On Sunday morning around 10:45, I called my aunt to tell her about Lizzy having moved out and my new male roommate. Pulling my legs closer to my chest, I waited for her to pick up the phone.
“Hi, Rory,” Aunt Amy said once she picked up. “How are you?”
In the background, some incoherent voices and laughter made me wonder if she was still in church, so I glanced at the kitchen clock to double-check if I had called too early. “I’m good. How was the church today?” I asked, hoping she didn’t ask me if I had gone to church that morning.
“Well, the sermon was good…about the prodigal son, nothing new…but Pastor Owen always delivers the story in such an interesting way.” Aunt Amy chuckled. “You should listen to his sermon in the archive on my church’s website.”
“Great. Yes, I’ll listen when I have time. By the way, Auntie, I have something to tell you. Is this a good time for us to talk?” I asked.
“Ah, sorry, dear. Not now. I’m at Gail’s house, my friend who had the accident three months ago. Remember?”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, trying to recall who Gail was, but my mind was blank.
“So, call me later. Oh, no. Tomorrow is better. Sorry, dear, I’m needed. Bye now,” she said.
“Bye, Aunt,” I said, but she’d already hung up.
I sighed, looking blankly at my phone. But I need you too!
Around noon, Peter texted that he would be arriving in about ten minutes. I fussed about, straightening up from the morning, and then went out on the front stoop to wait for him. The sun was hiding behind the clouds, which was my kind of weather: bright enough but not too hot. I gazed out to the parking lot but didn’t see him yet.
A few cars passed by but still no sign of Peter, and almost twenty minutes had passed. It would be impossible not to notice a tall guy with a bushy beard walking around, right?
Then Peter’s voice called out to me.
I looked around for where the voice came from and saw someone’s hand beckoning from behind the open trunk of an Acura TLX. I couldn’t figure out how I’d missed him driving by to park there.
“You are here!” I said, approaching his car. “How come I didn’t see you?”
My feet halted as I realized the guy behind the trunk wasn’t Peter. This guy had a clean face, no beard at all. His eyebrows were thick but perfect above his deep-set light brown eyes. His brown hair was short in a crew-cut style, with more volume toward the front hairline. He was the same height and had the same hair color as Peter. The guy flashed a smile at me before looking back into the trunk.
From the trunk, the guy took out a medium-sized box and gave it to me. “This one isn’t heavy,” he said in Peter’s voice.
Dumbstruck, I accepted the box while staring at him.
“Now, you are being creepy by staring at me like that.” He chuckled, taking a square backpack from the trunk and slinging it on his shoulder.
I couldn’t comprehend his words because I was having a hard time recalling where I’d met this guy. “Are you…Peter?” I asked carefully.
He blinked. His eyebrows tugged together, looking at me as if I’d gone crazy.
“Since the last time I checked in the mirror, yes, I am Peter,” he said.
I almost dropped the box. What?
“Something wrong?” he asked, his brows knitted.
I shook my head. “No…Of course not. You look…normal and different without your beard and your long hair.”
Peter pressed his lips and tilted his head. “Ha! Thanks! I accept that as a compliment,” he said. “You didn’t recognize me, huh?”
I shook my head again. “No, you look different.”
Peter sneered with delight flashing across his face for a second, then picked up a large, heavy box with both hands. His sweater sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his muscular arms. They looked strong and sexy.
A tire shrieked from a car turning too sharply nearby and startled me. Shifting my gaze away from him, I felt ashamed to catch myself staring at his arms. Good thing the arms’ owner was busy adjusting the box in his hands.
“Yeah, I decided to clean myself up,” he said. “It wasn’t easy to shave it. Do you know how long I’ve been letting it grow?”
I shook my head.
“A year.”
“Really? I didn’t know it took that long to grow a beard. And why did you shave it, then?”
Peter’s gaze looked rather annoyed as if he wanted to say, “I know what you thought of me yesterday.” Finally glancing at me, he replied, “I had to because Jane would kill me if I showed up with that beard in our client’s office. She just doesn’t know how many girls have fallen in love with me because of that beard.”
Off the cuff, I chortled but stopped quickly as my eyes caught Peter’s sharp glance at me. “Yes, of course. I believe you,” I replied, nodding exaggeratingly. “Come, follow me. I’ll show you your room.”
Peter nodded and caught up with my pace.
“Some girls said I look mature with the beard,” he continued.
I sucked my lower lip in, wincing because he was still on the beard’s topic, then gave a half shrug. “Maybe,” I said in an encouraging tone while biting my lower lip, trying not to laugh. “But it depends on people’s preferences. Yesterday, I thought you looked like an old man.” Then I clamped my mouth shut quickly. I shouldn’t have said something that might upset him.
To my surprise, Peter tilted his head back and laughed hard. “Gosh…you are an honest person, Rory. I like it.” He grinned.
I forced a smile and, with my free hand, unlocked the door and pushed it ajar with my foot.
Peter stepped inside as I held the door for him. “Yes, come to think of it, maybe I look older in the bushy beard.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I apologized.
“None taken,” he added. “But I’m only twenty-six, by the way.”
“Got it.” I laughed, feeling relieved that I hadn’t upset him.
“Your room is on the left,” I said as Peter entered the front hall.
He nodded and turned to the left, heading toward the door I’d left open for him earlier as I followed behind.
“You didn’t bring much stuff,” I said, putting the box on the floor near the bed.
“Not at this moment. Some of my stuff just shipped from London today. This is Jane’s stuff for her project that had been shipped to my hotel before she was admitted to the hospital,” he answered. “Originally, I just came here to assist her for the project and then was planning to leave California next week. But then, as you heard”—his expression changed and sadness flashed on his face—“she needs another surgery, so I have to be here longer than I’d planned.”
“I see,” I responded. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay here.”
Peter smiled and nodded. “I sure will.”