‘Hey now, it’s okay,’ Olivia says, her voice soft. ‘Let’s not scare her with all that crying.’
My sister has brought Maeve down to my room now that her nap and everyone else’s lunch are both officially over. My own nap was drawn to an abrupt close with her knocking, and this is the only interruption to my sleep I could possibly accept. Being swept awake so suddenly makes the moment more dreamlike. My niece and I sit on opposite sides of my bed, Olivia balanced behind Maeve to block her from falling, and we stare at one other in silence. I blink first. Maeve gets it, I can see that in her cosmic doe eyes. Do children grow into their eyeball size in the same way they do their ears, I wonder.
‘This is Aunty Nora, sweetheart. Can you say “Nora”?’
‘No-wa,’ she says, nailing it on her first try, because evidently, she is a genius as well as a potential child model, though I know instinctively that Olivia would never allow that.
‘That’s right,’ I say, in a sing-song voice I do not recognise, though I suppose this is the first time I have met a tiny child who is perfect and also related to me.
It is different to my normal voice, or even my voice for animals. Perhaps this one is especially for Maeve.
‘Give your Aunty Nora a cuddle,’ Olivia says, holding her arms out to demonstrate.
Maeve shakes her head, and fair enough, we have only just met. I am basically a stranger to her, even though we share some genetic makeup.
‘It’s fine, she doesn’t have to,’ I say.
‘You’re family, she can give you a hug.’
I am thrust back into a thousand memories of every family party and barbecue in our childhood, and every coerced hug I ever endured with some distant relative I did not recognise, or worse, the ones I did not particularly like. I would swan-dive into the centre of a volcano before I would continue that generational curse.
‘I read in a book somewhere that forcing kids to hug people teaches them to ignore their own discomfort for the gratification of others, like, it’s a bad lesson in terms of consent,’ I say, though I did not read it, but rather saw it on TikTok.
‘It’s not that serious,’ Olivia replies, though she seems hesitant and does not push the subject further.
‘You don’t have to hug me, possum, but I hope we can be great friends,’ I say to her divine offspring.
I look around the room for an offering to this tiny deity, and reach for the small monkey, Gary, sitting on the top of my bookshelf.
‘Would you like this, from Aunty Nora?’ I ask, and Maeve’s eyes widen with delight.
She reaches out and takes it slowly from my hands, as though half expecting me to snatch it back at the last moment. Once I have relinquished ownership of the portable primate, she squeezes it in the biggest hug I have ever seen anyone give anything. Why would I need a forced hug, when I can bear witness to the real thing.
‘I remember Gary,’ Olivia says, smiling, wiping her eyes.
‘Well, I think Gary will love living in London,’ I reply. ‘He’s always been more of a city kind of guy.’
‘I don’t know, Gary. It’s pretty tough over there, you might find yourself missing the mountain. I forgot how many trees there are here, and how quiet it is.’
Olivia is talking to Gary, but finishes looking at me. I may not be the best at picking up hidden meanings behind people’s words, I am in fact much closer to the worst, but I get a sense this comment is not meant only for my childhood toy.
‘Are you still finding it tough?’ I ask, light enough to allow her to dodge the question if I have misunderstood the implication.
‘It’s really hard,’ Olivia says. ‘Without the support. I never thought I’d need it but I don’t see how people do this without it.’
She is gesturing to Maeve, to the difficulty of parenting alone on the other side of the world. My brain wants to jump to fix-it mode, to tell her to move home, or that I will visit, but I know that approach rubs people the wrong way. My next instinct is to compare this situation to mine in Melbourne, my own isolation and unmet needs, but I have been told this is making things all about me, so I am frozen like a glitching computer, my only surety being that I am bad at handling emotional situations. And then I notice Maeve, still hugging Gary, and I realise what Olivia actually wants. I wrap my arms around my sister, uncoerced, genuine, and she lays her head on my shoulder for a moment. I do not actually mind this, when it is comforting to someone else, when I have a choice. Eventually, Olivia clears her throat and straightens herself up.
‘Okay, well Dad has promised Maeve a ride on the ride-on mower, so we’ll see you later, okay?’
‘See you later. Bye, Maeve, bye Gary.’
I wave them goodbye, and when Maeve waves back, as the door is closing, Gary slung under her other arm, I could jump up and bounce on my bed with pure emotion. Love at first sight is real, but not in the service of romance; it is made for children and those lucky enough to enter their orbit. My body is so full of feeling, but the good kind, the shining golden light kind, the love kind. Wonderstruck is the only word. I cannot believe Maeve exists, and furthermore, that somehow, across the hundreds of thousands of years that humans have been on this planet, I get to be here at the same time, and now in the same place, as her. Specifically her. I am going to be someone in her life, and I am going to do a great job in that role. It does not need a title, aunty or anything else, it just needs to feel like a refuge. I will forge safety for her, no matter what it takes. Cracking a new journal feels right, and I scrawl across the top of the first page: ‘Things I want to show/teach/share with Maeve’. My first notes are:
•Birds (in our garden, find out her favourites, my feather collection, an illustrated guide for Christmas?)
•Trees (climb our tree, plant a tree for/with her, take her for a forest walk)
•Waterfalls (has she ever seen one? Race leaves, dip our feet, look for tadpoles)
