The evening started off promising. Mr. W and I went to Seal Beach to pick up my ring. I LOVE it; the lower profile makes it much more practical, the jeweler had rhodium-plated both the engagement ring and the wedding band, and the set looks amazing; glittery and like a million bucks. The center stone looks smaller now than it did, but the new much-more-secure 6-prong short Tiffany setting only seemed to enhance the brilliance of the diamond. Then we went to Basil Leaf again, where I had the most frustrating grilled chicken sandwich (banh mi); every time I bit into the bread, the insides would squirt out the other sides. I also had another young coconut, and I think I’m done with coconuts for awhile. We ended the outing with a visit to the coffee house we go to when we see Rebecca. I had a chai latte with soy, Mr. W had some coffee thing or other.

And then, I don’t know what happened. I guess I can say I started feeling more negative than I could justify. Sure a few things bothered me — something this person said irritated me, the dismissive way that person treated something didn’t sit well with me, and someone else’s inconsiderate poor planning was annoying, too. Small stuff, no personal attacks, but I was feeling knotted and sick. All I could think of was that maybe I was picking up on and absorbing other people’s negativity, and it wasn’t my own cuz my life was just fine. I was starting to wonder what I could do to meditate away this empathic bad mood. And then I noticed that there was light coming out from the bottom of Mr. W’s daughter’s bedroom door. She’d come home in the midst of my crapshoot evening, I hadn’t said much to her, and altho it was late, I got up and rapped lightly on her bedroom door. “Come in!” she said in a lively way. At least she was in a good mood.
I cracked open the door and poked my head in. She was on her bed with textbooks, notebooks, and snacks spread around her, mid-text on her cell phone. “Hey, did you end up going to Disneyland on Friday?” I asked.
“Ugh, no I didn’t,” she said, and invited me in to tell me the whole story about her social life and her current frustrations with people. We had a lengthy heart-to-heart (I didn’t burden her with my feelings, this was just for her). When I got up to leave, she thanked me for talking to her, and added that she appreciates every conversation we’d ever had about her feelings and problems.
I told her, “You know that I’m proud of you and how you’ve learned to handle things, right?” She had grown so much since I’d met her as an excitable perky (if socially clumsy) 13-year-old.
She replied, “Thanks to you, because we’ve been having these talks since I was in 8th grade.”
I laughed and said, “I take VERY LITTLE credit for this stuff. By the time I talk to you a lot of the time, it’s just curiosity about what’s going on because you’ve already handled it.” That really is true, especially lately.
She looked at me earnestly. “I remember a lot of the things you’ve told me since I was in 8th grade, and I’ve told those things to my friends. I always say, ‘Cindy is so wise, this is what she told me.’ ” As a vision of an owl flashed through my mind’s eye, I laughed her compliment off and told her it was really not me, most of it is her learning on her own, and we said our goodnights.

And that is how the intimacy and appreciation from a 19-year-old stepdaughter fixed all the bad feelings about an evening. What folly, that she thinks that I save her, when she does so much of the saving.