The Perfect Gift

“Yes and no,” she said finally.

“That sounds like a true answer. Want to explain it a little?”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, her voice sounding adult enough that it gave me a little pang of anticipation of her growing up. “You like your job, right?”

“I do, sweetie. I really do.”

“That’s what I thought. I like that. I think everyone should like what they do.”

“I think so, too.”

“Right, so that part makes me really happy,” she said. “But I miss you sometimes, and that part is hard.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I miss you, too. I miss you so much when I’m not at home. Every time I’m in a new place, I think about what it would be like to be there with you instead of on my own.”

"But you aren't gone too much," Emma consoled, sounding even more adult than ever. "So you don't need to feel bad. And in a couple of years, I won't even have to go to Aunt Sophie's when you go away."

“Is that so?” I laughed, trying to look at both my daughter and the road at the same time. “How do you figure?”

“Cause I’ll be old enough to stay at home by myself, then. I won’t have to go anywhere. I’ll just be able to stay at home.”

“Oh no. No way, little lady. I don’t know who put that idea into your head, but a couple of years are not going to be enough for you to stay home on your own overnight.”

"Then how long?" she whined, the first giveaway in this particular conversation that she was still only a ten-year-old girl. "A couple of years is so long already!"

“Not long enough. You won’t be able to stay on your own overnight for a lot more years than a couple. Not until you’re thirty-five, at least.”

“Thirty-five?! No way!”

“Thirty-five at least, little lady. Maybe even longer.”

“Um, but that makes no sense.”

“How do you figure?”

"Because, Mama, you're only thirty! If you can go out by yourself on a plane, I can be by myself by the time I'm thirty. Right?"

"I don't know, sugar, we'll see. As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing wrong with keeping you safe for longer than I was kept safe myself. Nothing wrong with that at all."

We drove in silence for a while then, and my mind went back ten years, back to when I was only twenty and getting married, while already three months pregnant. Twenty had seemed so old to me then, but now that I was ten years older, I understood how young it really was.

Emma would be there herself in only ten years’ time, and it would fly by in the blink of an eye. It was a joke, the idea of keeping her locked up in the house until thirty-five, but that didn't mean there wasn't a part of me that wished I could make it true. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to keep her safe from all of the hardships and pitfalls I'd experienced for myself, even if I wasn't quite sure how to manage it.

“Hey, Mama?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course, you can, Emma, always. You can ask me anything you like.”

“It’s about boys.”

“Oh goodness, is it? Why, do you have a crush?”

“Nope, not me. I was just wondering about you.”

“What about me?” I asked.