Page 3 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

Lily

Celeste

I’m still pregnant. (crying emoji)

Saar

Which means you can sleep.

Celeste

Try to sleep when you can’t even move.

I’m sure the baby will come soon.

Saar

Always looking at the bright side, @Lily.

Celeste

Fuck wishful thinking. I want guarantees. NOW! (crying emoji)

Cora

Can you still waddle to come for a coffee?

Celeste

I’m not moving until this baby is out.

I sit up suddenly, my breath shallow and fast like I’ve been running for miles. The darkness presses in around me, heavy and suffocating. I clutch at the sheets and scan the room, searching for… what?

With a lavender sachet under my pillow, the distant hum of cars passing on the street outside, the warm yellow night-light plugged near the door, my brain slowly anchors me in my tiny spare room.

Shit. Another nightmare. As hard as I try to forget, to move on, to clear those memories, they persistently infiltrate my mind.

Days are good. I’ve always been a cheerful person. A bit too bubbly according to my parents. During the day, I stay grounded in the present.

Some pay hundreds or thousands to learn mindfulness. To stay present in the moment. I had to embrace the here and now , because I’ve had no alternative.

I don’t want to remember my past, think about it, or revisit it—even when some memories try to bring me to my knees.

And my future is uncertain, so really, the present moment is what keeps me going .

While my life over the past year has been nothing like the life I used to know, I’ve made it work.

Because, however unfortunate my life may look, it’s mine. It’s not decided for me. It’s chosen by me. And that is priceless.

Yes, there is the unfortunate housing situation. But right now, I can’t afford more than this room in Mrs. Whitaker’s condo. Not ideal.

The cost of living in New York wasn’t something I was prepared for. God, I used to be a na?ve girl. My life till that moment forced me to mature in certain ways, but completely sheltered me from reality.

New York is where I want to be. It’s vibrant and pulsing with life.

New York is where I need to be. It’s large, anonymous, and far enough from home.

New York is where I belong now. Even in my isolation, missing my family. Some of them, anyway.

During the day, I learned to enjoy my life.

At night, the past persists in my dreams.

I sit up and press my palms against my thighs, grounding myself. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” I whisper into the stillness, as if saying it out loud will make it true. My voice is hoarse, barely above a breath.

I switch the lamp on and pull out my journal from the nightstand. Scooting up, with my back against the headboard, I review the last few pages. All the things I’m grateful for.

My friends: Celeste, Saar, and Cora.

That I have work and a roof above my head.

That I joined a local gym.

That I saw butterflies on my way to a store.

That I bought myself a large iced coffee with extra whipped cream.

And several other entries of little things that made me smile, improved my day, and made me feel normal. Like I’m slaying this living-by-myself thing.

The tightness in my chest loosens, and the nightmare’s aftertaste subsides. My heart is still racing, but it’s no longer galloping. Just trotting.

I glance at the glowing red numbers of the clock on my nightstand. Almost three in the morning. Too early to be awake, too late to hope for a good night’s sleep.

The weight of the dream is still there, lurking at the edges of my thoughts. I don’t remember the details—I never do—but the feeling is always the same: the crushing certainty that I’m not safe, that the past is just waiting to catch up with me.

I put away the journal and lie back, staring at the cracked paint of the ceiling. I force my mind to remember more things that I enjoyed today, yesterday. Reliving the more recent past .

New York never sleeps, so here I am, wide awake. And alone in the quietest hours of the city.

Loneliness is new, but it also isn’t. It’s been over a year. I wasn’t prepared for this feeling of isolation. But then, I wasn’t prepared for any of it.

“It’s just a bad dream. Tomorrow will be better.” The words feel hollow, bouncing around in the empty space.

Outside, loud voices crescendo and quieten down again—perhaps a group of friends leaving a party. Life is still moving, even if I feel stuck.

I close my eyes carefully, because what I see in the darkness is often the worst. I feed my brain all the happy moments, hoping to fall into a dreamless abyss.

“What the hell, Lils?” Aaron says as soon as I answer the phone.

I blink a few times, turning in my twin bed. “Ouch,” I murmur when my elbow connects with the wall.

“Ouch doesn’t even cover it. The devil is beside himself.”

I sit up, and the room spins from the sudden movement. “You make no sense.”

Why is Aaron calling me so early in the morning? I suppose it must be early in the morning since he woke me from a deep sleep.

Dust particles dance in the cone of light, seeping through an opening in the heavy curtains. The digital clock on my nightstand suggests it’s five past seven.

“There is no memo on his file. You talked to him on Saturday. He’s waiting for a nanny. I hope you only forgot to record it and the nanny is on their way. She is late already, anyway.” Aaron talks in a hurried whisper, tripping over his words.

Words that cause a sober awakening and terrifying realization all at once. “Fuck.”

I jump out of my bed and switch on my side lamp.

“Fuck is right. He’s calling again, Lils. What should I tell him?” Aaron sounds panicked. And he never sounds panicked.

“Tell him his nanny got delayed in traffic but will be there in thirty minutes.”

“How do you know that?”

“Answer the client’s call, Aaron. The nanny will be there in thirty.” I wish I had an ounce of the confidence I channel into my tone.

“Okay.” Aaron hangs up.

I allow myself a moment of panic, standing by my bed, unsure where to go or what to do.

My hands shake.

My heart is trying to escape my chest .

My mind is racing.

I take a deep breath in and rush to my wardrobe. Grabbing jean shorts and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, I get dressed in record time.

I open my door carefully and tiptoe to the bathroom.

“Good morning, Lily.”

Goddammit. “Good morning, Mrs. Whitaker.”

My landlady stands in her kitchen doorway, sipping coffee. Rollers in her silver hair, she is wearing a pink housecoat and channeling all her nosy energy.

“You’re up early. I thought you had a day off.” She takes a sip.

The woman knows my schedule better than me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitaker, but I’m in a hurry.”

“I can make you breakfast.”

She is nosy and lacks boundaries, but I guess it all stems from her loneliness. And while I indulge her more often than I want to, this morning is not one of those days.

“I’m sorry.” I push the door to the bathroom open and grab my toothbrush.

How did I forget to book the nanny?

The fire alarm.

I practically scrape a layer of skin from my gums as I vigorously run the brush across my mouth. What am I going to do ?

Brushing my hair, I regret for the gazillionth time that I chose a pixie cut when I decided my New York look. It would have been easier and faster to pull my hair back.

I’ve been trying to grow it, so I lose another precious second gathering it in my hands and pulling it back as if I could stretch it longer.

“It’s still too short.”

I jump and hit my elbow on the shower door. It’s the same nerve I already abused this morning in my small bed. “You’re here, Mrs. Whitaker,” I state the obvious, rubbing my hurting arm.

“You know, Lily, I was so happy to share my home with you, but you’re never here.” She stands in the doorway, blocking my only way to escape. Her guilt-tripping is next-level passive-aggressive.

“I’ll be here tonight. We can have dinner,” I blurt out, more to get rid of her than because I really want to spend any time with her.

The problem is, Mrs. Whitaker is lonely because she’s just not nice. And as much as I try to bring some positivity into her life, I’ve learned it’s a lost cause.

“Will you bring takeout?” She finally moves, and I step around her. “Let me get you a flyer from this new place four blocks from here. It’s Indonesian.”

I get to my room and grab my glasses and my purse. Turning, I collide with Mrs. Whitaker. She pushes a leaflet into my hands. Using the time I don’t have, I lock my room. I don’t have proof she’ll snoop around, but I’m not taking a chance.

Not that she will find anything.

“See you tonight.” I practically sprint from the apartment.

Tonight is far away. I’ll worry about it later. Right now, I need to figure out how the hell I’m going to solve my problem.

I open the app on my phone to order a taxi. Where am I even going? I put the phone away and run to the subway. By the time I reach the platform, I’m soaked in my own sweat.

The waiting makes me sweat even more. Summertime underground isn’t fun. I roll up my sleeves a bit, but it’s no help.

Twenty-five minutes since I spoke with Aaron. Not good. I dial the childcare agency but get their voicemail.

By the time I reach the Upper East Side, it’s almost eight o’clock. My hair plastered on my forehead, I feel like I’m swimming in my own juices. Attractive as hell.

My phone rings. I don’t want to answer, but Aaron doesn’t deserve to carry the consequences of my actions.

“What’s going on, Lils? He called again.”

“It’s not like I can get there any faster,” I huff. Shit .

“You?”

“I mean I can’t get her there any faster.” Wow, Lily, you’ve become quite a proficient liar.

“What’s going on, Lily?” Aaron’s voice carries a hint of worry, and an equal amount of warning.

Too late for that.

“I got to go. I have it under control. Trust me.” I hang up.

Panting, I get into the cool—freezing—lobby of a swanky condominium.

“I’m here for Mr. Quinn.” I shiver as my body protests at the sudden dip in temperature.

“Who am I to announce?” The uniformed concierge smiles at me.

“Nanny.”