My Spoiled Niece Asked For My New AirPods, And I Finally Said No
Last month’s family BBQ was the usual thing—my brother burning the burgers, my mom hiding her extra chocolate chip cookies from my dad, the plastic patio chairs sticking to the back of my thighs because it was 92 degrees out. I’d just gotten my birthday present from my best friend, those new AirPods I’d been whining about wanting for six months, after my old pair died when I dropped them in the community pool last summer. I was sitting on the back steps peeling the plastic off the box when Lila wandered over, 16, phone in one hand, half a popsicle dripping sticky blue juice on my porch boards. “Oh those are sick,” she said, leaning in like they were already hers. “Mine fell off the back of my friend’s moped last week. Can I have ‘em?”
I’ve been the soft touch my whole life with her. Let me count the ways: I let her borrow my old Honda Civic once and she returned it with an empty gas tank and a two-inch scratch on the bumper, didn’t even apologize. She took the small pearl necklace my grandma left me two Christmases ago, just slipped it in her purse after saying she liked it, and I never said a word because I didn’t want to cause a scene at dinner. When she was 14 she crashed my weekend getaway with my ex, showed up unannounced with two friends because she “was bored at her dad’s,” and I let them stay in the extra bed and ate all the fancy rosé I’d brought for the trip. I’m the aunt, right? The one without kids, the one who’s supposed to be fun. Everyone acts like I have extra space and extra money and extra love to give, so why wouldn’t I give it?
But that day, for some stupid, random reason, I just said “No, sorry. These are mine. I’ve been waiting forever for them.”
Silence for like three beats, then my brother looked up from his charred burger: “C’mon, it’s just headphones. You get all that tech stuff from your office for free, don’t you?” No, I wanted to yell, my best friend bought these for my 32nd birthday, I saved up two weeks of skipping my morning latte to buy the fancy leather case for them that’s sitting right here. But I just shrugged and said “Nope, these are mine. I can help you look for a pair on sale this weekend if you want.”
Lila rolled her eyes so hard her whole head moved, stomped off to sit by her cousin, and 10 minutes later my mom pulled me aside by the cooler, her voice soft and scolding. “You know Andy and [SIL] have been so busy with the new house, they haven’t had time to get her a new pair. She’s just a kid, don’t be so stingy.” That’s when that old familiar guilt crawled up my throat, the one I get every time I don’t roll over for her. I almost walked over and handed them to her right then. I almost said fine, whatever, take them.
But I didn’t.
I’ve heard people talk about boundaries for years, but I always thought it meant this big dramatic thing—sitting Lila down for a tense talk about respect, yelling at my brother for spoiling her, cutting her off entirely. That scared the crap out of me. I don’t like fighting. I like when everyone’s happy, even if it’s me that’s a little unhappy to make it that way. But what I’m slowly figuring out is that boundaries don’t have to be big. They can just be small no’s, one after another, no big speech required.
Last week she texted me out of the blue asking if she could stay at my place for the whole two weeks of summer break, because she doesn’t want to go up to my grandma’s cottage with the rest of the family—says it’s boring and there’s barely any cell service. I was already typing “yeah sure no problem” into my phone before I stopped. I have a huge work project due those two weeks, I need my place quiet, I need to be able to go to bed at 10 without her and her friends blasting music in the living room and eating all my good ice cream. So I deleted the yes and typed “I’m working nonstop those weeks and I really need my space to get it done, that’s not gonna work this year, sorry.”
I waited for the fit, for the passive-aggressive texts to my brother, for my mom calling me to tell me I’m being heartless. Nothing. Just a one-word text back: “k.” That’s it.
I know everyone says she’s spoiled because her parents give her everything she asks for, and that’s true, but I also think I let her take advantage because I wanted to be the cool aunt so bad. I don’t have kids of my own, so sometimes I stupidly thought if I gave her whatever she wanted, she’d like me more than she likes her other aunts. But the thing is, I liked her less when I was always giving stuff up. I’d leave every visit counting what I’d lost, what I’d spent, resenting her a little even though she’s just a kid who’s never been told no by anyone else.
The other day I ran into her at the mall, she was with her friends getting boba. She came over and hugged me, asked how my new job was going, ranted for two minutes about her terrible math teacher, then asked if I wanted to split a order of fries with her. I said yes. She pulled out her own money and paid for her half, I paid for mine. It was normal. It was nice. I didn’t leave feeling drained. I left feeling like we actually had a conversation, not just checked off a list of her demands.
I still feel guilty sometimes, honestly. Yesterday I saw this cute oversized Harry Styles hoodie at Target that I know she’d love, and my first instinct was to throw it in my cart to give to her next time I see her. I stood there for five minutes holding it, twisting the fabric between my fingers, then put it back on the rack. I don’t have to buy her affection. If she wants a hoodie, she can ask her dad, he’s got way more extra money than I do right now while I’m still paying off my student loans.
I don’t know if I’m doing this right. Some days I think I’m being too hard on a kid who didn’t ask to be raised to think everyone will give her whatever she wants, and some days I think I should have said no ten years ago. There’s no big neat ending here, no “now we have the perfect aunt-niece relationship” happy wrap up. I’m still figuring it out. But I do know this: my AirPods are still mine, I get my two weeks of quiet this summer, and I haven’t left a family gathering feeling icky and used inside since that BBQ. That’s enough for me right now.
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