Note 1: This story is told from the infancy of Alex and Piper's relationship, before they traveled the world together. In episode 1.3, we see a young and naïve Piper when they first meet, and we hear Alex say, "You were just this boring little girl from Connecticut who wanted to feel special and bad." This story illustrates how that all began.

You don't have to read my first story, Adventure and Excess, to understand this one, but it would help to establish the baseline for Piper's demeanor. If you choose not to read it, this story picks up from after their first night together.

Note 2: Every place and every item mentioned in this story is real.

Note 3: This story is complete with five chapters, and I plan to post a new chapter every day or every two days, depending on if people like it. Please review.

Note 4: "The Infancy of Us" is a song by a chap named Eliot Morris.

Chapter 1

Alex and I spent the next 48 hours in her apartment, and the only shred of clothing I remember wearing was one of her worn out, black t-shirts. She showed me her extensive vinyl collection, and we listened to Coltrane, Zeppelin, Johnny Cash, Pink Floyd and Ella Fitzgerald. Alex's musical interests were as varied as her taste in literature.

She had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the living room, stocked from top to bottom with everything from Homer to Hemingway, plus an additional four stacks of books in her office. She kept her most prized first editions of Leaves of Grass, Middlemarch and Mrs. Dalloway in a locked box in her bedroom closet. We read snippets to each other as we laid covered in a cashmere blanket in front of her fireplace.

When the rain began pouring down one evening, we ordered Indian delivery and ate Tandoori chicken and naan on her custom-made sofa as we watched 42nd Street, which Alex introduced as her favorite movie. She owned every one of the hundred best movies of all times.

As I browsed her vast film collection, Alex offered me a choice between a 1979 Chateauneuf du Pape or a 1988 Montrachet, and I had no idea what the difference was or what was so special about these wines.

"Well." Alex held the opaque bottle in her right hand. "Chateauneuf du Pape is from the southern Rhone, and this bottle is mostly Grenache."

"Is that red?" I was nowhere near an oenophile.

"Yes, Grenache is a red varietal." She pursed her lips and tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Montrachet, on the other hand, is from the Cote d'Or, and this one is a Chardonnay."

"I know that one," I announced proudly. "It's white."

"Yes, good!" She dug a corkscrew into the Montrachet. With the ease in which the cork popped out, it was evident she'd opened many bottles of wine in her lifetime. "I'll take you to France some time. We'll go to the Rhone Valley, maybe spend some time in Bordeaux. It's the best way to learn."

Although I hoped the affirmative, I didn't know if Alex was serious about her offer, so I just smiled and pushed the two Riedel wine glasses closer to her. It was hard for me to fathom how Alex became so sophisticated at the ripe age of 26.

"Have you been there?" I watched her tilt the bottle.

"Twice." She poured a small amount of wine into a glass and swirled, then sniffed it. "The first time, I spent a few nights in a renovated farmhouse on a vineyard called La Crau. It was unbelievable—the food, the wine, the scenery. I met Henri Bonneau," she said with a perfect French accent. "One of the most famous winemakers in the world, and he spent an entire day with me in the vineyard, showing me how the grapes grew and how to prune the vines." Alex poured two full glasses and handed one to me. "The second time, I was the guest of a French impressionist and prominent client." Alex sat next to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. "She taught me about the Rhone varietals and let me taste some of the most expensive bottles from her cellar. Of course, sex was the trade off."

I hit her in the side. "You had sex in exchange for wine?"

"Yes!" Alex laughed. "She was by no means beautiful, but she sure as hell knew her wine."

Alex proved to be a series of contradictions, and I never knew what would come out of her mouth next. I sensed that she liked being mysterious as much as she liked pegging me. It was, for example, no surprise to her that my favorite childhood movie was Lady and the Tramp or that my favorite poet was Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She guessed that I used to like boy bands and Tori Amos. She also figured that I went on summer vacations with my family, but she had no idea how fucked up my family was now.

When I went to the diner on weekdays, Alex worked from home. Occasionally in the evenings, she spent time on her laptop or escaped the apartment for an hour or two. There were a couple of nights when the shrill of her cell phone woke us up, and she went into another room to have a conversation. We kept that part of our lives very separate, but I knew a serious conversation was imminent if our relationship was going to move forward.


Over the next two months, I began falling in love with Alex Vause.

She took me to the opera one night and a Public Enemy concert the next. We listened to the Julliard string quartet perform on a Saturday afternoon and got drunk at Coyote Ugly the same night. We traded novels and had a competition to see who could finish first and give a five minute synopsis without using descriptions from the book jacket.

On a snowy night in December, Alex and I decided to cook prime rib, mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. She played 60s records on her phonograph as we cooked in nothing but underwear and aprons. Neither of us had attempted such a feat, and the kitchen was a complete disaster before the meal was ready. In the end, the meat was burnt, the potatoes overcooked and the spinach looked like slime.

"Fuck it." She pulled me up from my chair and drug me into the living room where You Really Got a Hold on Me was booming. "Dance with me."

"What are you doing? The kitchen is a mess!" I protested. "We can't leave it like this."

"I'll hire a maid in the morning." Alex pulled me close. "Now shut up and dance with me."

I never understood the meaning of swooning until that moment.


When I realized that my feelings for Alex were becoming stronger, I invited Polly to lunch to tell her that I met someone. She'd seen me go through a string of relationships in our youth and didn't put much stock in any of them.

"Are you here to tell me that you're moving in with him?" She teased.

"It's not a him. It's a her." I glared at her.

"Back to women, are you?" She sighed.

"What, are you Yoda?" I put my water glass on the table. "Does it really matter to you if I'm with a man or a woman?"

"No, I guess not." Polly tilted her head. "I want you to be happy. Is that what I'm supposed to say?"

"That would be nice. If you meant it."

"Look, I want to meet her—"

"Alex," I interrupted. "Her name is Alex. Alex Vause."

"I want to meet Alex." Polly took my hands in hers. "If she's special to you, I'm sure she's going to be special to me."

"She is special. She's fascinating." I gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand. "She's hosting a champagne and oyster party on the 16th. I'd love for you to come."

Polly smiled. "Done."


Alex's work kept her home for a while, so we spent nearly every night together over those two months. In a way, I felt like I was nesting in Alex's house, and it felt right.

On a Sunday morning in bed, as she rubbed my aching feet and I read the New York Times, she asked, "What do you like to do, Piper?"

"What do you mean?" I moaned as she caressed my heels. "I like everything we've been doing."

"I'm glad," she said. "But most of it is stuff that I arranged or suggested. I'm asking what you enjoy?"

I sat up and faced her, dropping the newspaper. "I like reading, running, shopping, watching movies. I don't know, normal stuff."

Alex chuckled. "That is normal stuff."

I had been sensitive about my ordinary life since childhood, and this conversation made me uncomfortable. "There's nothing wrong with normal, you know," I said with false conviction.

"I didn't say there was." Alex propped herself up on one elbow. "I just can't imagine living a normal life."

I lowered my head and asked the question I'd been afraid of all along. "Are you bored with me?"

"God, no!" She quickly sat up. "I'm not saying that at all, Piper. It's just that I've asked you to do all sorts of things, and I never asked what you like."

No one had ever said anything like that to me—she actually seemed to care about what brought me joy. I was about to thank her for her sincerity, but I wasn't adept at handling emotional conversations, so I turned the conversation to a place I was sure I could handle.

"Well." I grinned. "I like getting wet."

"Yeah?" Alex scooted closer to me as she trailed her hand down my torso. "What makes you wet?"

"I think you know."

She touched my center, and I arched my back. "I do know, baby."

We had sex for an hour, and then took a shower and got dressed for an afternoon on Staten Island.


On the ferry ride there, Alex stepped behind me and put her arms around my waist. "I want you to take me out."

"Like on a date?" I turned my head halfway around and smiled at her. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." She brushed a long strand of hair out of my face. "Like I said this morning, I want to know what you enjoy, and I want you to show me."

"Is this like that 80s song?" I sang a bit of the chorus. "I wanna know what love is. I want you to show me."

She playfully hit my stomach. "Shut up!"

"You're honestly up for anything?" I asked, still smiling.

"Fuck yeah. I'll try anything once."