Angus is in Stockholm, returning today, so it was just Melissa and I yesterday and this morning. She went out with her uncle to see the new Star Wars film last night, and then she returned and we spent time applying Lush face masks that smell like honey and trying to look pretty.

Yesterday I wanted to sit on the couch and watch those home improvement shows she likes so much and snigger with her at the horrible taste in throw cushions the designers inevitably have. I wanted to watch music videos with her and talk about those crazy kids nowadays. I wanted to plant all the flowers we bought as she suddenly loves gardening in the front garden with me, and actively takes part keeping things neat and tidy out there.

This must be what parents feel like. I know I am not a parent. I may never be one. But I think I understand now how sometimes the only thing you may want to do is sit on a couch next to a warm little person and talk.

Yesterday we walked to the corner shop and bought some bread for lunch. We rented some DVDs. We went to a few antique shops in the village and browsed. I bought Angus a small present (and I still want that ring, darling!) We went to the shops later where I browsed for a new business suit and I bought her a book. We talked and chatted and laughed and the thing is, I had a nice time and really enjoyed her company.

I think she enjoyed mine.

I have generally had a very easy time with Angus' 8 year-old Jeff instead of Melissa. Melissa, the penultimate Daddy's Girl. Melissa, who is old enough to be aware of the sensitivities and the emotions that accompany their parent's divorce and so I want to be careful around her and not confuse her. Melissa, the nearly 13 year-old that I never was, with the complete adoration of a father that I never had. Melissa, whose demands sometimes get on my nerves, whose complete siding with her father on everything sometimes irritates me, whose dislike for Americans is hard for me to accept quietly. It's not always easy for me, but I do know my rank in the grand scheme of things.

And the truth is, I am growing accustomed to her being around. She's a good kid, and becoming a cherished friend.

The past two weeks I have had many questions about the bandages on my face and leg (now both removed. I got bored of the stitches and so removed them in a fit of pique in our upstairs bathroom about a week ago).

My favorite reply, on someone asking about my face, was to reply: I cut myself shaving.

You should've seen the looks.

The other standby was: I got in a bar fight. You should've seen the other guy.

I saw Melissa looking at the scars but she never asked. Had she asked, she is the only one that would have had the truth. Life is too short to start losing your faith in the grown-ups, I'd rather not be the one to take that away from her.

So now I am spending the night in London and Angus is home with Melissa. I know they're going to a tack shop to spend money on horse things for her. I know they'll be sitting on the couch cuddled up together. I know their company will be constant. And instead of feeling confused about it, I am just glad for him. I know how much he misses his kids and I know this tiny quality time is a tonic for the soul.

She's about to be a teenager, so I know that all the rules we have now will go out the window as hormones roll the dice and cast a pall on things. It's not a reflection of her, only a reflection of those years that she has to go through, a sign that we all have to buckle up and stick it out. In some ways, I can relate to her more as a teen than as a child-I don't understand parent-child relationships, they're hard for me to grasp. I also know that I am a friend and 'step-parent' role only, and that's perfectly ok with me.

For instance, I hope she never gets her first period while she's visiting us. Not because I don't want to deal with it and am afraid of it, because I am not. I would hold her hand and lock the bathroom door and talk to her. I would show her how to fold the wings just so, and I would dole out cramp medicine and understanding smiles.

But I know that the first period is a time in a girl's life when she needs her mother, to understand and to help understand. So for her sake and her mother's sake, I hope she's home to have that experience with her mother. I hope she's home with her mother the first time she meets a boy she likes. I hope she's home with her mother the first time she has her heart broken. These are times when there's just something about Mom that is the first aid balm which heals.

For everything else, I hope I get to be a part of. The graduations, the engagement. The first home. The first time she rolls her eyes at the music I put on the stereo. The inside jokes, the holidays, her first scuba trip. When she falls out of love with Orlando Bloom and graduates to George Clooney territory. When she raids my bookshelf or cooks dinner for all of us.

I hope I get to be a part of it all, but in the meantime, I will enjoy the gardening with her. I will watch the home improvement shows she likes and discuss the cinematic merits of The Grudge versus The Ring. I loan her my robe and my socks and she borrows all of my Lush stuff. It's taken a lot of time, but I am beginning to relax around her and she is hopefully beginning to relax around me.

And when her uncle picked her up last night and I provided her with my phone numbers, asked if she wanted some money and please what time would she be home?, her uncle laughed.

You're just like a mother! He said kindly, smiling and whisking her out the door.

And that was the nicest thing he's ever said to me.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:23 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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