When the 10-year-old girl I’ll call Madeline Grey uttered the words, “I’m probably not gonna like you,” I appreciated her attitude, since I speak the same language.
I dedicated half of my time being her nanny to analyzing the series of events that have shaped her into the sassy, quirky, sad, brilliant girl that she is. The Grey family’s past and present play intricately into how Madeline views the world. And I just so happened to get lucky enough to witness it.
The divorced parents of the Greenwich Village family reside in separate homes, both with their respective new love interests. As a nanny, I’m there for Madeline and her sister’s school dances, play performances, and karate practices.
Typically, a child would want their mother or father to be there in these moments, but after my many months of getting to know Madeline, she now assures me, “I’d really rather you be here.”
I’m also the first one Madeline goes to when she has a new crush or when she has an idea of the next color wig she wants. Our most meaningful moments were when her mother got newly engaged and everyone needed her to be happy, and when her dad forced her to “love” his new girlfriend, but she didn’t know how.
But it took a while for us to get close. When I first met her in early fall, Madeline was all gloom and rolling eyes, an underlying hope for me to fail as her nanny. As each day went by and I continued to show up, those same eyes began to twinkle. Little did she know, mine sparkled at the exact same moment.
Soon, it was mid-November; the temperature in New York City began to drop and it was my mission to help Madeline pick out her winter coat for the year. I’d already been working for the Grey family for the three months prior, but this was the first evening it didn’t feel like work. It felt like Madeline and I were sisters, or even just friends with a 10-year age gap—just two girls looking for a Britney Spears-style “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” kind of coat from Ann Taylor LOFT. After the momentous purchase, Madeline wanted to have a cozy dinner at none other than McDonald’s. As we sat down, she began telling me about her family, her parent’s divorce, her sister’s mental illness, and how the blame seemingly fell upon her shoulders.
As she started to open up to me, I shared about my own childhood and how I wished I could’ve had a nanny to have been there for me—to listen to, to laugh with, and to cry on.
The first time I knew I loved Madeline was at the Dunkin’ Donuts on Greenwich Avenue. We were walking along, and she was telling me about a weekend filled with smiles and excitement over her mom’s engagement, and how nobody asked her simply how she felt. I could hear her sniffles as we walked.
“Do you wanna go into Dunkin’ Donuts,” I asked. “Just so you can talk?”
“I don’t wanna bother you with my issues, you probably don’t want to hear it,” she replied.
We eventually went and sat at the farthest table near the back and bought our favorite ice cream to share: cereal cookies and cream, three scoops. As tears fell down her face, I tried to hold back mine.
“You’re the only one who listens to me,” Madeline said.
We discussed our mutually sad, unexciting Thanksgivings. We talked about how in life, we can’t necessarily pick our family. As she walked up to the cash register to ask for a cup of water, I looked from behind at her wavy brown hair, and her four-foot-ten-inch frame, broadened by her light purple backpack with a stuffed rabbit keychain dangling from its zipper. In that moment, I knew she had impacted me just as much as I had her.
Picking Madeline and her sister up from school is the best part of my day. After a day filled with the latest drama sprinkled with moments on the streets and at college of forceful smiles, I look at her and before I can even think of it, a smile has blossomed, genuinely.
Some nights when her mom is working late or her younger sister is at an after-school activity, we envision our future.
“Can I please be at your wedding one day?” she asked repeatedly. “And if so, can I wear one of my wigs?”
Or, my favorite question of hers: “Can I help you raise your children? I really hope they’re girls.”
I don’t know if I’ll be in New York forever. I talked to her about the possibilities of change. In her innocence, she says, “I’ll go wherever you go.”
I know now that her initial resistance toward me was partly due to the many nannies that have quickly entered and vanished in her life. I feel confused as to how I get paid to be a part of such a captivating girl’s life. I never would have experienced magical moments like our vulnerable talks in Dunkin Donuts, our mini ventures to the Wig District, or capturing every bit of daily quirks—like when her 11-year-old crush asked for her hand in marriage.
Every type of relationship creates memories and this chapter in particular has changed the way I see the world, because I see it through Madeline’s eyes.
The Grey family has shown me there isn’t a “standard” definition of family. Madeline has shown me that there are, however, unusual occurrences that take place when you devote a bit of yourself to someone or something unknown. There may be some boundaries broken according to the unspoken “nanny code of conduct,” but in a family that never utters the words “I love you,” it means so much that Madeline said that three word phrase to me on New Year’s Eve.
And just last week, her mom uttered that same phrase, to me, via text message.
In a world that tosses these words around so loosely, I sincerely know that when coming from the Grey family, it’s probably one of the most authentic “I love you’s” I may ever receive.
I don’t know if I will be watching Madeline long enough to help her through the more challenging phases to come, like when she becomes a teen, then a woman. But I do hold onto the promises and plans we’ve made to one another.
I will always be a phone call away, as a last resort, but if possible, I’ll continue to do her hair for her school dances and watch her evolve. One day, she will be at my wedding. And, perhaps, in my future child’s life—as her nanny.
Illo: Yasmin Ahram