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Perfect blond hair obscures her face, curling forward despite her backward motion. And that about sums her up, actually. A walking contradiction. Accessible, but out of reach. Insecure with a radiant smile. Shunned and craving validation.
Hands reach forward but grab nothing. Falling is rarely ever a choice, but this was. A series of decisions led to this outcome. It was preventable. But now, there is no evading gravity. Gravity will always be honest, regardless of the lies you try to feed it.
The dying screech reverberates off the rocky ocean cliffs, and rings in my own ears as an echo. The only ears that will ever hear it. There’s nobody else around. I am the sole viewer of her last moments.
In a world where all it takes to find millions of eyes is to click an ‘upload’ button, where you can record yourself doing something as mundane as a choreographed dance and garner an audience, it doesn’t make sense that I’m the only person that bears witness to this. This is the moment, the last moment, doesn’t that deserve an audience?
There is a smack against the water, a crunching of bones on stone. It takes only a few seconds for the light of her soul to be extinguished. It’s not even the length of a decent TikTok post.
I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, knowing it isn’t possible to scroll away from this.
The old copper doorknob cools my chapped fingertips as I bang it against the door. I’d already looked for a doorbell, but there isn’t one, which feels incongruent with the homeowner. Every corner of her old house was archived among her thousands of vlogs, but she has no camera doorbell outside her new home?
At least without the Ring camera, the house maintains its old-world Victorian charm. But what does it look like inside? Because if there is one thing that Bella Greene is not, it’s old world.
I am expecting a grand entrance befitting the glamour of Bella Greene. The door will whip open with a spotlight, expel a red carpet before me. Instead, it opens unceremoniously, and Bella appears so quickly that it’s hard to conceptualize that she is standing here, in the flesh, just a few feet from me.
Her face is so familiar, as though I’ve welcomed her into my home every week for the past decade, because I have. She looks just like she does in all her videos. Well, all right, her skin has a few more wrinkles, but what influencer doesn’t use smoothing filters these days? Other than that, though, she doesn’t feel too out of place. Except for the fact that her sun-kissed complexion is
rarely found in this part of the country.
“Caitlyn, it’s so good to meet you!” Bella’s arms envelope me. “Or, rather, so good to meet you again!”
The memory of our first meeting is still fresh in my mind. I went to Bella’s stand-up comedy show, Under the Impression, just a few months after re-connecting with my best friend from elementary school. Her mom got us meet-and-greet tickets for her birthday and I can honestly say it was one of the best nights of my life.
Thirteen-year-old me would’ve been shocked to learn that one day, I’d be Bella Greene’s nanny. Bella wasn’t even a mother yet at that first show. She thrived on YouTube as a comedienne, but in more recent years followed the family vlogging track to success. YouTube sketches have long fallen out of style.
Awkwardly, I return Bella’s embrace, arms like flailing octopus tentacles. I’ve never known where to put my hands when people hug me like this. And what’s the appropriate amount of time until I should pull away? Obviously, I don’t want to offend Bella, but I don’t want to come off as a crazed fan either, hanging on for dear life.
Bella pulls away first, thankfully. “I’m really so glad you’re here. I’ve been on my own with these kids for two weeks now.” Bella pauses, realizing her own words. “Not that I don’t love spending time with them, of course. It’s just been hard to get my work done.”
What work does she have to do now? Maybe it’s better not to ask. I really want to make sure I don’t offend her.
“Well, I’m certainly happy to help.” My words are stilted, coming out unnaturally formal. Even though I’ve been officially offered the job, I still fear that the wrong word will get me sent packing.
“Here, let me help you with your bags.” Bella reaches for my forest green suitcase.
“It’s totally fine, I got it,” I say, a little too late.
Her hands are already on the handle.
I don’t want her to carry it for a few reasons. The first being that it’s a little worn in the corners, embarrassing pieces of frayed fabric reveal themselves not far from the handle. But the other is simply a sense that Bella Greene should not be touching my luggage. She’s Bella Green. She doesn’t even carry her own luggage.
“Don’t worry about it! I’m only going to bring it into the vestibule, anyway.”
Vestibule? I thought I knew all the fancy words rich people use to describe their houses. But I don’t have a clue what a vestibule is.
Context clues give it away, though. Bella only moves my suitcase a few feet past the front door. Then behind her is another front door, which she opens without grabbing the luggage again. So, this tiny room with the herringbone red brick floor must be a vestibule.
“Come on, let’s chat in the kitchen, it’s just off to the right here,” Bella explains, and I shut the second front door behind me. I wonder if they share the same lock, but it’d be weird to ask. I’m sure I’ll get the keys to the house, anyway.
I rub my black boots over the ‘hell’ of the ‘Hello’ that’s written on the welcome mat in curly cursive. Can’t risk dragging mud through Bella Greene’s hallway. But Bella doesn’t pause for me, and I have to rush to follow her into the kitchen.
It’s a far cry from the pristinely white kitchen of her old home, where pearl cabinets and granite met a gray wood floor. The only pop of color came from a plum kitchen aid that sat near the fridge, not that anyone would know it was a fridge, as it’d been paneled to look like another set of cabinets. I’ve seen her pull ingredients out of it dozens of times, though. I can map out that kitchen, the entire house, in my mind. Both homes are beautiful in their own right, just wildly different from one another.
“I never would’ve guessed a place like this would be your taste.” The wooden barstool squeals in protest as I pull it out from the
emerald countertop to take a seat.
“Oh, you’re so right. But this is the style out here on the island. There weren’t many places to pick from and certainly nothing modern.” A quick shake of her head shifts the bangs that usually sit perfectly aligned in her vlogs. “Wait until you see the yard, though! You can walk straight down to the beach.”
I run a finger over a thin glass vase hosting small, wispy purple flowers. I don’t remember Bella ever having florals in her previous home. “It sounds lovely. Do you plan to renovate this place?”
“God, no.” Sarcastic laughter punctuates her response like sardonic little commas between each word. “I could never live here full time. Once this all blows over, I’ll move back to LA. And I hope that’s sooner than later.” Bella’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, shoot, I shouldn’t be talking like this yet. You know, before we go over the job any further, I’m going to send you to the study. My assistant has some NDAs for you. It’s all standard procedure with me. Can never be too careful, especially after . . . what happened.”
Ah, so is that how we’d be referring to it? I wasn’t sure. On the trip here, I’d wondered. Should I mention it? Stay quiet and pretend it never happened? But this clarifies things. I can broach the subject, but only in vague terms.
“Right. Of course. I completely understand.” I’d done a bit of reading online prior to my arrival from other nannies who worked with celebrity clients. There’s a subreddit for everything these days. None of the nannies could ever name their clients, however, due to strict NDAs. It obviously followed that I’d be signing one myself.
“Just down the hall and to your left. When you’re done, I’ll introduce you to the twins.”
Should I pretend I don’t know who Adam is when I walk in? I only have as many steps as it takes to get to the door to decide. Bella has
surely told him I’m a superfan, and what fan isn’t familiar with Bella’s assistant? Still, there’s an awkwardness in knowing someone before they know you.
The study door creaks open slowly at my touch, groaning as though it too can sense the tension of my presence. At a long ornate table sits Adam, head faced down toward a stack of papers. He doesn’t need to look up at me to be recognizable. For years, he’s been wearing the same flawless braids that end right at the bottom of his neck, not so much as a hair out of place. Adam wasn’t in every video Bella posted, but she often involved him whenever she was doing trending challenges, like taste tests or TikTok dances.
“Uh, Bella told me to—” The words trip over each other on my tongue. “She said to come here. I mean, to see you.”
“Caitlyn, hello. Nice to finally meet you. I’m Adam.” His gentle smile could pacify even a screaming toddler. “A little nervous?”
I force my own smile, the sensation so foreign that my cheek muscles sit taut at the corners of my mouth. Is it obvious I’ve spent the last few months frowning?
If it is, then levity needs to come from my words instead of my expression. “When I had my first day at Baskin Robbins, I dropped a little girl’s rocky road cone on the floor, and she burst into tears. And when I did that, my boss wasn’t my idol.”
This earns me a small, polite laugh. “I get it. I felt the same way when I first started. Here, have a seat.” He points to the chair across from him.
“Were you a fan before you started working for Bella?” A question I already know the answer to.
“Oh, the biggest fan. I went to every show I could. Had my locker decked out in Bella’s photos. I mean, I got bullied a fair amount for it, but I made friends with other fans. You must’ve done the same, right? Bella said you came from her Twitter group chat?”
that Bella Greene has spoken about me.”
“And very highly, too! She said she met you and your friends at several of the Seattle meet and greets.”
My lips tighten. Not what I want them to do, but they have no choice. The only alternative is for emotion to spill onto my mouth, create a puddle on the rest of my face. “Yes.”
“I’m sure they’re all very jealous about your new position?”
A long pause. “Yep.”
An even longer silence follows, Adam’s eyes searching my expression to see what he said wrong. But he isn’t going to be able to figure it out. If there is one thing I’ve practiced endlessly, it’s shutting off the faucet on my rushing emotions. The water still drips slowly sometimes, but I’m always able to dry it before anyone notices.
Adam clears his throat as he shifts the stack of papers in front of me. “Is that how you spell your name? C-a-i-t-l-y-n D-a-v-i-s.”
“That’s right. Do you need my ID or social or anything?”
“No, nothing like that. This is all just nondisclosure agreements. Bella won’t report your income, which is great because you don’t have to pay taxes on it. So, we don’t have any paperwork to file in that regard.”
“Oh, great. But, uh, so . . . all these papers are just part of the NDA?”
“I know. It’s thorough. Feel free to read them slowly.”
If I do that, I’ll be in this room all day. And Bella might think I don’t trust her. “Can I just sign them?”
“Yeah, of course. Honestly, all you really need to know is that you’re not allowed to talk about Bella in any capacity. You can’t discuss your time here; you can’t use her as a future job reference. Absolutely anything to do with Bella is off limits. The NDA doesn’t expire.”
“Right. Okay. Got it.” I could be signing my life away. My parents made sure to instill in me the responsibility of my signature from a young age.
‘Never sign anything you haven’t read three times,’ my mom would say. But what’s the alternative? Not working for Bella Greene? No, that isn’t an option. One wrong move could wreck this. There are hundreds of eager fans who would gladly move to Washington to work for Bella, even after everything that happened. I’d mostly gotten the job based on proximity. When Bella messaged about the position, I was the only person in the group chat already living in Washington.
“Everywhere you see a yellow tab, you sign.” Adam’s fingertip brushes against the stack of papers.
“So,” I begin as I pick up the black pen closest to his hand, “any advice for me? Anything I can do to make sure I succeed here?”
“Oh, it’s not hard. Bella really is as sweet as she seems. I mean, obviously she’s struggling a bit right now. But even with all that, she’s keeping a brave face.”
There it is again, only being spoken about in vague terms. That seals the deal. Can’t be too specific. But I probably should pry what I can from Adam while I have the chance.
“So nice that you were able to pick up your life and move to Washington with her.”
Adam only shrugs. “I mean, I didn’t have much of a choice. I couldn’t leave her in her worst moment, not after all she’s done for me.”
“Do you like it here? I know the weather is a far cry from the Los Angeles sun.”
“Oh, it sure is. But I’ve been okay so far. It’s absolutely stunning, and the island is really cute. If not a bit—” Adam pauses, stills, then reconsiders. “Besides, Bella assures me we’re going to be back in LA long before we get
the winter blues.”
I doubt this very much. It’s hard to imagine that this would blow over quickly. But who am I to challenge Bella Greene? If she thinks she can make a swift comeback, maybe she can. “Maybe you can show me around town on my day off. Funny, I grew up just a couple hours from here and never visited.”
“I’d love to.” Adam slides one more paper toward me. “Then just an initial on this one and I think you’re done.”
As if right on cue, Bella pops in the doorway, like a jack-in-the-box but replace the creepy clown makeup with a glam look straight out of 2017. I never minded that she kept her style largely the same as that era, even if it was now dated. There’s something comforting about influencers who keep their looks mostly the same. They’re familiar. Not that I spent much time on other influencers. For me, it was always only Bella Greene.
“Are we good to go, Adam?” she asks.
“Yep, just wrapping up.” He picks up the pile of papers and taps them against the dark wood table.
“Oh, thank God. Now I can actually speak freely in front of you!” Bella waves toward me, and her pink nails glimmer under the overhead light. It’s impressive how she manages glamour in any situation. Is there even a nail salon on the island? “Are you ready to meet the twins?”
I’m not meeting the twins, though, am I? I met them long ago. I was there for their birth. I witnessed their first steps. Olive fawns over anything with a butterfly on it. Maximillian, who goes by Max, has an affinity for dinosaurs. Their bedroom is half dino, half butterfly themed. Or, at least, it was back at the LA house.
Bella has been sharing their lives online since birth, and I’ve been privy to every wonderful moment.
No, I’m not meeting them, but that doesn’t diminish the significance of this moment because they are meeting me. My success as a nanny depends on them liking me, so I have to make a good impression. But I’ve never tried to impress a seven-year-old before. Where do I even start?
“Max, Olive, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Bella says, a lot more calmly than she normally sounds. In her vlogs, her voice would always chime out whenever she spoke to the twins, reminiscent of the singsong doorbell of my childhood home. Homey if rung twice but exasperating that one time a delivery man rang it five times in a row.
The two of them are laying on the floor of their new bedroom, which does indeed have butterfly posters on one wall, dinosaurs on another. Though outside of that, the room is just as austere as the rest of the house, with a dark wood wainscoting and stained glass above their doorframe. And, somehow, they look austere in it. Both of their blond heads are huddled over an iPad. They haven’t yet noticed the two figures in the doorway.
They look terribly out of place in this room, faces glued blankly to a screen. The only time I’ve ever seen them outside their ritzy, albeit a bit sterile, white and gray mansion was when they’d go on vacation. And never, not in a single vlog, have I ever seen them with an iPad. A year ago, Bella did an ad on Instagram for a line of educational computer games where she explained how toxic iPads were for children’s brains, noting that games on a computer were a superior way to educate children.
Bella clears her throat, then speaks again, an edge to her voice now. “Olive, Max. The nanny is here.”
Finally, they look up. Their large cerulean eyes are just as piercing in real life as they were on screen. They share the aqua color with Bella, but their irises seem older than hers somehow. The blank stares are likely a holdover from staring at the iPad, but it feels like the gaze is a purposeful choice to peer into my soul. Do they see anything?
“Hi, guys, so nice to meet you!” I use the same squeaky voice Bella always uses to speak to them. The tone always seemed to garner excited smiles in vlogs.
But not when it comes from my lips. The blank expressions don’t change.
“Hi,” Olive nearly whispers. Max raises his hand for a wave without altering his face.
One time at my first school, before I transferred in the second grade, I walked up to the lunch table of the four most popular girls and asked to eat with them. They didn’t answer, but didn’t ignore my presence, either. The leader, Emily, flipped her brunette curls and just stared at me until I had no choice but to
walk away.
It’s nonsensical to compare that situation to meeting these two seven-year-olds as an adult, and yet both moments have the same vibe somehow. You assume when you’re young that by adulthood, you’ll have grown out of wanting to be cool, but you never really do.
“Do you guys want to come show her the backyard?” Bella asks, using the cheerful voice that’s so familiar.
The twins’ reactions, however, aren’t familiar at all. In vlogs, they are usually so eager, emphatic in their tone and body language. Watching their stiff, unmoving limbs now, it’d be easy to mistake them for other kids entirely. Hell, with how pale their skin has become, it’d be easy to mistake them for the little corpses of children instead of living beings. Being out of the California sun has not served them well.
“No. We’re busy.” Max turns his head back to the iPad, and Olive follows suit, his little mimic. At least that is consistent with their vlog behavior. Olive is always looking to Max for her next move, as though the three extra minutes he’s lived have instilled in him a special wisdom. Apparently even with twins, the older sibling is the boss.
Bella lets out an awkward laugh, then shrugs. “Okay, guess it’s just you and me.” She steps out of the doorway and further down the hall with quick, but heavy, steps. When we’re out of earshot, she whispers to me. “Well, at least you got a taste of just how easy they’ll be to watch. Give them a screen and they’re perfect angels.”
She’s probably right, but it doesn’t put me at ease.
When Bella first posted the ad in the group chat, asking if she had any fans in Washington with nanny experience, it seemed like such an easy gig. I already knew the kids, knew their hobbies and interests. Nannying them would mean days filled with arts and crafts, the twins eager smiling faces always
ready to color or bake a tray of cookies. Admittedly, the other times I had babysitting gigs, it didn’t go well. Connecting with kids just isn’t my forte. But knowing these kids so well, surely I’d be Mary freaking Poppins for them, right?
Now I don’t think it’ll be so easy. But the kids have to like me. If they don’t, I’ll lose the job, and I can’t lose this job. The stakes are too high. This is my one chance to get out of the depression hole I’ve been living in for months.
A few weeks ago, I was living in the void. And the void is cold, dark, despairing. Now, I’m following Bella Greene down her hallway, listening to the squeak of her pristinely white sneakers against the hardwood floors of her house, which definitely beats listening to the judgmental clacking of my mother’s heels up and down our tiled hallways. When all you do is lay in your bed, tacky lilac comforter pulled over your head, there is no other sound except the clacky heels and the raindrops on the roof. Just thinking about it, I swear I can feel the slight breeze from where the weather stripping was loose on my window frame. But I’m not there anymore.
I am in Bella Greene’s home. I am Bella Greene’s nanny. I can’t lose this.
“As you know, we homeschool, but the kids are pretty good about doing their work before they jump onto the internet for other things. And I really don’t mind you letting them use the iPad whenever. But I’d love if you could get them out into the yard now and again. I’ve really tried, and they seem to have no interest in it at all.” Bella reaches for the golden knob on one of the glass French doors and pushes it open before motioning for me to walk through.
Bella can’t get the kids to play in the yard? Is that a joke? This is by far the most glorious backyard I’ve ever laid my eyes on, even better than what Bella had back in California, though I guess they did have a pool.
But who needs a pool when the ocean is visible from the back porch? There’s a large grassy field that houses a small red playground with
chipping paint, and a stunning glass greenhouse topped with small, ornate onyx metal spikes. There are no plants in it, but I can fix that. How beautiful it’d look with an assortment of florals. Well, flowers might need to wait until spring, but there are plenty of vegetables that I can start now to grow over the fall and winter months.
There’s no fence around the yard. There’s no need for one. The grass backs up to the forest, so that a line of old-growth trees serves as the boundary. The canopy is so dense that the forest floor darkens where the trees begin.
The combination of ocean and forest makes the yard look like a postcard, but if that wasn't enough, Mt. Baker peaks over the sea. Nothing could make the view more perfect, I’m sure of it.
I’m wrong, though, because out of the tree line a spotted doe makes an entrance. Hesitant legs step on dewy grass, and I’m about to point out her timid beauty, but Bella speaks first.
“Ew, go!” Her hands flail above her head, and she becomes one of those inflatable tube men that sit on car dealer lots, startling both me and the deer. The doe jumps behind a large red and white circular target before disappearing back into the shady underbrush.
“Ugh. Those things keep wandering into the yard, but they’re full of vermin. I’m scared they’re going to give the twins parasites.”
“Gross,” I agree, and decide not to extrapolate beyond that. If Bella hates deer, I can hate deer. “Is that an archery target?” I ask.
“Something like that. The old owners left a contraption in the shed, I think it’s called a crossbow? I’ve got the arrows on a top shelf where the twins can’t reach, but don’t let them in the shed, anyway.”
“Of course not.” I pause. “The kids don’t like
it out here?” I have to pull my lips together, as my mouth had fallen open slightly while taking it all in.
“Crazy, right? I would’ve lost my mind over a place like this as a kid. But I guess it’s my fault for spoiling them. I want them to enjoy it while they can, though. They’re not allowed past the evergreens by themselves, but you can certainly take them to explore if you want. There’s a trail off to the right and if you follow it, you’ll get to our private beach.”
At that, my lips part again. “A private beach?”
“Yes but be careful. It’s rocky and there’s a lot of driftwood. But back home, the kids loved collecting shells and rocks. Maybe you could get them back into it.”
I can hardly get them to look up from their iPad, so I’m not sure I can manage that. Do Bella’s expectations of me supersede my abilities? I can’t let Bella Greene down.
A knot forms at the bottom of my stomach. She’s going to see right through you, the knot’s words travel up my esophagus, causing me to nearly choke on them. You’re not fooling anyone, and you’re going to lose this job.
This is just a little bout of impostor syndrome, and it’ll pass. Is it still impostor syndrome if you’re actually an impostor, though? I’m wholly unqualified to be here. Maybe Bella will see that. Maybe I can’t pull this off.
I’m usually not the kind of person who goes around seeking the approval of others, but this is different. Bella Greene’s approval feels like life or death. She has to like me. Even just the idea of her disappointment is a broken boulder off a rocky cliff, rolling my way, threatening to flatten me into dust.
I will not disappoint her.
My gaze drifts to the right, where I glimpse a small building that isn’t quite in the yard, but more adjacent to the house. “Is that the garage?”
“Oh, no! That’s where you’ll be staying.
Actually, why don’t you get your bags and I’ll take you over there?”
I won’t be staying in the house? That’d been my assumption, and my desire.
Just looking at the guest house brings back the chilly wind from the failed weather stripping on my bedroom window. I don’t want to be on my own. I applied for the job because I wanted to escape the loneliness that’d been plaguing me, not dive further into it.
Though I have to admit, the guest house is quite nice, nothing like my room. It has the same Victorian style as the main home, with green and white striped wallpaper adorning the walls. It’s a studio, just one room with a small kitchen and a wood stove. The bed is near the door, next to a compact baroque desk with one of the old 2000s era Macs that came in bright colors, this one is orange. Next to it is a printer with a similarly neon orange top. Do they even work?
“I know the appliances in here are a little dated, but you can use the kitchen in the house if ever you need. And you’re always welcome to share our meals. I’ve got a personal chef that comes for lunch and dinner. The kids usually do cereal for breakfast.”
I take a seat on the full-sized bed, topped with a red and blue quilt, and try to hide my disappointment. “I’m sure that’ll work out fine.” Okay, I won’t be living in Bella Greene’s home, but I also won’t be far away. There will be plenty of time to get to know her and the kids better. I’ll be at the house nearly every day. I’ll just come here to sleep.
“Fantastic! So, I know we already went over most of what the job entails, but just as a reminder, you have to be up when the kids wake, and you’re off whenever they go to bed, in addition to Fridays. Hourly pay is fifteen dollars which I know is a little under Washington’s minimum wage, but since you won’t be taxed on the cash, you’re actually making a little more.” Bella pauses, searches my face, then cocks her head to the right ever so slightly. “That sounds fair to you, ...
