Resident Babysitter

Emma~

After an unfulfilling breakfast, I decide that the main house, as they call it, will be the perfect place for me to go next. I know where it is, and if everyone insists on looking at me like their damn leader, well then I might as well enjoy some of the perks that come with it.

It would be nice to stretch my legs anyway, and I want to see how this new dress looks in the daylight. It’s far too dark and gloomy in here.

I can’t help but feel disappointed though as I make my way over. I don’t know if it’s mostly towards myself or Orion. I mean, trust him to make himself scarce the one time I actually plan to see him. But then again, what was I doing waiting around for him?

I’m not his partner, I’m just his future wife due to a simple business arrangement, and it’s really not the same thing.

For some strange reason, I expected people to still be stirring from sleep when I arrived, but no, it’s just as lively as yesterday if not more. The training must have really taken it out on some of the parents, and the children are making the most of their diluted attention by running riot.

A few of the kids call to me as I come into view, and I’m practically rugby tackled by Megan when I cross the threshold of the door.

“Emma!” They all exclaim in their little high-pitched voices, and I can’t help but feel that when they say it, I don’t feel as much of an outsider anymore.

“I thought you could all take me on a tour while your parents are... busy,” I suggest as a way to entertain them.

Several of the adult wolves are still sipping coffee, and I know the last thing I’d want when still on my first cup is a lot of loud noises. It’s the only thing I can think to do to help.

I hear a few ‘Thank Goodness’s under the breath of some and smile to myself while being pulled along by various tiny hands.

“We should go to the lake!” One shouts.

“No! We should go to the berry patch, Emma loves food.” Another chimes in and for a second we're going in every direction all at once if that's even possible.

“How about we start with the school?” I offer, not knowing why they're not already there at nine o’clock on a Monday morning.

In reply, I get a collective group of ‘Ew’, ‘Gross’, and ‘No Way’s from my tour guides and at least I know that they are familiar with the concept. I used to feel the same.

“Why aren't you at school?” I decide to ask outright.

“It's half term, Emma,” Megan answers me the same way as she did last night about the kitchens, and I have a feeling she thinks I'm rather slow compared to other adults.

I'd forgotten how many holidays children get and I remember how jealous I was at times when seeing them playing in my old family. Their trips to the kitchen to beg for sweets were never ending in those weeks and it's sad to think that I'll never see those little faces again.

My face must have fallen at the recollection because a little boy called Harvey is pulling on the hem of my dress to check where my smile went.

I don't like how readable my face can be at times, especially when it becomes obvious to the kids. It shouldn't be so clear when I'm unhappy and it's certainly not something to worry them with, I need to try harder.

The next few hours are spent paddling in streams, picking flowers, and separating fights. It never ceases to amaze me how children can be screaming at each other one minute, and best friends again the next. It confirms my long-standing suspicion that we adults have a thing or two to learn from them yet.

When I finally return them home to their families for lunch, there’s a spread on the kitchen table filled with deli meat, cheeses, and bread. I don’t even mind that it’s not something I put together myself and I need to get used to other people doing things for me.

I have no purpose here, I am not the cook anymore and I need to remember that. Goodness, my brother really was right back when he used to call me a control freak.

While we sit to eat, the children have made their way back to their parents and I’m more or less left to my own devices. At first, it’s nice to get a bit of peace and quiet after a hectic day as the resident babysitter, but then I start to feel quite alone.

Being surrounded by so many other families makes me remember my own. The family I have been taken from and the family I might never see again.

It’s strange to think that it’s not even been a fortnight and yet I’m starting to forget just how deep the wrinkles go on my father’s face when he smiles, or how high-pitched Owen squeals when I pinch him for stealing from my plate.

But now is not the place to show my emotion. After all, this isn’t really my home.