it’s a great idea, but we don’t have a lot of options.
He shrugs.
I nod at him. He needs to be the one to hire her. I can’t do it—It'll come out sounding like a proposition.Want to hang out in our suite and play house with me for pay?
He nods emphatically back at me.
I nod his way, lobbing the task back at him.This is what I pay you for, man.
He shakes his head at me, and nods rigorously in the direction of the girls.
I turn to face them and Sunny is watching us.
“What?” she asks.
3. Sunny Falls in Love
Iam in love with Imogen Beck. Well, I guess her real name is Imogen Beck Abrahamson. She has Anders' true surname, which is a mouthful. Either way, I wish she were mine. The place in my heart that has felt painfully hollow since high school feels practically cavernous with this sweet girl sitting beside me. I can throw her hair into a pencil bun like mine and laugh with her about her slobbery dog, but I can’t let Immy's pure light fill me with longing. This is one instance where I won’t allow myself to daydream. It hurts too much.
