Page 97 of When the Lights Come On
Paige
PEAK: The highest point to which an audio signal can be amplified
“Okay,you’re gonna have to run that one by me again. Straight people problems confuse me.”
I glare at Ingrid, but she just takes a sip of her beer and motions for me to go on. We’re indulging in yet another 4PM drinking session at Taverne Toulouse. I like being here when it isn’t crowded yet, and DeeDee usually works this shift, which means we get good deals.
“He’s in LA now,” I repeat, “and I know it’s stupid, but I just feel like...like I let him in, you know? I gave him everything, but I don’t even know where he’s at with all his career stuff, and now he’s on some trip that just a few days ago he was saying he probably wouldn’t go on, and I panicked. I realized how much...how much he means to me, and how easily he could fuck me over. I’ve spent so fucking long not being close to anyone. I don’t know how to go from zero to a hundred like this.”
Ingrid tips her beer at me. “And you didn’t tell him about these feelings because...?”
I scoff and sip my own beer. “That’s so clingy. I’m not going to let myself be clingy.”
“Paige.” Ingrid props her elbow on the bar and rests her chin on her hand. “It’s not clingy to, like, have emotions and express them to people you care about. It’s not clingy to be like, ‘Hey, I’m feeling kind of insecure about everything we have going on. Do you mind giving me some reassurance?’ You just spent half an hour telling me you don’t think you have it in you to trust somebody enough to maintain a relationship. The cure for that is usuallytalkingabout it.”
“How is it going, ladies?” DeeDee bounces over with a tray of dirty glasses in hand and interrupts our conversation before I can reply to Ingrid. “Have we fixed Paige’s problems yet, or would you guys like some tequila?”
“It is way too early for tequila,” Ingrid complains as DeeDee drops the glasses off and starts getting three shots ready.
“Pas vrai!” DeeDee holds up a finger. “It is never too early for tequila. Now lick those hands!”
She holds up a salt shaker and stares us down until Ingrid and I give in and lick the backs of our hands so she can sprinkle them with salt. She does the same to herself, and we all go through the salt, shot, lime routine. DeeDee whoops when we’re done.
“Now we can fix your problems!”
“Oh joy,” I deadpan.
My sarcasm just rolls right off her. She plants both palms on top of the bar and stares into my eyes like a coach pumping up one of her players. “You want to be with Youssef, right?”
“I mean, yeah. Yeah, I do.”
I’m surprised at how quick the answer comes, and how sure I sound.
“And you were kind of an asshole to him?”
“I was.”
That’s an easy answer too. Talking with Ingrid has been cathartic, but DeeDee’s interrogation-style assistance is getting us places much faster.
“So, you need to figure outwhyyou were being an asshole,stopbeing an asshole, and then apologize and get on with your lives.”
Ingrid bangs her beer on its coaster. “Damn. Concise. I like it.”
‘Concise’ is not usually the first word that comes to mind when describing DeeDee, but her plan is surprisingly solid and doesn’t involve us dancing on tables or dyeing our hair, which are her usual problem-solvers.
“So, step one.” She’s still braced against the bar in front of me like she’s coaxing me to charge onto a football field. “Why were you an asshole?”
Ingrid cackles and then finishes off her beer as I blink at DeeDee and struggle for an answer.
“Um, well, I guess I was freaked out?”
DeeDee leans in closer. “Whywere you freaked out?”
“I...um...” Her brown eyes are weirdly hypnotic. I wonder if this is one of her tactics for selling so many shots. “I want to trust him. I do. I want to be my whole self with him. I’m still discovering who my whole selfis, but I know I want to be that person with him. It’s like...it’s like I was in the dark, and then all the lights came on, and I realized how much of my life was built around these shadows that weren’t even real, but I’m...I’m still scared of them.”
Back when I wrote ‘When the Lights Come On’ I was mostly imagining the way thingscouldbe. I was writing about dim possibilities I wasn’t sure I would ever have to face. I craved and feared those feelings all at the same time, and now they’re here. They’ve been growing and growing since I first set eyes on Youssef again, and I don’t know if they’re making me or breaking me.
“I really just want to let go,” I admit, my voice cracking.
