It was on Thursday afternoon that I answered the door to find a uniformed police officer standing there. For a moment I had that oh shit did I do something wrong!? reaction, down in the pit of my stomach; then I remembered that this was my neighbor and her kid.
"Mya, what's up?" I said, looking Frank over. The municipal cops went for practicality more than sharp dress, but it was definitely a woman's uniform. Several women's uniforms, actually, as I could pick up hints of other scents on her; hand-me-downs, I guessed. "It's nyat about updating my license, is it?"
She gave me a confused look for a moment, then chuckled dryly. "No," she said, flicking an ear, "we're nyat worrying too much about that rrright niaow. I only just got mine, and that was with the department's help."
"Tell mya about it," I sighed, thinking back to the queue on the DMV website; public services were a bit strained lately. "Be lucky to get an nyappointment before I hit menopause."°
° (Yes, in my cursèd brain: "pause" → "paws" → damn it.)
Alex poked her head out from behind her dad, looking a little annoyed, then sniffed curiously and wrinkled her nose. "Was Mister Parker here?" she asked. "Smells like that purrfume stuff he wears."
"Uh, the other day, mya," I replied, feeling freshly awkward over it. I realized I'd caught her scent before noticing her otherwise; it was surprising to be not-surprised at detecting someone's presence nose-first. What were they doing here, anyway…?
"Mya, listen," Frank said, her scent a little apprehensive, "they're tapping the officers who've been exposed or…mrrr, changed…to cover for some of our scheduling challenges, and they want me to take some night shifts over the next couple months."
"…Oh," I said. I had a premonition that this'd involve her asking something of me, since I couldn't see why she'd be telling me otherwise.
She scuffed her boot on the pavement, slightly embarrassed. "And, well, I don't want to leave Alex home alone, nyand I was, mrrr, wondering…" She trailed off, but it didn't take a surveyor to map the contours of the question.
"…You want me to keep an eye on her?" I asked uneasily.
"I don't need a babysitter, I'm eleven," Alex huffed.
"I kniaow, kiddo," she replied, in a tone that was plainly humoring her. "It's just for my peace of mind." She turned back to me with a sigh. "I'd ask Nyacole, but…we kinda had an incident the other day."
"Gillie started it!" Alex protested, ears ticking back at the memory.
"Gilligan's an nyanimal, honey," Frank chided. "You kniaow better. Anyaway, it's…gonnya take a while for him to myallow out, prrrobably." Then, to me: "So, mya, if it's nyat too much trouble…?"
We stood there for a moment, feeling mutually uncomfortable. It probably was an awkward feeling, having to hit up a neighbor for this on short notice, especially when we'd never really interacted that much – but for me it brought back frustrating memories of grown-ups assuming I had nothing better to do than help with their kids because my own adolescence was socially dead…
…and yet I couldn't help but sympathize, a bit. As a teenager it'd come off as the height of presumption, but having been an adult long enough to realize just how much of adulthood is actually a desperate improv to keep several dozen plates spinning at once while grappling with a gnawing case of imposter syndrome, it seemed less like you're not doing anything important, here ya go than a much more relatable for the love of God HELP ME.
That, and I kept thinking back to the part I hadn't hated: the times when our folks left my sister and I to our own devices° while they went out for a quiet evening to themselves or got together for drinks with old friends from their young-couple days. That blissful cocktail of ultra-low-key responsibility and sweet freedom was, to be perfectly frank, everything that adulthood so far had failed to live up to.°°
° (Mostly, we holed up in the computer room with the Slayers rips I'd just learned to pirate; Caitlin wanted something with a female protagonist, while I wanted something with a higher action quotient than Sailor Moon.)
°° (Even if it did confer a driver's license and access to beer.)
And, well, it'd be lying to say it wasn't kinda gratifying to think of anyone relying on me; day-job tech-support stuff was one thing, but somebody leaving me with their kid must really trust me. But…was that warranted? Was I even qualified for this, just because I'd managed to keep my little sister distracted a million years ago!? But then I still had that lingering sense of guilt over abandoning Alex to Nicole's care…
I could feel myself oscillating like a fan: do it, don't do it, do it, don't do it… Ultimately, I couldn't get past the thought of the kid being left alone at night, waiting for sleep to come and wondering when her…parent…would come home. "That's…mya, sure," I sighed.
Frank heaved a sigh of her own. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver," she said – then, apologetically: "Mya, I can rrreimburse you, if it helps…"
"It's…it's fine," I replied; I felt awkward about taking money when it wasn't like I really needed it for anything.
She nodded, and didn't offer again. "Alex has a key to the apartment," she said, tail lashing, "and nyew can help yourself to anything in the frrridge. There's stuff for dinner, but if you want to order anything I'll—"
"Seriously," I said, "it's fine." I didn't need her treating this like an imposition when I was already struggling not to let myself think of it that way.
"It's nyat a hard rule," she continued, "but we…I try to make sure Alex gets to bed by nyan-thirty. I won't be back 'til morning; if you want to stay over, you're welcome to the bed…"
Alex bristled at that, for some reason. "Mya, that's okay," I said, waving a quick dismissal. I felt my own territorial instincts prickle at the back of my neck, anyway; I could just about deal with a couch, but bedding down in someone else's private space was another matter.
"And…nyew don't have to and I rrreally don't want to impose, but I did get a summary from the school of everything Alex's class covered while we were, mya, out…"
I tried not to sigh too noticeably, and I could see Alex's ears flatten out. "I'll…see what we can do," I said, not about to make any promises.
"Thank you so much," Frank concluded, having finally run out of oh-and-alsos. She almost went in for an embrace, but stopped when my introvert instincts kicked in and I shrank away; instead, she turned to Alex and wrapped her up in a /[mp]aternal/ bear-hug. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said; then she turned reluctantly, strode over to the motorcycle parked in front of their apartment, and took off.
For a minute, we just watched her go; then Alex turned to me. "I don't need a babysitter," she groused.
"Okay," I said.
"I'm eleven nyalready." Her ear twitched and her tail gave a lash.
"So you've said."
She gave me a Look. I wasn't sure how to read it; she wasn't exactly spoiling for a fight, but had clearly expected more pushback. "D'you even wannya do this?" she asked, after a minute of trying to figure out my angle here.
"Nyat especially," I admitted, scratching behind one ear.
She squinted at me with a blend of confusion and annoyance. "Why'd nyew say yes, then?"
I shrugged, my own tail flicking idly from side to side. "'Peace of mind,' apparently."
Alex rolled her eyes and sighed in a getting-a-head-start-on-being-a-teenager way. "'S nyat like I haven't been nyan meown—my own before." She frowned at the verbal slip. I did my best to suppress a smirk; it wasn't like my own sense of dignity wasn't getting regularly needled by that, after all.
"It's probably nyat that she thinks you can't get by on nyewr own," I said. "Adults just tend to worry about kids, even when they know there's nyathing to worry about."
"That's dumb."
"We can't help it," I said. "The more you live through mistakes 'n nyaccidents, the more you try to catch 'em before they happen – even to someone else, and especially to people you care about."
She regarded me curiously. "Myew didn't even rrreally talk to us 'til alla this happened, though."
She wasn't wrong, but I cringed at her saying it. "Nyo," I sighed, picturing that cartoon arrow-through-the-chest visual, "but…I'm, mya, trrrying to be better about that. Anyaway, I understand how she feels, kinda."
She shot me another Look. "Nyew don't have kids."
I frowned, ears flattened out; she didn't have to sound so certain. "I've got a little sister," I said. "One time, when we were kids, our folks took us on nya trip to the Grrrand Canyan. They've got railings up at the visitor spots – but Cait just went and climbed right over so she could get a better look."
Alex was about to fire back, then hesitated; I could just about see her mind's eye conjuring the scene. "Was…was she okay…?" she asked, after a moment.
I heaved a sigh, unsettled myself at the memory of it. "Wouldn't be talking about her in the prrresent tense otherwise," I said. "But nya see what I mean? When nyew get to be an adult, it's hard nyat to think about what-ifs like that, with kids. And that goes way more for your dad, 'cause she's your dad."
"I guess," she sighed, clawing absent-mindedly at the concrete, but she didn't sound like she was conceding.
We stood there for a minute: her staring silently into space, and me wondering what I was even doing here. This kind of thing usually involved a tacit agreement between the kid(s) and the Acting Adult – let's keep it to a dull roar, and we can tell your mom & dad "nothing to report!" – but I had no idea what to do when the kid just didn't feel I was necessary.
And, well, I'd been dragooned into service before, but I wasn't really good at it. I didn't have it in me to be the Fun Positive Cruise Director type guiding children through an evening's course of Diverting & Enriching Activities 'til it was time to put them down for the night; my inclination was more to hole up in a corner, keep an ear out for trouble, and let them do their own thing. Granted, in this case that might actually be the better approach…
"Listen," I said, "I'm nyat gonna make you do stuff or 'keep you busy' if you don't want. I just prrromised your dad I'd keep an eye on things, that's all." I scuffed my foot, feeling antsy and irritable and trying not to, and nodded back toward our apartment row. "I can come over to your place and hang out 'til your dad gets home, or vice versa – your call."
Alex eyed me curiously. "'Vice versa?'"
"Mya, the other way around," I clarified. Was that no longer common parlance with the Kids These Days? Should I feel old and out-of-touch despite having yet to crack thirty? Or was it just that I was never very attuned to what counted as "normal" to begin with?
She squinted in confusion, flicking an ear. "'Versa vice?'"
"Mya, nyo—" I sputtered, "—well, it's Latin, nyew can do that, but…" I sighed, ears drooping. "Mrrr, it means 'the other way around.'" I felt like a dope for doing accidental vaudeville, but I had to admit that I'd walked right into it.
She frowned. "Why Latin?"
Widespread cultural influence of the Roman Empire lingering on through the centuries, I thought, but said: "It's just an nyexprrression."
"…Huh."
"Nyanyway," I prompted, "do you want to hang out at my apartment, or should I come over to yours?"
Her demeanor had gotten less confrontational once I'd conceded that she probably didn't need a sitter, but she suddenly got all skittish again, eyeing me warily. "I guess we can go to your house," she said, after a moment.
I wondered if I'd said something wrong, but if she had a specific objection, she didn't indicate it. Well, anyway, that put things on a more comfortable footing for me – though I did have to take another quick mental inventory of my bookshelf. I doubted she'd pick up Snow Crash or Neuromancer right off the bat, but if this was gonna be a regular thing I should probably move them to the closet…
"Alright," I said. I had a brief impulse to take her by the hand, but refrained; she'd definitely get prickly about that. I nodded toward my apartment, and ushered her inside, wondering what I was getting myself into.