Page 191 of Trouble from Abroad
“You’re here to look after my daughter. Not clean. Not cook.”
Oh, please. He’s a doctor. He’s supposed to be smart. Does he really think he’s going to win this fight?
“Again, Dr. Preston, that’s not how I see it. I’m here to take care of a family. But we can discuss that in more detail once Lily’s asleep. Deal?”
* * *
Later that night, once Lily’s curled up in bed with her new stuffed seahorse, I retreat to my own room with a plan.
I slap a stack of papers on my office desk. Time to put it to good use. It’s soon covered in color-coded Post-its, scribbleson index cards—including a drawing of a muscly stick figure doing Pilates—embossed labels for each topic, and highlighter tabs for each page.
The second I’m satisfied with the strategy I’ve drawn, I try my luck downstairs.
Preston’s in the kitchen rinsing dishes, looking entirely unsuspecting. Poor man. Won’t know what hit him.
“About to finish over there?” I ask, sitting on my favorite stool at the counter. Obviously, it’s the one Lily saved for me earlier.
He looks at me over his shoulder and shuts off the faucet. Even timing is on my side tonight. I’m going to ace this.
“Sure, what do you need?” he asks, eyebrows migrating up and toward each other.
But then he throws the kitchen towel over his shoulder, and I have to resist the instinct to moan a “Yes, Chef.”Focus, Mia! Focus!
“To kickstart your comeback tour,” I say, dead serious. “Preston 2.0: The Revenge of the Doctor Dad Era.” I draw the title in the air like a movie banner, hands arcing in a rainbow.
He doesn’t respond. He just blinks, looking lost. That’s fine. I came prepared for rejection as a first reaction.
“So,” I continue, revealing the first page with my bestShark Tankflourish, “this is your proposed schedule. A holistic, slightly wacky strategy that’s equal parts accountability and TLC.”
He stares me down. “You made me a personalized intervention manual.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve made these forbillionaires and moguls. You’re neither. But you are a tired single dad who smells of stress and old cardio.”
Preston smirks at my near-offensive honesty.
“You do realize you terrify me in very efficient ways, right?” I soak in the compliment. He opens his mouth to say something else, but quickly shuts it.
I take it as permission to keep going.
“Give me a month,” I start. “On weekdays, you’ve got a trainer. I sourced three while I was upstairs—all make house calls. CBT twice a week—first session already booked, a top-rated psychologist, with full credentials.”
I cut off the comment I know is coming. “Yes, I work fast. That’s why Liam pays me the big bucks. Also, weekly massages. Rub the grump right off your shoulders. And thirty minutes of ‘quiet time’ before dinner. All non-negotiable.”
“Quiet time,” he repeats the words like it’s a foreign concept.
“Yes. No phone. No case studies. Just vibes. Read. Meditate. I don’t care. Just… give your nervous system a break for half an hour. It’ll help prevent burnout, improve your sleep,andmake you more present with Lily.”
I don’t say any of it unkindly. In fact, I’m surprised by how gentle my voice gets. But I’ve been watching this man clench through life for the last few days. I’ve seen how affected he gets when she-who-must-not-be-named is mentioned.
The man had a meltdown.
He’s not fit for work.
He feels he failed his kid.
I’m only here for a short time, and I’ll be damned if Idon’t turn Dr. Preston into the best version of himself. He needs a reboot. And maybe,maybe, I want to be part of it.
Preston glances at the paper again, then at me. “This is insane.”
