#annienancy

And Annie gets it, she does. But according to Ben’s texts this has been going on for hours now, days even, and Annie’s pretty sure that one of their nosy, uptight, nanny-having neighbors is going to call the cops or child services if the screaming doesn’t stop soon.

“Do you want me to-” she tries, but Nancy cuts her off with a glare.

“He’s just teething.” She doesn’t look at Annie when she rasps it out, just pushes a drawer closed with more force than is necessary, then opens the one next to it, only to shove it closed as well when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. Annie’s not sure she’s actually looking for anything, thinks she’s probably just trying to keep her hands busy so she doesn’t do something she’ll regret. It’s heartbreaking in its own way and Annie wonders if Nancy would accept her help even if she hadn’t slept with her husband, wonders if Nancy doesn’t want help period or if she just doesn’t want Annie’s help. Doesn’t really matter anyway. Dakota’s got some impressive pipes on him and he seems hellbent on letting everybody know.

The doorbell rings and Nancy pauses — her free hand hovering in front of another drawer — to scowl at Annie, like maybe she’s responsible for it, like maybe it’s for her.

All Annie can do is lift her shoulders and shake her head, because really, how is she supposed to respond to that. The doorbell chimes again, the sound just barely audible over Dakota’s wailing, and Annie’s about to go see who it is, just to escape Nancy’s withering look, when Nancy thrusts Dakota at her.

“Just… try not to cause any more damage while I’m gone,” she says, which is totally unfair (see: Annie is good with babies!) but the tension in Nancy’s face has loosened, if only a little, like she’s grateful for any excuse to give herself a break, so Annie keeps her mouth shut and accepts the howling infant with a nod.

Nancy doesn’t waste any time, rushing out of the kitchen, towards the door, the second Annie’s got a grip on Dakota. She doesn’t judge her though. There’d be cartoon clouds of dust in her wake too if she’d been dealing with this for days on end.  

“Teething, huh?” Annie says to Dakota’s angry red face, moving to the drawer full of dish towels she watched Nancy open and bang shut. “That explains the drool. Well that and your genetic heritage. I can’t fix your genes, kid, sorry, but maybe I can help you cool your jets.”

She grabs a blue and white checkered towel, dabbing it underneath his chin in a futile attempt to mop up some of the drool. It doesn’t make a difference; spit’s just going to keep dribbling from his mouth, at least as long as he’s still wailing, so she grabs a piece of ice from the built-in tray in the freezer and wraps it in the towel. It takes a few tries to get it past the grubby little fingers he has jammed into his mouth, but once she does, the unexpected cold sensation is enough to shock him out of his screams. One of his hands remains planted in his mouth alongside the ice, but the other comes up to clutch at Annie’s hand holding the towel. He hasn’t stopped crying, not exactly; his breathing is shuttered and he’s making soft whimpering sounds, but the shrieking is — mercifully — gone.

“Pretty awesome stuff, huh?” she says, hiking him up higher on her hip when he starts to slip. He watches her with a look that can only be described as weary as he gnaws on the ice, like he knows she’s not his caregiver but he’s not ready to acknowledge it, still too distraught from the whole teeth breaking through his gums situation to deal with another crisis.  

“Where’s Nancy?”

Annie looks up to see Ben standing at the edge of the kitchen with his backpack already slung over his shoulders, duffel bag sitting at his feet. His shirt is looking a little tight across his shoulders and jeez, didn’t Annie just buy it? How is it already too small? She makes a mental note to go to Goodwill later, to see if she can find any men’s tees that she can pass off as retro, instead of just cheap.

“She went to get the door,” Annie tells him, rotating the ice in Dakota’s mouth just enough to keep him occupied with it.

Ben glances in the direction of the front door and a crease appears between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s making that face that Annie knows means there’s something he wants to say but he’s not sure if he should.

“Spit it out, kid,” she teases but the furrow between Ben’s eyebrows just deepens. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hands gripping the straps of his backpack where they rest on his chest.

“I think she’s having a hard time,” he says, finally. And yeah, no shit Annie thinks, even as a pang shoots through her chest. She remembers those few days of Ben crying before she figured out how to soothe his colic; it was heartbreaking, made her feel like the worst person in the world.

“You weren’t exactly a picnic yourself when you were teething,” she says, trying to keep it light but Ben just shakes his head.

“No, it’s-” he tries, but can’t seem to find the words. The concern on his face is enough to dredge some up in Annie, along with memories of her mom crying for weeks on end before finally slipping into bed and staying there, of a dead-eyed Beth only holding Jane when someone put her in her arms. She swallows down her concern to offer Ben a smile of reassurance.

“You know what? Why don’t you go back up to your room and do some homework? Don’t even try to pretend you don’t have, like, a mental list of all the chapters you want to go crazy on with your highlighter, okay? Besides, I’ve been meaning to get in some quality bonding with this guy and you’re, like, always trying to monopolize my time, you know? Little dude’s never gonna learn to share if you keep setting a bad example.”

The corner of Ben’s mouth lifts. Not a smile, just an acknowledgement of Annie’s gesture.

“Thanks, mom,” he says, picking up his duffel bag and turning back to the stairs.

And, well, now Annie’s alone in her ex-husband’s kitchen, holding his baby, while his wife is nowhere to be found and he’s at work. But it’s fine. It’s totally fine.

Annie gives Nancy another fifteen minutes to pull herself together before she goes looking.

                                                       *

She finds Nancy sitting alone in Dakota’s nursery with her face in her hands, one of which is clutching a single yellow bootie. The room is eerily quiet, save for the sound of Dakota snuffling around the towel and ice, and Annie shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how to proceed. She just wanted to make sure Nancy was okay, but now that she’s standing in front of her hunched form, she’s not sure what to say, knows she’s the last person in the world Nancy would find comfort in. She’s about to back out of the room, leave Nancy to her solitude now that she knows she hasn’t, like, fallen down the stairs or anything, when Nancy pulls her face out of her hands and looks right at her.

“I can’t do it.” It’s nothing like the first time she said it, back when she was sitting in a pool of her own disgusting fluids, unable to hold it together, every emotion bubbling to the surface, hurt and fear spilling over. This time it’s just a statement, matter-of-fact. But that’s what scares Annie— the lack of emotion, the resignation. It feels too much like an ending, the kind that leaves more than one child with a lifetime of issues.

“Do what?” she asks, afraid she already knows the answer, but still not ready to hear Nancy say it.

And Nancy just… she just tosses the bootie in the small hamper sitting next to the changing table like it means nothing, like she feels nothing, and Annie has to look away, has to physically will the panic bubbling in her chest back down.

Nancy sighs and says, “Fight you. I can’t do it anymore.”

And what? Annie’s head snaps back over to Nancy, making sure she heard that right and Nancy just leans back in the rocking chair, flinging one hand out in front of her to gesture at where Annie’s still standing with Dakota propped on her hip.

“I can’t compete.”

It’s so absurd and so completely unexpected that Annie doesn’t even know how to reply. The relief flowing through her is quickly replaced with an unfamiliar feeling, one she can’t quite identify. It settles uncomfortably in her chest and the longer she stands there staring back at Nancy’s resigned face, the deeper the harder it is to ignore.

Here’s the thing— Annie’s really good with babies, kids too, but she’s shit at pretty much everything else that matters, all the things Nancy’s good at. Like paying bills and keeping the house clean and making dinner and… well, personal hygiene. Annie’s self-aware enough to recognize that she only showered this morning because she knew Ben was coming home. Nancy, on the other hand… even now, defeated and exhausted, still looks like she smells of roses or Chanel No 5 or whatever expensive perfume it is that Annie always gets a whiff of when they’re in the same room. Even Nancy’s messy bun with errant strands of hair falling down her neck looks soft and clean. And her skin.. it’s always perfect, of course it is. It has to be. And that’s… well that’s not the point.

The point is that they both have their strengths and weaknesses.

“I’m bad at a lot of things,” she offers, because she doesn’t know what else to say, and at the very least it elicits an emotion, even if it is one of disdain, from Nancy who throws her hands up in the air.

“Believe me, I know.”

“Okay—” Annie starts, a little offended despite herself, but Nancy waves a hand, dismissive.

“It doesn’t matter. My husband still wants to fuck you anyway.”

And oh.

Okay, this is about that.

Annie lets her gaze fall to the ground as she shifts her weight. Her arms are getting tired from holding Dakota whose eyelids are getting heavier and heavier. The ice has melted completely but he seems content to just let the towel sit there in his mouth while he fights to keep his eyes open. It’s a losing battle.

Annie doesn’t know what to say, not about Gregg. She still hasn’t said anything when Nancy sighs, standing up and gesturing for her to hand Dakota back over. He goes willingly, immediately nestling against Nancy’s chest, one hand still jammed into his mouth, the other tucked in between her body and his.

Nancy rests her cheek on his head and that unfamiliar feeling in Annie’s chest settles a little deeper, and now she can finally place it.

It’s affection.

For Nancy.

Annie feels affection for her.

She wants Nancy to be okay, not just because she’s a person, but because she’s Nancy.

It’s.. new.

Except it isn’t, not really.

Because it was there when Nancy was on her couch, venting about her marriage and her friends and her life. It was there when Nancy was clutching at Annie’s arms, wrapped tight around her chest, just trying to get through the horrors of child birth when she thought her life was falling apart around her. It was there the next time she saw Nancy, with a whole boob out, trying to get Dakota to latch on, mumbling something about normalizing breastfeeding and instagram hashtags and really, it’s been there ever since. It’s just that it feels impossible to ignore right now as Annie watches Nancy sway back and forth with Dakota, lulling him into a restful sleep, one hand propped under his butt, the other rubbing soothing circles into his back.

Without even thinking Annie reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair that’s fallen in Nancy’s face behind her ear. Nancy freezes, her blue eyes snapping up to meet Annie’s, and fuck why did she do that?

She steps back, clearing her throat, and shoves her traitorous hand into her pocket.

“I’m just gonna go get Ben and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Nancy doesn’t say anything, just watches as Annie retreats.

And yeah, Annie’s mortified, but–

But.

The way Nancy’s expression turns from surprise to confusion to something else is going to play on repeat in Annie’s mind for weeks.