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“Or at least when we have, we’ve talked about me and my problems. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. There’s not much to say about me!”
“Aw, I don’t believe that. Come on, tell me about yourself.”
“Like what?”
“Everything,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it.
In the end, we talk for hours.
Despite the fact that I’m rarely lost for words, I don’t normally have conversations like this. When I’m with my friends, we either chat about work, or rugby, or movies, or we tell stories and jokes and anecdotes.
For ages, I listen to Aroha talk about herself. She’s hesitant at first, shy and reluctant to open up, but I ply her with questions, and she gradually tells me about her life and her family. She talks about her sister, and what it’s been like for them growing up with a brother who has autism with high support needs. She tells me about her parents—her strong, silent, Maori father who’s so ashamed of losing his job and not being able to support his family. And about her stoic, patient, English mother, who’s also a touch stubborn, and never wants to ask for help, even when she’s struggling.
She tells me about her extended family in England—her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. She’s never been there, and they’ve never come over—it doesn’t sound as if any of her family have enough money to travel. But she talks to them weekly on Zoom, and she says she’d love to visit them.
She talks about her relatives in New Zealand, and reminisces about her school, meeting Gaby, and about a few boyfriends. She hasn’t had many—only two before He Who Shall Not Be Named. I get the feeling she hasn’t had any one-night stands, although I don’t ask her directly. She’s not been to uni, and hasn’t experienced that lifestyle. She’s worked all her adult life, and has always given a large portion of her money to her mother.
I don’t sit there mutely—she asks me questions, and we trade experiences and stories as the moon rises higher, turning the tops of the mountains silver.
It’s close to midnight when Leia first stirs and grizzles.
“She’s tired of listening to us,” Aroha jokes, getting up and going over to the bassinet. “There, there, pepe.” She lifts her up and gives her a cuddle.
“I’ll make the bottle,” I tell her, and while she changes Leia, I go into the kitchen, tip the formula out, and warm it up, just like she showed me.
“I’m a bit tired,” Aroha says. “I might feed her lying down, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.”
She places Leia in the middle of the bed, slides beneath the duvet on Leia’s left, turns on her side, and props her head on a hand. I bring the bottle over, and she takes it and starts feeding her.
I sit on the other side of the bed and watch Leia suck dreamily, her eyelids already drooping. I yawn. “I can see why they call it the dream feed.”
Aroha smiles. “Me too. It always makes me sleepy.”
“I’m going to brush my teeth.”
“Okay.”
I go into the bathroom. When I come out, she says, “Will you finish feeding her so I can do mine?”
“Sure.” I stretch out on the bed, on top of the covers, and hold the bottle while Aroha disappears into the bathroom.
I rest my head on a hand and watch Leia’s tiny rosebud mouth suck at the teat. She looks up at me, her turquoise eyes silver in the moonlight. I trust you. I hope Leia does, too. I want to make sure no man ever hurts her the way Aroha has been hurt. I hate to think of women feeling vulnerable. I did a little jiu jitsu when I was younger, and I decide I might teach Aroha some self-defense moves, and Leia too, when she’s old enough.
She’ll start walking and talking, and I’ll be able to help teach her colors and shapes, and read her stories, and show her how to ride a bike. I can take her to ballet lessons, or rugby lessons, whatever she wants to do. And as she grows older, I can teach her about computers, and sport, and how to play the guitar. It’s going to be fun to play Daddy.
The only fly in the ointment is that there’ll be no Mummy to help me out.
I realize I don’t like the idea of having another nanny bring up Leia. Aroha loves her, and she’s so good with her. Leia will miss her, and it seems cruel to take her away after she’s already lost her mother.
But what’s the solution?
Aroha comes out, and I do a double take as I see she’s carrying her yoga pants, and she’s just wearing her knickers and a tee. She tosses the pants over a chair, then slides beneath the duvet again. She takes the bottle from me. “Thanks.”
She’s removed her makeup, and she’s released her hair from the chignon, brushed it through, and braided it over her shoulder. She looks younger without her makeup. I’m touched that she doesn’t mind me seeing her en deshabille.
