The Nanny

Chapter 27

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Yay, it's only been a week since I updated! Somebody pass the champagne! ;)

Anyway, my apologies for leaving you hanging. Hopefully this ties up a few loose ends and just makes you happy in general. It's pretty lengthy. I will try to update as soon as possible, as I always do, but I am getting the iPhone 7 this weekend and I am way too excited to think about anything else but that lol. :)

Enjoy Natalie's badass-ness and Andrew's sexiness. They make a good team. :D

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Chapter 27

The depth of astonishment that word held was unbearable. I could barely catch my breath after the news I just got.

What was he doing here? What made him think he had the right to show up after years of no contact and expect me to remember his face? Why did he choose now—my mother's fucking funeral—to decide to reach out to me?

I told him just that. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you. Mourning the loss of a dear—"

"You left her. You left us." Before I could stop myself, all the anger and sadness I built up over the years came filing out. And I couldn't stop it. "What makes you think you can just show up here and expect forgiveness? You can't show up and make amends. It's far too late for that."

Mark held up his hands. "I'm not asking for you to forgive me. Well, I am, technically, but I know it will take a lot more than showing up at Layla's funeral to make up for twenty years of lost time."

"Why now? You had, as you said, twenty years to do so. Why wait until she's dead to reconcile?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. Instead of arguing with me further, he lowered his voice and moved closer. "Can we talk in private?"

His words took me by surprise. I scanned the crowd and found Andrew and Angie carrying on a conversation with Marge. They were occupied, so I figured talking with Mark in private wouldn't be a big deal. It would only take five minutes.

"Fine."

Quickly, we left the main area and stood awkwardly in a small storage room. I crossed my arms. "Okay, we're alone. What do you want to talk to me about?"

"Listen, Natalie. There's something..." His voice wavered vigorously. "Your mother wasn't completely honest with you about...your father."

"You mean about you? Yes, she was. She told me he—you—left when I was five and never spoke to her again. Never even tried to reach out to either of us—"

"That's a lie," he claimed, peering down at me. "If you will let me explain, I'll tell you why. Please, Natalie. Five minutes of your time."

The storage room was mostly soundproof, but the chattering crowd on the other side of the door was loud enough to drown out our voices. If I started yelling, would they hear? Better yet, the question was: did I want to hear what he had to say?

I peeked at my watch. "I'm counting."

He dove in immediately. "Let me start this by saying, I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I wanted to be there for you, but I couldn't. I am your father, but I am not the man who walked out on you."

That took an unexpected turn, and fast. "What do you mean?"

"The man that walked out on you was named Miles Olson, my brother. Layla and I were friends and actually spent a lot of time together. Then, she and Miles dated during college and decided to get married, a year before you were born." He hooked and unhooked his hands; it was impossible for him to sit still. "Anyway, one night she called me in tears, saying Miles had cheated on her and wouldn't admit it. The next thing I knew, she was at my door, crying, and cursing Miles. She told me he had been acting weird, so she checked his email and found a message to another woman. She drank just about anything alcoholic I had in my fridge—and my cupboard—and..." Temporarily losing his train of thought, his eyes left the ground and found mine again. "And we ended up sleeping together."