For someone with no money, my girl sure can spend a lot. We spent our entire afternoon lurching from one department store to another, taking in all the boutiques along the way. Of course most of it was just window-shopping. There was no way I was crazy enough to let Paige loose on Prada and all those big hitters that line-up on Madison Avenue.
"Please! Pleeeease!" she whined at me, pulling on my hand like a five year-old. But I just about managed to stand my ground.
"Look, you go on in if you want a look, but I'm staying out here," I said firmly. This was my one and only tactic for securing a time limit to her card-abusing ways. She looked desperately through the gates of Judith Ripka, Marimekko and various other exotically named places, before I lost her to some woman called Betsey Johnson. Well, I think it's a woman, I'd never heard of her/him/it. But Paige had been pushing 45 minutes in there and at last I had to follow her in to see what kind of mad hit-and-run she was trying to pull.
But as the assistant swiped her card, I appeared to be too late.
"What are you doing?" I say in a low voice as I come up to her.
"Hi hun," she offers me a not-so-guilty smile, oblivious to my waiting as she continues, "I have just found the most stunning dress."
I think I inadvertently roll my eyes at this because she leans in to me and adds quietly, "Relax, it was on sale."
"That's $305.25," says the assistant, which prompts a barely concealed glare back at Paige.
"That's a sale?" I question with my eyebrows raised challengingly.
She signs off on her card before taking hold of her precious cargo and ushering me out by my elbow. "Look, just relax," she hisses under her breath, "I just wanted to have one nice thing from New York, okay?" We're out on the street again and I can see that she was worried I'd show her up in there.
Personally, I think it's all bullshit. All these trendy exclusive boutiques and fashion houses. They are not for the likes of people like us, that is clear as day. But on the other hand, I know how much she likes her clothes and stuff and it is her first day in New York. It would be beyond stupid to have a fight about this now.
"Look, Paige, if you think you can afford it, buy what you want, okay? I really don't care."
"Alex," her eyes soften as she strokes my arm, "Don't be like that." Evidently I was being like something I wasn't aware of.
"Like what? I'm serious. It's just earlier you were telling me you had no money, that's all. But like I said, if you reckon you can swing it…" I shrug and raise my palms skyward in defeat.
"Yeah, but I want you to care," she says taking my hand. Jesus! Women! You really can't win sometimes.
We start to walk off together, her swinging her oversized bag with glee and still trying to suck up to me as she links her arm through mine.
"It really is a very very nice dress," she assures me.
"Yeah, well at $300 it should be," I reply dismissively, but she ignores this and continues.
"It's really hot. Really sexy. You'll love it on me, I promise."
She sounds so cute as she tries to convince me that I can't help but respond, "I'll love it off you more." I glance at her as I say it and she seems unable to resist the smile forming on her face or the slight blush rising to her cheeks as she looks away again.
We both laugh a little and any tension that there was quickly dissipates.
Having exhausted ourselves walking up and down Madison before heading over to 7th Avenue for yet more card bashing, which in fairness she keeps to a minimum, we return home armed with dinner supplies.
We stow our stuff away, I had even managed to pick up some drawers and a rail for our room on the way back, and make our way into the kitchen.
"The way to Jaime's heart," I school Paige, "like most men…the stomach. So, if we're gonna get him on side, if you want to stay here, I reckon, hmmm…spaghetti bolognese will do for tonight."
"Well, that's not exactly hard," she concedes.
"Nah, but space in this kitchen isn't exactly forthcoming. Keep it simple, get it right, and give him the largest portion and hey presto, you're home free."
"Right," she gives a determined nod, looking around the small counter top as if pans and ingredients might spring forth at any given second. She looks up at me then with an expression approaching panic, "Wait…Am I doing this on my own?"
"You were the one who said you can cook, remember?" I not so kindly remind her. But her flustering melts me a little and I unpack the food from the bag and show her where the pots and pans are and how to use the stove.
"Okay? Now he'll be back in about 20 minutes so you might want to hop to it," I give her ass an affectionate pat as I slink off to try and assemble the drawers we had bought earlier.
"Okay, okay," I hear her nervously assent as I disappear.
Jaime eventually comes home, but can't do his usual emptying of pockets onto the table as it has been set for dinner.
He raises his eyebrows at this as he sees Paige dishing up in the kitchen. "Well," he offers in surprise, "I guess no TV dinner tonight then."
"I made spaghetti," Paige says as I return a screwdriver to the kitchen drawer.
"Smells good," Jaime says warmly before eyeing me suspiciously, "What you doing?"
"Storage assembly," I answer, waggling my fingers.
Paige brings the plates over to the table as Jaime fishes out some beers from the fridge. He offers me one, as usual, which I take. Paige declines.
He eyes us both as we all sit down and laughs, "So, do you two always have such clearly defined butch-femme roles?"
I laugh at this, "Nah, usually she's the one bossing me around."
"Like every good wife should," he nods in her direction and Paige just smiles nervously. I guess this is the way with family. Especially Jaime and me. We're so used to each other's humour that we probably aren't aware of how it comes across to an outsider.
"He's just teasing," I assure her as I pick up my fork, "He's not really an ass."
"Paige, this is delicious," he adds as he tucks into the meal at full pelt. This noticeably relaxes her and the conversation starts to flow naturally as we ask him about his day at work and he inquires as to our afternoon.
Eventually, when the plates are cleared and Paige has gone to have a shower, we sit down together on the couch. As honest a guy as he is, obviously he doesn't want to speak entirely openly in front of Paige just yet. And I'm eager to hear his appraisal of her and to make sure he's going to support this new living situation.
"So, you seem to like her," I begin.
"Yeah, I like her, she seems a real sweet girl." It please me more than I had thought to hear him say this. "But Alex…" uh-oh, there's a 'but'. "I wanna hear how you're doing. Y'know, you haven't even mentioned your mom."
I don't really know what to say to this. My natural reaction is just to reply, "I'm doing good," and I try to leave it at that.
"Y'know, I felt really bad that I couldn't go with you, for the funeral. I honestly just couldn't get the time off-"
"It's okay," I interrupt him, "I understand." I don't like it when Jaime goes all serious and earnest on me. He's better when we're making fun off each other or he's getting angry at something. He's one of those big, loud guys. He's a bear of a man, all grizzly and snarky, but full of warmth and fuzz. This serious side just makes me uncomfortable.
"How was it? Dealing with everything on your own?"
I just nod non-comittally. "I managed, y'know."
"Right," he says gently, "And Social Services, did they come through in the end. Did you do the stuff I told you?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks. I mean, I spent like a day hounding them when they sent me the wrong forms, but your advice really helped. It all got sorted out."
"Good." I'm hoping this will be enough. I don't fancy a huge heart-to-heart about this with him. With anybody really. I can't be dealing with it in front of people, even my cousin. I broke down once in front of Paige and it was mortifying. I mean, I honestly couldn't help it, but still…if I need to fall to pieces I'd rather go off and do it on my own.
"Look, Alex, I understand about you needing someone to be there for you right now, and that maybe Paige is someone you feel you can open up to more…" He trails off a bit, searching for words.
"She was there for me Jaime. Back in Toronto, she really helped me."
"Yeah, that's really great. And I get that it must be a – a comfort, I guess, having her around at the moment, while you deal with, well, while you grieve…"
"What?" I butt in to his meandering monologue, "I love her Jaime. That's why I'm with her."
"Okay," he assents, holding out his hand for calm. "I'm not saying you don't."
I suddenly feel irrationally angry as I turn away from him and his unwelcome sympathy. If he doesn't understand then I don't really want him to even try to. And yet, I'm aware that at the same time I'm being unfair. That he's motivated by the best of intentions and that I can't expect him to just comply with how I want to live my life.
"If you have a problem with her being here, I understand. We just need a bit of time, but I'm sure we can find somewhere else. Get out of your hair."
"Look, Alex, that is not what I'm saying," his voice is approaching the certainty that I'm used to hearing in it. "It's not her being here that I have a problem with. I just want to make sure you're okay."
I assure him that I am, but he seems reluctant to accept this.
"You explained to me why you broke up. You explained to me what you wanted to achieve in coming to New York… And you seem to be doing it. You're doing really well, aren't you? The job, yes? They like you, you're boss certainly thinks well of you…"
I have to bite my lip slightly to keep from an obvious reaction. I might have mentioned June once or twice (or maybe a bit more) to him, but he was unaware as to quite the extent of our relationship, working and otherwise.
"It's just that," he continues on, oblivious, "I don't want to see you taking a big step backwards. Either of you. She is studying at a really great university herself. Does she really want to give that up? Is she even aware of what she's doing?"
I can't answer this. It will end in an argument, I know it. At any rate, I'm hoping that once he's said his piece he'll just leave it be. I'll just try not to listen too much. Try not to think about what he's asking.
"Alex, if the two of you are really in love and want to be together than I can understand that. Honestly. Look," he let's out a sigh as if finally realizing he's talking to a brick wall, "What I'm trying to say, and obviously saying it very badly is this: You're going through the hardest time right now. And I'm glad she's there for you. But even if it doesn't seem like it, one day, it will get better. And maybe when it does you'll think differently about some of the decisions you made. But unfortunately, when it comes down to things like careers and university, some of those decisions aren't so easily reversed. So just think about it, okay? I'm just thinking of you." He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, smiling.
I try with all my might to shut out what he's been talking about, and what he's asking me to do. I was so excited about my future 24 hours ago, less even, ten hours, two hours. I was so certain as well.
"I do love her," I affirm, looking him in the eye so there can be no mistake. "And this is what I want. What we both want. And I'm sure."
I speak the words so there can be no other possibility. Because possibilities seem too terrifying right now.