by Katia Rose
I decided I’d do it my way—not my mom’s, not anyone else’s. Mine. I wouldn’t need men or my looks or dates with creeps carrying roofies. If that meant keeping my head down and my hood up and putting a mile of emotional distance between me and the rest of the world, I’d do it.
I’d become something greater than anything she could have imagined for me. I’d prove her wrong. I’d prove to myself that she was wrong.
DeeDee shifts to face me, blinking up at me from her seat on the floor, and settles herself into a cross-legged position.
“What about your sister?”
Right. That.
I close my eyes for a second and hunch over so I can rest my elbows on my knees. I can still smell the fresh-cut grass of our front lawn the day I left to start graphic design school in Toronto. I was sweating from the effort of packing the car full of boxes when I went inside and found Isabella in her room with the blinds down, the fan cranked up to full blast as she laid on her bed watching a show on her laptop.
We’d been growing apart for years. It was like the farther I drifted from what my mom wanted, the more her grip on Isabella increased. When Iz sided with her on the whole ‘using roofie guy for publicity’ thing, we had a huge fight. She told me she’d never speak to me again if I didn’t listen to our mom.
That’s pretty much how it’s gone since.
The day I moved away, I told her I’d always be there for her. I told her she could call whenever she wanted, and I’d come back and get her. I told her she could trust me.
She didn’t even take her eyes off the TV show.
“We grew apart,” I summarize for DeeDee. “She’s some Instagram socialite in Toronto now. My mom is still her manager.”
“Câlice,” DeeDee swears.
I nod and push myself to my feet. Now that I’ve gotten the story out, I can feel my heart picking up and my skin getting clammy with nerves. The only person I’ve ever told that much to is Youssef.
“Sorry,” I mutter with my eyes on the tile floor. “I know that was a—”
She gets up off the floor so fast I don’t realize what’s happening until her arms are around me.
“Paige, I—Attends. I’m messing up your hair.” She steps back enough to adjust her masterpiece and then places her hands on my shoulders. “You are brave. You are a very brave person. I thought you just didn’t have a fashion sense, but now I see you were protecting yourself.”
Her brown eyes stare straight into mine, fearless and full of understanding. I don’t trust myself to speak around the lump that’s risen in my throat, so I just nod.
“Everybody finds a way to do that. Everybody wears that stuff that...ah...You know the guys on horses wear it? Like with the castles and stuff?”
I squint at her for a moment. “Do you mean knights? Like, knights in armour?”
She snaps her fingers. “Yes! Armour. That is it. Everybody wears armour. Everybody protects themselves, but take it from a girl who learned it the hard way, ma belle: you don’t have to lose yourself to protect yourself, okay?”
She squeezes my shoulders tighter. Her eyes are fierce, her mouth set in a determined line.
She’s been through something too—maybe not the same thing as me, but something like it. As we stand facing each other, just two girls in the tiny bathroom of a tiny apartment in a huge, glittering city, I realize what the lump in my throat and the burning in my chest are: trust.
“Come on.” DeeDee reaches for an eye shadow palette. “Let’s make you look like even more of a badass.”
Eighteen
Youssef
CRESCENDO: An increase in volume toward a culminating point in a piece of music
“Youssef, hello. I asked you a question.”
“Huh, what?”
I turn back to my mom, expecting her to be annoyed, but she’s smiling.
“You haven’t stopped staring at her all night.”
The wedding reception is in full swing. We’ve had the ceremony, eaten dinner, and watched my sister and her new husband stuff each other’s faces with cake. Guests are now packed onto the dance floor or lounging at the tables set up around the reception hall of the hotel. The lights are low, glinting off the white and gold colour scheme Aaliyah picked out.
They’re just bright enough for me to make out Paige’s expression where she’s been sitting listening to one of my Egyptian great aunts tell some rambling story for the past twenty minutes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Auntie Mariam had given up on English altogether and just started talking in Arabic, but Paige doesn’t give any sign that she’s bored or annoyed.
Auntie Mariam is smitten. She’s so talkative she’d start telling stories to her fork if there was no one else around, but few people get the accompanying grins and pats on the shoulder she’s bestowing on Paige.
My whole family is smitten with Paige. If I had a drink for every time some cousin or aunt came up and asked ‘Who is that girl?’ while giving me a knowing look, I would have been passed out on the floor before we even got our appetizers. I can’t blame them; to say I’m smitten with Paige tonight is an understatement.
When she walked out of her apartment building back in Montreal, I swear I almost blacked out. It was like my brain had to do an entire recalibration of the universe, because no way in hell could this girl be coming with me. It wasn’t even the dress or the makeup or her hair—that goddamn hair I can’t stop thinking about wrapping around my fist so I can tug her head back to bite her neck.
No, it wasn’t that. It was the way she scanned the sidewalk looking for me, hovering by the door and a little awkward in her heels, before her eyes found mine through the rolled-down window of the rental car.
And then she lit up. It’s the cheesiest fucking thing, but there’s no other way to say it. She lit up like a sunrise cresting the city, like a sparkler on a summer night, like a stage painted by spotlights the second before the start of the show.
I’ve always known it, but now I know it for sure: I will never see anything as beautiful as her in my entire life.
“Youssef, you’re doing it again.”
“Oh, sorry.”
I turn back to my mom with a grin, and she bursts out laughing.
Maybe it’s the champagne, or the fact that the ceremony, dinner, ‘symmetrical’ photos, and all the other million things she was freaking out about are finally over, but my mom is straight up giddy.
“I can’t believe that’s little Paige from high school. She is so stunning. Everyone has been asking me about your date.”
“And what have you been saying?” I ask as I loosen my tie a little more.
I’m in a suit, but the outfits today are as varied as the guests. A lot of our Egyptian side is here, and Aaliyah’s husband—it’s still weird to say my little sister has a husband—is from Greece, so there are some European vibes going on too. The ceremony was secular, since neither our immediate families are particularly religious, but they did a really beautiful job making sure both cultures were part of the day. Everyone walked down the aisle to a traditional Greek song by a live band, and my dad and I sang a Coptic hymn together before they did the ring exchange.
I thought I’d be embarrassed to sing. There’s a reason I make the kind of music that involves using other people’s vocals, but I was proud to stand beside him, and even more proud when I looked out and found Paige smiling at me—not smirking or laughing, but beaming like she was proud of me too.
“I’ve been telling them you two are old friends who got back in touch recently.” She takes a sip of her champagne and then giggles—actually giggles. “And I’ve maybe been saying you were lovebirds in high school.”
I almost choke on my own champagne. “Lovebirds? Seriously, Mom? Okay, we’re cutting you off right now. No more bubbly.”
I jokingly reach for her glass, and she whips it out of my reach, sending liquid sloshing over the rim as she cackles.
“It’s not the champagne! It’s true! You were crazy about that gi
rl, Youssef.” Some of her usual serious demeanour returns. “You know, when you told me your date named Paige was high school Paige, I wasn’t sure how to feel. I know you were just kids, but you were so hurt that summer. I was worried. Maybe it’s a mom thing, protective instincts and all that. Then you walked in today with her on your arm, and I just...”
“Mom.” I lean in closer and squint at her. “Are you crying?”
She swats my shoulder. “My youngest child got married today! I’m allowed to be silly and emotional.”
I hold her drink for her while she takes out a handkerchief and dabs around her makeup.
“There we go. Now, listen to me, Youssef. I know you two are doing that whole no labels, young, uninhibited, commitment-phobic generational thing—”
I snort. “Excuse me, what did you call it?”
She swats my arm again. “But I also know what you look like when you’re happy. She’s good for you.”
I sound just like my protesting mom, but the warmth that floods my chest is not from the champagne. Having Paige here today, by my side and among my family as we come together to celebrate, has meant way more to me than I could have hoped to imagine when I struck up that stupid deal about her being my date.
I’m proud to have her here. It’s the craziest thing, but it feels right. It’s like walking a path I’ve always known, and it goes way beyond just her. Being with her feels like the start of something huge, like I’m getting myself lined up with the rest of my life.
I have something big to tell her tonight.
“Who is good for who?”
My dad comes over to join us and slips his arm around my mom’s waist so the two of them can face me. His tie matches her deep green dress, and his eyes share that same glimmer of excitement, relief, and parental joy.
“We were just talking about Paige,” my mom says.
“Ah!” My dad’s smile widens. “Where is that girl? I haven’t had a chance to speak with her yet, and Youssef’s girlfriend is all anyone can talk about.”
“She’s not my—”
He cuts me off with a mock stern look. “Then you’d better fix that, my son. When the universe gives you a chance like that, you don’t mess around.”
I nod and take a breath. I have something big to tell my parents tonight too.
“Speaking of chances and the universe...” They laugh at my segue, and I continue. “I have something I want to let you know. I know this probably isn’t the best time, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I can’t wait anymore.”
My dad’s forehead furrows with concern, and my mom reaches out to touch my arm.
“You guys have always supported me pursuing life as a musician in the most incredible way, and it means a lot to me.”
“Of course,” my dad interjects. “Youssef, your music is a gift to the world. If this is about thinking you don’t deserve—”
I shake my head. “No, Baba. I’ve finally realized it’s not about that at all. It’s not about what I do or don’t deserve. It’s about what I want. I’ve been thinking a lot, and my job at the studio is really important to me. I know it’s not this huge life as a superstar everyone has been dreaming of for me, but when I’m there, I feel right. I feel more right than I ever have. Jacob wants to make me a partner in the business. He’s giving me a chance to buy in.”
“But, Youssef...” My mom squints at me in confusion. “Your music, all the tours and things. What about that?”
I let out a breath. “I’m going to go to that meeting in LA I told you guys about. I leave in two days, and I’ve already made the commitment to be there, but if I get there and still feel the way I do now, I’m turning them down. I’ve got to trust myself on this, and I wanted to tell you because it would be great to have you trust me too.”
They stay silent for so long I start to get sweaty with nerves. A Backstreet Boys song is playing on the dance floor, but I’m too tense to laugh at what a weird soundtrack it makes for this moment.
“This is really what you want?” my dad finally asks.
I nod.
“Then of course we will support you.”
My mom pulls me into a hug as the shock hits my system, speaking with her arms around my neck. “We didn’t know you were struggling with this so much. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I pat her on the back. “It’s okay, Mom.”
She pulls back after a moment and smiles. “You know we’re proud of you no matter what you do.”
I smile back. “I know. Also, uh, speaking of the whole non-committal generational thing, or whatever you called it, I’m also planning on asking Paige to be my girlfriend tonight.”
She beams at me, and my dad chuckles. “I told you the universe was giving you a chance.”
I’m done with the uncertainty, everywhere in my life. I’ve talked about LA with Paige a few times since bringing it up, and I can tell it makes her nervous for some reason. I want to put those worries to rest. I want her to know it’s her and me, no matter where we end up.
“Youssef,” my dad says, jerking his chin towards Paige’s table. “You have a very pretty girl sitting all alone at a table waiting for you to dance with her.”
I start laughing so hard both my parents stare at me in shock, but I can’t stop. The idea of Paige pining away like some jilted prom queen waiting for her knight in shining armour to lead her to the dance floor is just too hilarious.
The idea of Paige being led to the dance floor at all is hilarious—not that I haven’t thought about doing it all night.
“Guess I’d better rescue her,” I choke out.
They still don’t get what’s so funny, but they wish me good luck, and my mom gives me a hug before they head off to find more guests to chat with.
My Auntie Mariam seems to have found one of my cousins to berate at a nearby table, leaving Paige to sit and watch the party. I pause a few feet away. The lines of her profile are striking, a perfect mix of sharp and soft. She doesn’t have all that much makeup on—as far as I can tell—but the dark stuff around her eyes and the deep berry colour of her lipstick takes her usually stunning face and turns it into something impossible to look away from.
I start moving towards her table again. “Hey.”
She turns to face me, startled for a second before she relaxes and her smile comes back. “Hey.”
“I hope Auntie Mariam didn’t drive you too crazy.”
She shakes her head, laughing. “She is hilarious. She told me about the time you fell in the toilet and got stuck during your cousin’s wedding reception.”
I pull out the chair beside her and lower myself into it. “Oh my god, why does she bring that up at every wedding? I was a little kid. It happens.”
Paige is laughing even harder now. “A little kid? She said you were ten.”
I scoff. “I was not ten. That’s crazy. I was probably like five or six.”
Paige shakes her head while she clutches her stomach, her shoulders still shaking with laughter. “Nuh-uh. She showed me pictures. You were totally at least nine.”
“She has pictures? Camera phones weren’t even a thing then!”
“She has actual pictures,” Paige gets out between guffaws. “Like, in her wallet. She says she brings them to every wedding so she can tell that story. It’s hilarious. You were just like, stuck in the toilet. You looked like an octopus with your limbs all dangling over the sides. How did you even do that?”
“I was small!” I protest as I fight back my own laughter. “I slipped! It was tragic, and everyone just came in and laughed at me—and took pictures, apparently. It was cruel!”
“Poor Youssef.” She grips my forearm. “Do I need to send some sort of patrol to make sure you don’t fall in tonight?”
I flip her off, and she laughs even harder.
“Okay, smartass, are you done shaming me about my past traumatic experiences?”
“Hmm.” She pretends to think about it as she gets herself under control. “For no
w.”
We go back to watching the dance floor. She’s close enough that I could bump her thigh with mine if I just moved it over a few inches. I know she wants to keep things low key, but all I can think about is reaching up to cup her cheek and guiding her lips to mine.
“Youssef.” I jerk with surprise when she grips my hand under the table. “What’s wrong? I saw you with your parents just now. You looked kind of...tense. If it’s about me, I—”
“What? No!” I squeeze her hand back and look her in the eyes. “Paige, everyone at this wedding is thrilled with you. I am so, so happy you’re here, and so are my parents.”
“Oh.” She blinks at me. “Really?”
I have to laugh at how oblivious she seems. “Yeah. Of course. My mom said...She said it makes her happy to see me so happy with you.”
Paige sucks in a breath and drops her gaze, but her hand stays entwined with mine. “I guess I just feel out of place.”
I want to tell her she’s the farthest thing from out of place. She belongs here. I want to tell her everything right now, but I know a public wedding reception may not be the best time to have The Relationship Talk.
“It’s just a lot,” she says in a low voice, staring at the white tablecloth while I stroke her knuckles with my thumb. “It’s like I told you when we hung out with your friends. I worry that I’m not...normal enough.”
“Paige.” I grip her hand even harder. “You don’t have to be anything other than you, okay? I get it. It’s all been a lot. These past few weeks have changed...everything, and I don’t mean just you and me. Being around you makes me want to be, like, the truest version of myself...or something?” I scratch the back of my neck with my free hand. “I don’t even know what I mean.”
“I do.” She looks up at me again. “That’s exactly how it feels: like everything has changed. It’s like I’m questioning all the things I’ve just accepted as facts up until now. It’s kind of terrifying.”