“Paige was crying?” my mom asks. Great—she’s engaging. We’re only moments away from someone blurting out that Paige was crying because I was an asshole. Doesn’t matter—sometimes being an asshole is warranted.
It was justified.
“Yeah, she was by daddy’s door. I heard her so I went to check on her in the hallway. She said it was a bad dream. But daddy will make it better; I told her he would.” My eyes close as Leah speaks. I catch enough of her face to see my daughter smiling at me proudly. I’ll make it better. No, baby girl—I’ll make it worse. I turn away enough so my mom can’t see my face, bringing my focus back down to the pad of notes next to my bowl of cereal. Like I’m really studying.
“Well that’s good…that he made it better,” my mom says. I hear the tone. I feel her stare, so I look up and smile and shrug. She doesn’t ask anything more, but I know she will—the second Leah goes up stairs to change. When she does, I brace myself for the look I know will show up on my mom’s face. She’ll glance at me, and everything will unravel. It’s why I could never get away with lies when I was a kid.
Joyce Orr is a magician.
The look comes, and I let my head fall forward. “I’m not sure what happened,” I say. It’s really the truth. I have a bunch of facts—Paige is in a sordid video floating around online. She says it isn’t her. I believe her. But I’m still mad at her anyway. It isn’t fair. I don’t care. I called her stupid. She told me Leah was a mistake. And now I want her to move out.
I also want her to stay.
And I want to fix things for her.
And I want her to say she’s sorry.
And I’m sorry.
I don’t say any of that, though. I just shrug and keep my head down, waiting for my mom to work her magic. Then there’s a knock at our front door.
“I got it,” I say, leaping from my chair. If it’s someone selling something, I think I’ll invite him inside. I’ll watch a demo, let him spill shit on our carpet and try to mop it up. Anything—whatever it takes to make the other crap in my head disappear.
When I swing the door open, I’m hit with recognition. It only takes a second or two for me to place it, and when I see the guy in a wheelchair behind the blonde—who looks like he could kick my ass—my hunch is confirmed.
“Oh…wow. I did NOT see this coming,” says the girl I know is Cass. We haven’t officially met. “You are the last person I thought was on the other side of this door.”
“I’m sorry…can I help you?” I ask, like I don’t know she’s looking for Paige. Did Paige tell her to come here?
“I know she’s not here right now. Mind if I come in and wait?” Cass asks, pushing right by me through the door. Leah’s eyes flash, and I can tell she’s nervous.
“It’s okay. This is Paige’s sister,” I say, wanting to allay her fears, maybe stave some of her innocent young questions. Leah smiles when I explain, and goes right back to finishing her cereal, looking up to make sure our guests are watching. The sun revolves around Paige in Leah’s mind.
“Come on in,” I say, waving the guy I am pretty sure is Cass’s boyfriend in so I can close the door. He has some trouble with the stoop, but with a rock of his wheels he clears it without my help. My mom scoots a chair out of the way and looks to me when our guests are turned around. I smile with tight lips because I have no clue what this visit is all about.
“Oh, are those Cheerios?” the guy asks, leaning low toward Leah. She smirks at him and starts to nod and giggle. She pushes the box closer to him, and he pours a handful to start munching along with her.
“She’s…living here,” Cass says, looking around our simple kitchen. I get the look on her face. Paige doesn’t go here. My god how she doesn’t go here.
“For a few days,” I say, my attention consumed with the guy who’s now in a Cheerio crunch-off with Leah. He glances up at me and pours the rest of the cereal in his mouth from his palm, dusting it off on his jeans before reaching for my hand.
“I’m Ty. Sorry to barge in. Cass followed her sister here yesterday, like a stalker,” Ty says, sending a wry smile in his girlfriend’s direction.
“Like I had a choice,” she says back, her tone defensive.
“Yeah, good point. Asking her would have been, like…way complicated,” he says, earning a scowl from her next. I like this guy.
“I’m sure you know this, or…maybe you don’t. Hard to say what you know, or what’s really going on, but…anyhow…Paige and I don’t talk much,” Cass says. I nod in agreement, for some reason not wanting Paige’s family drama to play out for my mom. She’ll ask later; she has a lot to ask me about later. But maybe by then I’ll come up with a way to protect Paige and her story. Of course, I also want her to move out. I still want that…right?