~ Paige ~
By now I can interpret some of the noises and male grunts Colin makes, not that he’s exceptionally vocal, fun bedroom activities notwithstanding. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out his ecstatic groan as he snorts down the meal is anything but approval. The euphoric noise so reminds me of the ones he was enthusiastically making yesterday that a flash of heat burns over me.
On the other hand, Rome’s glowering over each forkful makes me wonder if rotten anchovies sprouted and multiplied on his plate.
Our unexpected guest is casual, quick to compliment my cooking, but despite his obvious gusto, there’s something on his mind. I have a feeling he’s waiting for an opportune moment, which isn’t with Rome keeping a watchful eye like Colin is going to sneak off with our dinner. Knowing Colin, he won’t be able to keep whatever it is to himself for long.
“The creamy pieces of chicken are my favorite part,” Colin hums. “Flavorful but not overpowering, adding a complimentary texture to the pasta.”
I suppress my laughter at the serious assessment. “It’s just mac and cheese,” I remind him.
“It’s heaven on a dish.”
Rome rolls his eyes. “Laying it on kind of thick, aren’t you?”
Colin doesn’t appear bothered by his derision. “I like what I like.”
At least my brother’s contemptuous snuffle doesn’t send food airborne. “I know. I saw what you like posted all over the place. Here’s a hint, asshole, my sister isn’t like any of those women.”
“Rome!” I can’t believe he would bring that up. I’d all but forgotten about the evening Colin was at the formal event.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roman.”
“What? They’re so many you can’t keep track?” Rome’s face twists with determination and distaste, snagging his phone from his back pocket and immediately starts swiping at the screen. He shoves the thing right under Colin’s frowning nose. “Kind of young, even for you.”
Mentally, I’m groaning with embarrassment and trepidation. Outwardly, I’m leaning over for a glimpse of what’s on display on Rome’s screen.
Colin in a tuxedo with a girl who looks to be around Rome’s age, her pink hair woven intricately to one side, exposing her delicate neck and sweet, innocent features. She looks cozy leaning into his side for the photographer, her slender arms wrapping tightly around him.
“I might be a lot of things, but a pedophile, I am not,” Colin says wryly. “That’s Elle, Damian Delevan’s sister, and all of seventeen.”
I squint, trying to find the resemblance. The bright hair is throwing me off.
“Who’s Damian?”
“A friend,” I answer for Colin before meeting his exasperated gaze. “She’s cute, but definitely not your type.”
“You think?” he asks with mock earnestness.
I nod, just as solemn. “For sure.”
Not giving up, Rome grumps and retracts his phone, swiftly tapping and scrolling. He stuffs the instrument back at Colin. “What about her? And her?” Another tap. “And her?”
All in one night? He was busy.
I want to tell Colin he doesn’t owe Rome or me an explanation, that whatever he did and whoever he did it with doesn’t concern either of us, but the miserable truth is, it matters to me, but my throat is abruptly too constricted with confusion to utter any of my thoughts. I don’t want to think he did all the intimate things with me, shared his private world with me, then did the same with other women. It’s alarming and distressing, but I’m inclined to believe I’m singular to Colin, that he wouldn’t want to be with other women, not the way he’s been with me.
A deep, pulsing exhale escapes Colin. “The first one was one of the organizers of the event. She worked with Special Chances.”
“Was that why you had your hands all over her? For a special chance?”
“She broke her heel, and I was trying to keep her from having face time with the floor. The second,” he continues at Rome’s obvious skepticism, “I admit, was a former companion. The third, I have no clue other than I deduced she was heavily intoxicated and trying to cop a feel.”
“Convenient.”
“Rome,” I begin, not wanting this awkward conversation to go on. “Just drop it.”
“Paige, you see this. You hear him. He’s got an excuse for everything.” Rome shakes his head, stuffing his phone back. “I know you want to believe him, but you’re too trusting for your own good.”
“It’s none of our business.” I hate saying it, even if it is true. And life is too short to sweat the things I can’t control. Colin and I, we’re just having fun for a time, a cruel alarm set by fate between us, no matter how excruciating he makes me feel. “His life is his own.”
“No, it’s not,” the two males pipe out in unison before glaring at each other with annoyance.
“Look, can we talk?” Colin appeals, taking my hand in his. “Just you and me.”
“Don’t do it, Paige.” Rome is instantly on his feet. “You can’t trust this guy.”
“We can go for a walk,” he says with eyes only for me, ignoring Rome fuming over him. “Get some desserts from that little place around the corner.”
It sounds… romantic. I’m not sure why, or maybe I do. It’s something I imagine an old married couple would do after many years together. It’s dangerous thinking that way about me and Colin. Marriage. Me and Colin. The whole of it. There can’t be many years with us.
Rome isn’t having it. “Says the witch to Gretel.”
“You and your witches,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s fine, Hansel. I can use some exercise after that heavy meal anyway. Besides,” I add with a grin, “you have to do the dishes.”
Having waved off Rudy, that’s how we end up strolling down 181st Street. Even in simple jeans and a charcoal gray shirt, Colin stands out, a glorious peacock amidst every-day pigeons. We’re not hand-in-hand, but his upper arm grazes my shoulder with each unhurried step. We rolled around in bed– and on the floor– bare skin to bare skin, tasted each other in ways lovers relish, yet it’s these seemingly minor touches that revive me to the core.
“Nice day,” he observes offhandedly, looking straight ahead under the poor, grimy streetlights. “Summer is definitely knocking.” He pauses, allowing the sound of people and traffic to fill the void for a moment. “Thank you for dinner.”
There are way too many people out and about on the sidewalk, too many shoppers in and out of the small, ancient stores and hole-in-the-wall eateries for us to be alone, yet they’re merely background noises to me. A backdrop for me and Colin.
“It’s the least I can do for the many times you fed me.”
For some reason that earns me a sideway scowl. “It’s not a competition, and I sure as hell hope it wasn’t because of obligation.”
“Okay, I take that back. You strong-armed your way into a meal.”
The scowl turns into a definitive nod of approval. “That’s more like it.” He punctuates that by grasping my hand.
I won’t point out that falls into the category of obligation, not when I’m liking his fingers twining with mine so much. A bus rumbles by, and we walk in companionable silence before I ask, “How was your day?”
“Eventful, one might say. I saw Damian.”
I wait, sensing more.
“He revealed something personal to me.” His hand tightens. “He said he has cancer, but I have a feeling you already knew that.”
Has. Not had. “No,” I reveal in all honesty, devastated and frightened for what Damian must be going through right now. “I didn’t know. Is he okay?”
“Paige.” In the middle of the street, to the irritation of vocal New Yorkers and the curiosity of the corner street vendor peddling steaming hot dogs and questionable coffee, Colin pulls me to a stop to face him, his dark, grave gaze swallowing up the heavy space between us. “How did you meet Damian?”
Anxiety lines his face. We’re so close, I know he’s holding his breath.
“I don’t have cancer, if that’s what you’re really asking.” That wasn’t what he wanted. Because I see myself struggling to hold on to me reflected in his eyes, see his effort to find words to what he’s looking for, I take a half step back. “Damian and I met at church.”
He just blinks, his mind working frantically at the conventional admission. Too innocuous. Mundane. “At church,” he repeats dubiously. “Damian isn’t religious.”
“Not everyone you see at church is religious. I know that sounds paradoxical, but sometimes people are there out of desperation, as a last hope.”
“You’re telling me Damian was ill, so he decided to go to church,” he tests out, clearly not sold, “and that was how you met him.”
“His reasons for going were his own. It wouldn’t be right for me to assume I know what they were.”
“Why were you there?”
It’s my turn to stare at him. “What?”
“Was it for religious reasons, out of desperation, or a last hope? You know what? Scratch the first choice. You can’t be that religious. You’ve never been married, yet you weren’t a virgin.”
“Whoa, das hot.”
Pausing, we both shoot a glower at the hotdog vendor.
“Just sayin’,” he goes on. “Hey, maybe she was like one of them born again Christian or what-eva. Me? I don’t do none of da. No way. Fawget aboutit.” He shrugs, suddenly noticing our slack-jaw scowl. “Wat-ta? Caw-fee? No need to wait.”
“Come on.” Colin exhales with frustration, tugging me onto the crosswalk with the flow of busy pedestrians– and away from the prying vendor. “Let’s get away from the born again dickhead.”
“You can’t blame the guy for commenting. You only blurted out loud the fact we had sex and that it wasn’t my first time,” I reply sardonically.
“I merely said you weren’t a virgin. I wasn’t broadcasting our fantastic fuck time.”
Several heads turn.
Someone snickers.
Jeezers! “Would you keep it down? I kind of like keeping my private life off of 181st and St. Nicholas.”
“What are you not telling me, Paige? Every time I ask either you or Damian, you both give me the runaround. We can deal with whatever you think is so personal.” His huffing and puffing have nothing to do with our sudden purposeful strides and everything to do with frustrated impatience. “You fucking dying or something? You better not be because I’m not going to allow it.”
He said the last parts in sardonic jest, but it was his confident, irrefutable opposition that has my throat choking painfully on itself, my chest squeezing so hard, I’m in danger of suffocating. Tears abruptly burst out of me.
I yank my captured fingers from his, frantically searching my pockets for a tissue. Colin is gaping at me, baffled, helpless, with a healthy dose of male panic. “I just need a minute,” I sob, trying hard to hold down the waterworks when my hands come up empty.
Ramblers break around us while tossing strange and annoyed looks. A woman peers at me with sympathy with a silent outcry of Men! before holding out a folded tissue to me as she slows. A mumbled, “Things will be okay,” then she flips Colin the stink eye and moves on.
Who says all New Yorkers are apathetic?
Maybe she’s a tourist.
Since the time I’ve learned of my bleak fate, I cried only once. It didn’t change anything, didn’t make me feel better, so I didn’t waste a second on it again, not when I had to be strong for Rome. Colin has the talent of bringing my emotions to the forefront, feelings I sometimes don’t know how to deal with. Joy, mischief, excitement, comfort, and even anger and jealousy, as much as I try to suppress them.
I don’t want to die. I never said it out loud, as if verbalizing it makes it more real. There’s too much to love, so much to hold on to and experience that I can’t bear it. Rome. I want to see him make it, see his name lit bright and bold on a marquee, watch him fall madly in love. Cara, be there for her when she finds herself and her place. Work hard for Bob so he can beam at me with pride, and maybe one day, he will finally share his chicken fried steak recipe with me.
And Colin. We only just found each other. It isn’t fair.
Brows puckered, Colin reaches for me, but I quickly sidestep.
“Paige, what’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” The frown deepens when I only shake my head, dabbing at my eyes. “All I said was you’re not allowed to di… die.”
His last word passes out of his mouth in a staggered murmur.
Iced over. Everything. Colin. Traffic. City dwellers. Harried shops. Everything iced over as Colin’s eyes darken the night, carefully, urgently searching my face.
The way his striking features plummet, the way his mouth works with nothing coming out of it, I don’t have to tell him.
With a snivel, I turn and run.