Chapter 7
Paige mentioned him the way she mentioned everything important — sideways, in the middle of an unrelated sentence, like she could smuggle it past me if she didn't slow down.
"So there's this guy at the library, he does the Tuesday programming for kids, his name's Marcus, anyway do you want tea or coffee—"
"Tea," I said. "Tell me about Marcus."
She groaned and sat down across from me at my kitchen table, which had become, without either of us planning it, something like her second office.
"He's nice," she said. "Actually nice. Not performing-nice like some guys. He remembers what I say. He asked me to dinner."
"And?"
"And I said yes, and now I'm panicking, because the last guy I dated bought me a bracelet and expected me to be grateful enough to overlook the fact that he talked about himself for forty straight minutes on our first date, and I don't know how to tell the difference anymore between someone being generous and someone buying my silence."
I set down my own cup. "That's a very good question. Better than most people ask at your age."
"It's basically the car thing, isn't it. Money standing in for something it isn't."
"It can be. Not always. Sometimes a gift is just a gift. But you're learning to ask the right question, which is what does this person expect back for what they're giving. That instinct will serve you your whole life."
She wrapped both hands around her mug. "How do I know with Marcus?"
"You don't, yet. You find out slowly. You watch what he does when he doesn't get his way. You watch how he treats people who can't do anything for him — waiters, the parents who don't say thank you at his programming hour, people beneath him in whatever hierarchy he imagines exists. That tells you more than any dinner will."
"You sound like you're describing Dad. The old version of Dad."
"I'm describing most people, before they learn better. Your father learned. Some men take longer. Some never do."
She was quiet for a moment, turning the mug in slow circles.
"What if I like him and he turns out to be one of the ones who doesn't learn?"
"Then you leave, the way I nearly did. Liking someone was never the hard part, Paige. The hard part is what you do once you've seen who they actually are."
She nodded, and then, because she was still young enough to swing between gravity and lightness in the space of a breath, grinned and said, "Okay but he has really good arms, so I'm hoping the character thing works out."
I laughed despite myself. "Character and arms aren't mutually exclusive. Ask your father. He has decent arms and it took him forty-seven years to develop character to match."
"I'm telling him you said that."
"Please do. He'll laugh. That's new too."
May you like
She went on the date. She came back three hours later than she'd said she would, hair slightly windblown, cheeks pink from the cold, and did not, for once, come straight to my kitchen table to report on it. She simply texted: Good night. Tell you tomorrow. He held the door for the woman behind us too, not just me.
I read it twice before I set the phone down, and felt something unclench in my chest that I hadn't quite noticed was tight.
