Curtis Sittenfeld

At 5:41 p.m., Holly texted me, Leftover kale salad from dinner, already dressed, you want?
A follow-up text: Also one corn dog but assume you pass on that 😋
I’ll take both, I texted back.
Awesome, now? she texted.
I replied with 👍👍, rose from my desk, walked from the back of my apartment to the front—I was renting the first floor of a house on the east side of Madison—and stepped outside.

During the interview, I realized almost immediately that the woman was pregnant—I guessed she was about halfway along—but she didn’t remark on it, and of course neither did I. Over the phone, we’d discussed only her 3-year-old daughter. The woman, whose name was Diane, was looking for a babysitter for the girl, whose name was Sophie, two mornings a week from 9 a.m. to noon, for $10 an hour.