Chapter 6 Tasha #2
The house was exactly what I'd expected: modest, meticulously maintained, with a small front yard so perfectly mowed it looked like it had been trimmed with scissors.
Inside was just as tidy—everything in its place, nothing unnecessary or frivolous.
It reminded me of military housing, which I supposed made sense.
"I'll text your dad that we're home," I said, pulling out my phone.
Got her. We're at your place. She's fine. No need to rush home.
Crawford
What happened? Is she hurt?
Nothing serious. She's OK. I've got this. We’ll talk when you get here.
Crawford
Thank you. ETA 7pm at earliest. Emergency contact list on fridge if you need to leave.
Roger that, Captain. Go save lives.
I found Paige in the kitchen, rummaging through a drawer. "Dad keeps the ibuprofen in here somewhere..."
"Let me help you get settled first. Go change into something comfortable. And take these," I added, handing her the Walgreens bag. "Bathroom first, then comfy clothes."
While she was changing, I explored the kitchen, looking for supplies... The pantry was organized with military precision—canned goods in perfect rows, cereal boxes aligned by height. I found chamomile tea, which my mom always made for cramps, and put the kettle on.
In a drawer near the stove, I discovered a folder labeled "PAIGE - MEDICAL." Curiosity got the better of me. Inside, behind the standard medical forms and immunization records, was a section labeled "Puberty."
What I found inside nearly made me choke.
Nathan Crawford had created what could only be described as the world's most comprehensive period preparation guide.
Color-coded diagrams of different menstrual products.
Flow charts about hormonal changes. A literal timeline prediction based on the average age of menarche for girls of Paige's demographics.
Notes on potential emotional changes. A shopping list with specific brands recommended by "online parenting forums for single fathers.
" And two articles he’d taken a highlighter to, one from WIRED titled "Aunt Flo Doesn't Have to Suck (That Much)" and another from The New York Times titled "The Best Period Kit is the One You Make Yourself. "
"Oh my God, Nate," I whispered, torn between laughter and an unexpected wave of tenderness. "Jesus."
The most touching part was a handwritten note on hospital stationery:
Questions Paige might be too embarrassed to ask (per r/AskReddit)
- Will everyone know? (No, but it might feel that way)
- Does it mean something's wrong if it starts earlier/later than friends? (No)
- Is it normal to feel emotional? (Yes)
- Will it hurt? (Sometimes - heating pad, ibuprofen)
The man had thought of everything, consulted everyone from Reddit to The New York Times, but forgot the most basic reality: that a preteen girl might take the emergency kit out of her backpack.
Crawford, I thought, shaking my head, you brilliant, overthinking dork. You are trying so hard to be both mom and dad, and doing an amazing job, but some things just need a woman's touch.
"That's Dad's period bible."
I jumped, quickly closing the folder. Paige stood in the doorway in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with a NASA logo.
"Sorry, I was looking for ibuprofen."
"It's okay." She sat at the kitchen table. "Dad made that when I was ten. He stayed up three nights in a row working on it."
The kettle whistled, giving me a moment to compose myself. "Your dad is very... thorough."
"He says proper preparation prevents poor performance. It's his favorite saying."
I poured her tea and found the ibuprofen in a different drawer, neatly labeled "Pain Relief - NSAID." Of course.
"How are you feeling now?"
She shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Dad told me all about periods. The hormones and stuff. He even told me about cervical mucus changes."
I nearly spat out my tea. "’Cervical mucus’!? Oh, honey."
"Is that... not normal?"
I couldn't help laughing. "Your dad is amazing, Paige. But some things are just better coming from another woman. Not because he doesn't know his stuff—clearly he does—but because he hasn't lived it."
She nodded slowly. "Like how he knows all about broken bones but still freaked out when I broke my wrist last year."
"Exactly."
As the afternoon progressed, we settled into a surprisingly comfortable routine. I found a heating pad in a cabinet, and we camped out on the couch. Paige mentioned a book she was reading, which led to a debate about the best fantasy series, which led to her showing me her bookshelf.
She gradually relaxed, her initial embarrassment fading. I showed her how to track her period on a calendar app. We talked about school, about her science project on water filtration, about her best friend Zoe.
At some point, I realized I was enjoying myself. Not just tolerating the situation, but actually having fun with this serious, bright kiddo who was so clearly Crawford's daughter in every way that mattered.
Around four, I heated up some soup I found in the freezer (labeled "Chicken Noodle - Homemade"). We were eating at the kitchen table when Paige looked up suddenly.
"Did you know my mom left when I was a baby?"
The question caught me off guard. "I think your dad mentioned it once."
She nodded, stirring her soup. "I used to think she left because of me. But Dad says she just wasn't ready to be a mom, and that was about her, not about me."
"Your dad's right."
"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a mom. For stuff like today. It's really nice having another girl around." She glanced up. "But Dad does pretty good."
"He does better than pretty good, Paige. He's kind of incredible."
"Yeah." She smiled, a flash of braces. "He is."
The front door opened at exactly 7:27 PM. Nathan appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in scrubs, his face lined with fatigue but eyes immediately seeking out Paige. He came over and wrapped her up in a bear hug, twirling her around once before setting her back down.
"Hey, sweetheart. You okay?"
Paige nodded. "I'm fine, Dad. Tasha helped me."
Relief washed over his features. "Good. That's good." He turned to me. "Tasha, can I talk to you for a minute?"
I followed him into the living room, where he turned to me with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable.
"What happened? Is she okay? Why was she locked in the bathroom?"
"She got her first period. At school. No supplies."
Understanding dawned on his face, followed by a complex mix of emotions: relief, empathy, and something that looked almost like wistfulness.
"Ah." He ran a hand through his short hair. "The emergency kit. I should have checked."
"You can't anticipate everything, Crawford."
"I should have," he insisted. "I knew this was coming. The statistical window for—"
"Oh my God, you dork, shut up! You did not talk about 'statistical windows' with Paige!" I couldn't help the laugh that escaped.
A faint flush colored his cheeks. "I may have used more age-appropriate language."
"Like 'cervical mucus'?"
His flush deepened. "She told you about that?"
"Relax, Crawford. You did good. Better than most dads would have. But some things... well, they're just easier coming from someone who's been there."
He nodded slowly. "I'm aware of my limitations."
"They're not limitations. They're just... differences." I paused. "She's a really great kid, Nate. You're doing an amazing job with her."
Something shifted in his expression at the use of his first name. Something warm and surprised.
"Thank you," he said simply. "For today. For being there for her. For..."
"Handling the cervical mucus discussion?" I suggested, raising an eyebrow.
A real smile broke through then, transforming his face. "Among other things."
We stood there for a moment, something unspoken passing between us. Then Paige appeared in the doorway, her hair damp from a shower, dressed in fuzzy pajamas with planets on them.
"Dad?" she asked hesitantly. "Before Tasha goes..." She shifted from one foot to the other. "Could I maybe have her number? For my phone? In case I have more... questions?"
Nate blinked, clearly caught off guard. Paige had told me he had a strict policy about her Gabb phone—a basic device that only allowed calls and texts to a carefully vetted list of contacts.
"It's just," Paige continued into the silence, "sometimes there's stuff that's easier to ask another girl about."
I watched Nate's face as he processed this request, the internal struggle visible in the slight furrow of his brow. This wasn't just about exchanging phone numbers, this was about expanding Paige's circle of trust beyond the tightly controlled boundaries he'd established to keep her safe.
"I think that's a great idea," I said lightly, trying to ease the moment. "I promise not to share any state secrets or teach her how to hotwire a car."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That's exactly what I was worried about." He turned to Paige. "Go get your phone, sweetheart."
Paige's face lit up, and she darted back toward her room.
"Thank you," I said quietly once she was gone. "That means a lot."
"I trust you with her," Nate replied simply.
The words hung between us, weighted with significance. For Nathan Crawford, there was no higher compliment.
Paige returned with a simple phone in a purple case. As I added my contact information, I felt the responsibility that came with this permission. This wasn't just about being available for period questions—this was an invitation into their carefully constructed world.
"All set," I said, handing it back to Paige. "Text me anytime, okay? Even if it's just to talk about books or complain about homework."
Paige clutched the phone to her chest, beaming. "Thanks, Tasha!"
"I should get going. Got plans tonight."
It was a lie, but the intensity of whatever was happening in that quiet living room was becoming too much.
Nate's face fell, disappointment flashing briefly before he composed himself. "Are you— ahh. I… of course." He walked me to the door. "Tasha. Really. I don't know how to thank you for this."
"Buy me coffee sometime," I said, the words escaping before I could think better of them. "Good coffee, not the ER sludge."
He blinked, surprised, then nodded, a hint of renewed warmth in his eyes. "Deal."
As I drove home, I found myself smiling at nothing in particular. The day had been unexpected in every way—especially in how much I'd enjoyed being part of the Crawford family's world, even briefly.
My phone buzzed as I pulled into my apartment complex:
Unknown
Hi Tasha it's Paige Crawford!
I saved the contact before responding:
Hey kiddo! How are you?
Paige
Good! Dad made me tea and we’re watching Great British Bake Off.
Perfect recovery plan. That's a quality show.
Paige
I like when the cakes fall apart.
I laughed out loud at that.
Same! The disasters are the best part.
Paige
Thank you again for today. It was really scary but you made it better.
Anytime, Paige. For real. That's what the number is for.
Paige
I've never asked Dad for anyone's number before. Just Miss Swanson and my friends parents.
The significance of this wasn't lost on me. Another text came through:
Paige
I'm glad he said yes.
Something warm unfurled in my chest.
Me too, kiddo. Get some rest. Tell your dad the tea was a good call.
Paige
Goodnight Tasha!
I set my phone down, that unexpected warmth still spreading through me. Something was changing between Nate and me. Something I wasn't sure I was ready for, but couldn't seem to stop.
And strangely enough... I wasn't sure I wanted to.