Diane and Maya disappear into the spare bedroom that’s becoming Harper’s nursery. I can hear them arguing about whether the screws go through the rail or the headboard first, when Maya finally says, “Diane, I assemble medical equipment for a living. Give me the manual.”
Emma's in the kitchen putting away the Target run. She's creating systems: bottles in one cabinet, formula in another, medicine in a third. Everything is labeled and sorted, and it makes sense in a way my life hasn't since Tuesday morning.
I try to help, but mostly, I'm in the way.
Nora's set up at the kitchen table with Harper in the bouncer Emma bought, drawing color-coded charts on paper she found somewhere.
"What are you doing?" I ask, taking a break from being yelled at about whether I'm holding the crib rail steady enough.
"Schedules." She doesn't look up, writing in neat blue marker. "Feeding times, diaper changes, sleep windows. Babies thrive on routine, so these charts will help you track everything and stay consistent."
I move closer, looking over her shoulder. The charts are incredibly detailed. Times down the left side in thirty-minute increments, and different columns for different activities. Blue for feeding, green for diapers, purple for sleep, and then red for notes and observations.
"This is amazing." The organization, the thought, the way she's already anticipating what I'll need. "Thank you."
"It's my job," she says, but she glances up at me, and there's something soft in her expression that makes the back of my neck prickle. "But you're welcome."
By 5 p.m., Harper's nursery is done. The white crib is set up in the corner, looking sturdy, and the changing table is against the wall; all the drawers are filled with diapers, wipes, creams, anything and everything I might need. The gray glider chair is by the window with a small side table next to it for bottles and burp cloths. Emma's hung up all the tiny clothes in the closet, sorted by size. There's a small bookshelf with the few baby books she grabbed, a basket of toys Harper's too young for but will grow into, and the white noise machine plugged in near the crib.
It looks like an actual nursery.
We're all standing in the doorway, staring at it when Emma turns to Nora.
"So, you're moving in officially tomorrow, right?"
Nora nods, still holding Harper, who's fallen asleep against her chest. "I need to pack my apartment tonight. I can be back first thing in the morning."
Something unknots in my chest so fast it almost winds me. I hadn't realized how tightly I'd been holding onto the possibility that she might not come back, that she'd go home tonight and think better of all of this, and I'd wake up tomorrow exactly where I started. I keep my face neutral because she doesn't need to know how close I am to asking her not to leave at all.
"I can help you pack," Diane offers. "If you need an extra set of hands."
"That would be great, actually." Nora adjusts Harper carefully. "I don't have a ton of stuff, but furniture is tricky for me by myself."
I clear my throat. "Before you go, we should talk about salary."
Nora looks at me, waiting.
"What's your normal rate?"
She says a number. It's reasonable, professional, and probably what most nannies in the area make.
"I'm tripling it."
Her eyes widen. "Tyler, that's not necessary?—"
"Non-negotiable." I cross my arms. "You're live-in, which means you'll be available basically around the clock, at least at first, until I figure out what the hell I'm doing. You're teaching me how to keep a human alive. Triple rate is the minimum I'm paying you."
Emma's grinning. "Listen to him, Nora. He's got hockey money and literally no idea what to do with it. Let him overpay you."
Nora looks between us. "Okay. But I want one day off per week once you're comfortable handling Harper on your own, and I need my own space. The guest room is fine, but it needs to bemyroom, not just a place I'm temporarily staying."
"Deal." I'd agree to basically anything at this point. "The guest room is yours for as long as you're here. We can move your stuff in tomorrow morning."
She shifts Harper slightly, looking down at my sleeping daughter. "Then I'll see you tomorrow. Around eight?"
"Perfect."
Nora and Diane leave around six, while Emma orders pizza. Maya finds plates. We eat on the living room floor, surrounded by empty boxes and shopping bags, the nursery door open so we can see the white crib from where we're sitting.