He never asked me for a date. Not a real date, not once. It would be like this. We had a group we hung out with—mostly his buddies from Ithaca college. Plus usually some locals, since one of Gil’s roommates was a local. Teach, I’ll have to blog about Teach sometimes. So, how it worked was, three or four nights a week, we’d all meet at a bar or party. Then at some point, we’d end up at Gil’s place. And I’d stay longer than any other woman who might be hanging around.
Simple. Coupledom by attrition.
Not that Gil ever seemed to mind. We’d end up making out on the couch, him knocking over the occasional empty beer bottle or full ashtray with his foot, and then we’d go to bed together, and the next morning I’d help clean up. After awhile everyone in our circle thought of us as attached. “Gil -n- Paige.â€
It was like it was all settled the day he phoned me when he got into Ithaca. It was like he’d come there, to Ithaca, because I was there, and everything else after that was just working out the details.
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