There’s an expensive-looking bunch of flowers that’s losing its will to live on our sunny windowsill. I put them in a vase without water after my daughter’s boyfriend gave them to me two days ago and I haven’t given them anything to drink since.
“I don’t know where Alex gets those flowers he brings you,” my husband Martin observed. “They die so quickly.”
Then he saw my smirk and realized. “Are you deliberately killing them?” he asked. Yes, I am.
I also know that Alex doesn’t like onions, apparently they give him gas. So when he’s here, I discreetly include them in as many dishes as I can. I’m surprised even by the pleasure I get from making sure he gets the smallest portions when I serve him dessert.
Nicola’s boyfriend brings Alison flowers and she always deliberately kills them (photo posed by the model)
Alex is my daughter Nicola’s boyfriend. They are both 30 years old and she has recently informed me that they are planning to start trying for a baby.
Of course, my first reaction to this news was joy at the prospect of becoming a grandmother for the first time.
But there was a mix of fear at the thought of finally having to accept Alex as a permanent fixture in his life, and therefore, mine as well.
Why? Because he disgusts me, that indefinable pang of repulsion that can make a person dismiss you immediately and forever. I hate the smell of Alex’s aftershave, while his voice (which to me sounds an octave higher than normal) irritates me to no end. After he’s hugged and kissed me, when no one’s looking, I wipe his kisses off my face and then go wash my hands.
A man hadn’t elicited this level of feeling in me since I was 16, and the image of my then-boyfriend letting his dog lick his mouth (the same mouth I had been enthusiastically kissing five minutes earlier) made me shudder so much that I never spoke to him again.
I’m surprised Nicola doesn’t have the same visceral reaction every time she looks into Alex’s eyes, which are too close together, by the way. And that she laughs out loud at his jokes, which I don’t find remotely funny.
Nicola and I are very close and have always shared the same sense of humour. Alex’s is much more obvious, less sarcastic. In fact, he’s irritatingly optimistic; a glass-half-full person.
You can’t enjoy complaining about anything in front of him – the weather, the cost of butter, the slugs feasting on your dahlias – without him smiling broadly and reminding you “how lucky we all are”.
The most horrible thing is that he calls my daughter “pumpkin” because they met on Halloween. Every time I hear him say it, something inside me dies.
So, to make myself feel better, I’ve resorted to petty, sneaky acts of attrition, like pretending I don’t see the dog pick up his left training shoe and start chewing on the insole. Am I secretly trying to break them up? I would never do anything deliberately deceptive, but I refuse to let the fact that they’ve been living together for two years and are now talking about starting a family get in the way of my conviction that it won’t last.
I admit that I haven’t particularly liked any of her previous boyfriends either, I’ve always wondered if they’re good enough for my little girl. But over time I’ve grown fond of them. I don’t think that will happen with Alex.
“She’ll come to her senses one day and leave him,” I tell Martin. But he just says that he already likes Alex and that I have to accept that our daughter is in love and that it has nothing to do with me.
It would be a lot easier if I had concrete, hard evidence proving that Alex is no good. But he has a good job, seems reliable and loyal, and there are no obvious signs that he is a covert player.
He brings me flowers, usually the ones I like. He is affectionate with me and shows interest in what I have to say.
I once asked Nicola if the drugs had anything to do with his seemingly boundless energy. She looked annoyed and said: “No, he’s just funny.”
It’s also clear that he adores my daughter. I’ve never heard her laugh as much as when he’s around. Yet I still wonder, “What does she see in him?”
I really wanted to please him; desperately, in fact.
A year before Nicola and Alex got together, she had been in a relationship with a man who left her for her friend. Nicola suffered terribly from that double betrayal. Alex, she told me happily, was “the man who would heal her broken heart.” But it all went wrong the first time she brought him home. When she pulled into the driveway, she said, “I think I love him, Mum. I hope you do too.”
I told her that if he meant so much to her, I was sure to fall for him too. What a cliché that turned out to be!
Moments later, a rather handsome Alex came into the kitchen, shook Martin’s hand and gave me a warm kiss on the cheek. So far, so good.
But then he saw lunch, a steaming lasagna on the kitchen counter, and he completely lost his mind.
This bearded adult man suddenly started screaming with joy and then danced on the spot doing a cheerful little dance.
At that moment, the dog, an older labradoodle, sauntered in to see what all the fuss was about, causing the yelp of joy to turn into a squeal of alarm.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that Alex is scared of dogs,” Nicola said as she shooed poor Barney out of the room. If a Rottweiler had stared him down, I would have felt a little sorry for him. But a quick sniff of a freshly shampooed furball? Really?
This triggered such a strong knee-jerk reaction in me that I have been expressing my disapproval of Alex to my husband, friends, and dog groomer ever since.
All this while pretending to my daughter (who moved in with him six months later) that I think it’s absolutely wonderful because I know how hurt she would be if I suggested otherwise.
You may find this hard to believe, but Nicola has no idea how I feel. My façade of affection is so convincing that Martin now wonders if he’ll ever be able to trust me again. (And in case you thought that was a one-off, I’ve seen Alex do his “happy dance” countless times since that first meeting. According to Nicola, he wakes up most mornings so happy to be alive that he does that dance all the way to the bathroom.)
Lately I haven’t been able to help but do a little more research.
“And what happens when the honeymoon is over and he turns out to be a miserable old man?” I asked.
She pointed out that honeymoons typically don’t last two years and I quickly shut up.
Alison says her daughter’s boyfriend is afraid of her labradoodle (file photo)
I couldn’t bear to have my relationship with Nicola affected by my feelings for Alex, and I’m not stupid: I know that mothers who criticise their daughters’ partners only end up isolated and alone. In fact, I hope I can truly get over my unpleasant feelings towards him so I can stop pretending to him that I really like him.
Meanwhile, my friends think I’m being unreasonable and that I should give Alex a break. In fact, those who know him think he’s very funny and follow him on Instagram.
One also pointed out that her fear of dogs could be related to some childhood trauma, although everyone agreed that calling Nicola “pumpkin” is going too far.
Still, now that he may very well become the father of my grandchildren, it’s more important than ever to keep her in the dark about my true feelings.
I know I have to do everything I can to make Alex feel welcome in our family. Deep down, I know the problem is with me, not him.
But as anyone who has ever felt that discomfort will know, once it has taken hold of you, it is almost impossible to get rid of it.
So how can I keep pretending without exploding inside? Easy. Through discreet acts of revenge, like praising the flowers he brings me, knowing I’ll soon toss their wilted remains on the compost heap.
Over the weekend Nicola asked me if I would make my famous lasagna again soon because Alex loved the first one I served him.
“Let me know when you do,” he added cheerfully. “I’ll be there in no time.”
Note to self: never make lasagna again.
(tags to translate)dailymail
