One peculiar night, I drifted home through a fog of half-remembered streets, only to be struck by the strangest sight: my daughter, Lily, was gathering all her belongingsclothes, makeup, even odd bits of old technologyinto bulging bags. The kettle whistled on its own as I asked her, in a voice that echoed too loudly, where on earth she was off to.
It was then, in the surreal calm, Lilymy barely eighteen-year-old Lilyannounced shed suddenly become an adult. I gasped, and time seemed to crackle. She declared:
Mum, Im moving out to live with Oliver.
Moving out? I stammered. Who exactly is this Oliver? Arent you going to introduce him to us? And whos footing the bill for all this? Does he even have parents? Youre rushing headlong, arent you?
Mum, please. Its the twenty-first century. Im a grown woman. I have my own life now! she answered, her voice ringing like the mysterious toll of distant church bells.
I gave no reply. There was nothing to sayI was powerless, caught in the current of her newfound independence. Silent, I watched as Lily packed up the family blender and, in my mind, I quietly bade farewell to everything she touched. (Truth be told, I never used the blender much anyway.) She was soon gone, vanishing with a boyish figure who emerged from the morning mist and helped load her things into a small, battered Vauxhall parked outside. If she wanted a taste of adulthood, so be itit was a waking dream and she would have to see how the tale unfolded. The next morning, still lost in reverie, I changed all the locks. Who could tell what a girl like Lily and her mysterious friend might do?
Days drifted by, neither sound nor sign from my daughter. I hadnt thought shed leap so blithely into grown-up life. Then, out of nowhere, my phone buzzed with her familiar but distant voice:
Mum, can you pay my university fees?
I felt a slow ache, knowing she was only calling for moneynot a word about how I was faring, or if I missed her. Dream logic prevailed as I replied:
No. Youre an independent young woman now. I wont get involved in your affairs.
Oh, great. Thanks a lot, Mum! Lily barked, somewhere between anger and disbelief, before the call dissolved into static.
She got exactly what she wantedlet her discover adulthood for herself.
Without a backward glance, I transformed her old room into a study. No point in letting it languish unused. I even found a cheerful table and a set of mismatched chairs at the local charity shop. The bed remained, just in case nostalgia or regret led her home again. Dreams are never quite finished.
Two weeks passed in a blur, until one evening, as the sky shimmered with unlikely colours, I found Lily at the doorway, burdened with bags but heavier with worry.
Darling, why didnt you tell me you were coming? I asked, her outline flickering as if not fully awake.
I was embarrassed, Mum. Arent you happy to see me? she replied, dabbing at her cheeks with her sleeve.
Of course Im happy, sillylets go inside, I said, pulling her through the threshold.
She began unpacking her things, yet some small appliances were missingthe coffee machine, for one, had stayed behind with Olivers mother. Apparently, it served as payment for Lilys bed and board. I learned that Oliver was thirtyso much older than Lilyand when she realised I wasnt going to fund her studies, she turned to him for help. He, however, wanted no part in supporting her; his responsibilities stretched no further than his nose.
But what truly fascinated me, in that twilight of waking and dreaming, was this: what could Oliver have been imagining, bringing my jobless, wide-eyed daughter into the home of his own parents?
