She texted me herself, and it strikes me that she may want a crowd of rubberneckers there, that the residual scandal around my name might draw more attendees. At first, I wasn’t going to go, not until Page asked me to get ready with her and I resigned myself to my new fate as her stylist and BFF.

I’ve spent some more time with Page between the museum visit and now. We’ve hung out in Prospect Park, gotten drinks in her neighborhood, spent some time in Manhattan, too. I wanted to screech when she responded to someone trying to sell her a watch, almost pulled my hair out when she visibly became frightened by a panhandler on the subway. She has an irritating habit of trying to peer into people’s ground-level brownstone windows, trying to steal a voyeuristic glimpse into their shuttered lives.

Otherwise, it’s fine. She’s annoying, but kind of smart in her own way, and seems harmless. I catch myself wondering what her life was like back in Michigan; she says she worked in real estate, but hopes to try something else once she settles things here. She talks openly about her friend group back home, telling me all about the drama behind her best friend’s bachelorette party, how she was supposed to plan it, but she’s decided to stay in New York longer. How all those girls aren’t speaking to her right now because of that. She shows me a picture of them and I grimace without meaning to, their hair and skin all like Page’s when she first arrived here, sorority girls aged five years. They all have Live, Laugh, Love and First, Coffee decor in their houses.

“How did you do it? Get used to living here?” she asked again as we ate Shake Shack in Madison Square Park, the original location, upon her request.

I shrugged. “You just do. I grew up coming here once a month. When I was in high school my friends and I would go out on the Lower East Side, too, and stay with people we knew who lived in the city. It’s much easier if you actually grow up here, though. All that grime is in your bones.”

I’ve been recommending books and movies to Page, places to shop and eccentric people to follow on Instagram that I think would offer her more conversation topics.

She tells me that she wants to move here. That once the Benningtons eventually kick her out she wants me to help her find an apartment.

I ask her if she has learned more about Odilie, if any of this is helping. “Yes, knowing who her friends were has definitely helped. It’s brought me some closure,” she responds as we meander through Central Park one day, toward the Upper West Side.