Better than I hoped

The waitress, a bored looking woman in her thirties, shows up with menus and Alison and I order coffees, Riya a tea. I consider ordering a round of mimosas for us, but as young as Riya looks, I can't imagine she wouldn't be carded and the last thing I want is more attention. By the time our hot drinks arrive we are ready to order, and I make sure the pair know that I'm treating. I get the eggs-benedict with crab, Alison a chicken salad sandwich and after yet another round of deferment Alison bullies Riya into ordering the curried chicken.

“Mr. P, Riya needs a place to stay,” Alison begins without any preamble right after we order our lunch, “and I think your house is the perfect solution.” Riya is clearly uncomfortable with this whole conversation, and I express my doubts as well.

“I don't know, Angel,” careful not to look too eager, “I've been using that upstairs bedroom myself more and more...” again Alison waves away our protests.

“She can sleep in the small room, Mr. P. Isn't that right, Riya?” Riya head moves in what might be a nod of agreement but could just as easily be a 'no'. Alison continues on as though the matter has been settled. “That tiny room is just wasted space, and you could use someone around the house to help with the chores and to keep you from turning back into that grumpy widower meme that you were when we met.”

“I doubt Miss Kapadia here wants to stay in that tiny old servant's room,” I shake my head, “and I don't need any help with chores either.” By this time Riya is looking back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match and I decide to get the last possible obstacle into play. “Even if she did, I can't imagine that her parents would allow her to live alone with a strange man in his house.”

“Riya's parents don't get to run her life from the other side of the world, Mr. P,” Alison answers for Riya again who is looking more and more overwhelmed by the rapid pace in which her life is being sorted out. “She's twenty years old, and this is the twenty-first century, not the 1950's.” Alison finally turned to Riya, “Isn't that right, Riya?” When put like that there's not much the poor girl could say.

“A single small room wouldn't be very dear, would it?” Her polished accent making the words sound even sweeter. I take a moment to hide my excitement, this is working out perfectly thanks to Alison's skillful handling of the conversation. And so, it is Alison who settles this final concern.

“Don't you dare take a penny from this young woman, Mr. P.” She turns back to Riya, “Don't worry about him, he has more than enough money, in fact if you're doing the chores, he should be giving you an allowance.” Once again Riya tries to object, but before she can even get the words out Alison and I start negotiating.

“I guess twenty dollars a week seems fair...”

“Mr. P, you're such a cheap skate, you can barely get lunch at the student center for $20. Make it $100 a week and you have a deal.” In the end we settle on $60 a week, and Alison turns to a bewildered Riya with a triumphant smile.

“There, it's all settled.”