There wasn’t a single parking space left at Popeye’s parking lot, and the line of people waiting to place an order extended outside the doors, wrapping around one side of the building.
“No more line, you said,” I grumbled, pointing at all the people as the car rolled to a stop in the parking lot. “Oh, my God, how long will we have to wait?” I turned to Peter. “We can’t go there now. Maybe sometime this week.”
Peter shook his head, then peered out the windshield, concentrating on finding a parking spot at least somewhere near the restaurant.
“You’re crazy, Peter. It’s only fried chicken, for God’s sake!” I exhaled.
“Do I need to add another house rule about making your roommate happy once a week?” He chuckled.
I rolled my eyes. And then I saw a Chrysler Town and Country backing out of a parking space. “Peter, look!” I said, pointing at the van.
Peter followed my finger and nodded. “Teamwork!”
He laughed as I made a face at him, then whipped into the space and gave me a huge grin before jumping out.
Peter nudged my arm as we walked toward the long line. “Roomie, we are lucky to get this spot. We’ll be lucky too in getting our food faster.”
I gave him a weak smile, impressed by his enthusiasm but doubtful things would go like he was expecting. “We’ll see,” I said.
Peter seemed to pay no attention to my pessimism, or the twenty or more people in front of us. I was surprised to see everyone’s enthusiasm at that hour and struggled to imagine the line during lunchtime. It had to have been much worse!
Peter took out his cell phone and asked me to turn around.
“For what?” I asked, looking at him.
“Selfie with the sign behind us.” Peter pointed at the big Grand Opening sign hanging above the entrance. “Smile, Roomie!” He leaned to the left and touched my shoulder with his, then stretched his hand out above us to snap the photo.
I forced a smile just as his finger pressed the button.
“You need to smile a bit brighter, Roomie,” Peter protested while reviewing the picture. “Let’s take another one.”
“No, I won’t. I don’t think your friends in London know about this restaurant anyway. Why bother?” I said, crossing both arms over my chest.
“They will,” he said stubbornly. “Come on.”
I let out a sigh, dropped my arms, and lifted the corners of my lips for a big smile. This time he looked satisfied at the resulting photo.
“So, are you going to post the picture on your Instagram, titled My First Fried Chicken in California?” I stretched my palms apart like I was opening something in the air as I mocked him.
“Heck, yeah! But the title will be My Sulky Roommate and Me, Waiting in Front of Her Favorite Fried Chicken.”
“I’m not sulking,” I protested.
I tried to snatch the phone out of his hands, but Peter was quick. He hid it in his back pocket, a big grin splitting his face.
“Childish!” I hissed at him.
His eyes beamed as he gave me a mischievous look.
Finally, after my legs had grown tired and Peter’s stomach had begun rumbling like rolling thunder, we got our turn to order. Luckily, it only took them five minutes to serve the order, and we found a two-seater table opening up by the window very quickly.
“This is so good!” Peter said, through lips shiny from the juicy fried chicken. “Tastes different from the fried chicken in London. No wonder you like this, Roomie!”
“Yup, and tastes better because you paid,” I teased, waving a chicken leg at him.
He had ordered a big meal for both of us. I’d warned him that I would only eat maybe three pieces of dark meat, but he had smiled and assured me that between the two of us, we could finish the meal.
“By the way, where do you work, Roomie? I don’t think I ever asked,” asked Peter, dipping two Cajun fries into a small cup of tomato ketchup.
“Myriad Food and Beverage, as an accountant,” I said, wiping my mouth. “It’s a private company that belongs to Samuel Hamilton. Have you heard of it?”
Peter coughed wildly all of a sudden, like a piece of food had gone down the wrong pipe. His face turned red, and his eyes teared up.
I leaned forward to pat his back, trying to help. “Are you OK?” I looked at him, concerned and pushing his drink closer to encourage him to take a sip.
Peter nodded and drank half of it. “Went down the wrong pipe,” his voice croaked as he tapped his fist against his chest.
Once he settled back down, we focused on eating our food slowly for a bit.
Sitting back from his empty plate, Peter said, “So, tell me about Myriad.” His face was not red anymore, and his voice had returned to normal.
Nodding, I began telling him a little more about working at Myriad. I tore a buttermilk biscuit into four pieces and ate them one by one as I went on about my job. Peter nodded and asked a question here and there, but it seemed like his mind was preoccupied. Then he didn’t hear a question I asked him, and when I waved my hand in front of his face, he stuttered as his attention returned to the here and now.
“Sorry, what is your question again?” he asked.
“You said you work for your family’s company. What business is it in?” I asked.
He looked down and wiped his greasy hands slowly with a wad of napkins. Eventually, he said, “Not my parent’s company per se, but my extended family’s business. It’s an investment company.”
My mouth agape, I exclaimed, “Wow, that’s awesome!” Leaning closer, I asked, “Is your company hiring?”
Peter crumpled the napkins and dropped them onto his plate, then leaned toward me. That close to him, I could see his long eyelashes. “I don’t know, but why do you want to quit your current job?” He looked serious.
I wrinkled my nose and leaned back in my seat.
Peter tilted his head but didn’t move back in his seat.
“I don’t like my manager. She is bitchy,” I pouted, then I told him about what had happened in the last week. “Can you believe it? I didn’t even giggle about her or the White Water’s team, but she just accused me like that.” I shook my head, wiping my lips with napkins. My stomach hurt as the image of Rowena’s pouting flashed through my mind.
“Does she always act like that?” Peter asked, propping his chin with an elbow on the table.
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and said, “That’s been my experience. My coworker, who has been working for her for a while longer, said Rowena has always been that way.”
“And why doesn’t anyone complain about her? Couldn’t you tell your general manager?” Peter asked again.
“Desiree used to work with Rowena, so they are friends, and she always listens to Rowena, gives her special treatment. One time, Rowena and Christine, another accounting manager, went to Desiree about some issues. In my opinion, Christine’s idea was the same as Rowena’s, just in different words, but Desiree accepted Rowena’s idea and even said ‘Why didn’t anyone think about that before?’” I wrinkled my nose. “So, if there is an opening, let me know, please? Especially in accounting,” I begged, pressing my palms together in front of me. “Please?”
“I won’t hire you,” he said calmly, drinking his water.
“Why?” I said, dismayed, then saw a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“One thing you need to know when you have an interview for your next job is don’t ever say bad things about your boss,” he explained. “You should focus on why you want to move into your future company and what skills you can contribute.”
For a moment, Peter appeared mature and charismatic as I’d never seen him before. The way he talked sounded like he had many years’ of experience in hiring people.
“All right. Noted,” I said. “So, how about my reason to move is because I’ve never been to London?”
Peter grinned and slapped the table suddenly, making the people nearby turn and look at us. “Hah! That’s failed answer number two,” he said, pointing at me and grinning widely.
I rolled my eyes.
Peter gazed at me and said, “Well, I can’t make any promises, but I’ll let you know if there is an opening.”
“Yaayy…awesome!” I cried, raising my palm to give him a high five.
Peter smiled and tapped my palm with his palm.
“Can I get a higher salary too?”
Now Peter rolled his eyes, but he chuckled. Then I asked him about Jane, his sister. Peter’s face turned gloomy as he told me about the possibility that she needed to have a third surgery. My chest ached for her and their family having to deal with stomach cancer.
But Peter was Peter. He never sank into sadness for very long. He leaned back and smiled, rubbing his full belly, and said, “Ready to go home?”
Looking down at the empty plates and containers, I couldn’t believe we’d finished off nine pieces of dark meat, two large Cajun fries, and four pieces of buttermilk biscuits. Peter had an amazing appetite—he had eaten six pieces of chicken and cleaned up the leftover fries and biscuits. My stomach was stuffed, but he seemed fine and even asked if I wanted to stop for ice cream.
***
A single raindrop fell on top of my head as I walked out of Popeye’s behind Peter. Stepping back by the door, under the overhang, I said, “It’s raining?” Leaning out, I looked up at the sky, catching several more raindrops on my cheeks. “Really? We rarely have rain in May!”
“Rarely doesn’t mean you won’t have it at all, right?” said Peter, glancing skyward while stretching his hand out to feel the rain. “It’s just a light rain. But if we walk, we’ll be drenched. Are you OK if we run to the car?”
“Um…” I looked down at my three-inch heels. They weren’t that high, but running in them would not be fun.
“Will you mind if your roommate runs across the parking lot barefoot?” I looked up at him.
Peter blinked, not understanding until I pointed at my feet and then bent to take off one of the shoes.
“Not at all. It will be the first time in my life because most of my female friends would ask me to get the car and pick them up,” Peter said, grinning widely. He looked amused and threw his head back, laughing, as I lifted the shoes with both hands and twirled them like baton sticks.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Go!” he shouted.
I shrieked as my bare feet touched the rough, warm asphalt. Peter could run faster, but he was pacing his steps with me and watching out for the cars moving around the parking lot for both of us. Once or twice he pulled me closer to him whenever a car got too close to us.
As we approached the car, Peter sped ahead and opened the car door for me. I laughed and slid inside. The rain hadn’t gotten too heavy yet but was enough to make my face, hair, and shoulders wet.
“That was fun!” Peter exclaimed, glancing at me.
I turned to him and nodded, drying my face with some Kleenex from my purse.
“No one knows when rain will fall in California,” I said, giggling.
I moved aside when Peter twisted around to reach something in the backseat. He pulled a navy blue jacket up to the front seat and offered it to me.
“What is it for?” I asked, half-smiling, looking at the jacket and at Peter. “I’m not cold.”
Peter bit his lower lip and cleared his throat before pointing to my chest.
I looked down and shrieked, grabbing the jacket from his hand to cover my front. We had run against the rain, so my front was soaked all the way through my light-colored blouse. Way too much of my chest area was well-highlighted for all to see. Feeling embarrassed, I turned away to look out the window while clenching the jacket against me as if my life depended on it.
“Don’t worry; no one saw,” consoled Peter as he managed the car through the parking lot.
“But you saw it,” I mumbled as the heat rushed to my cheeks. I really just wanted to get out of his car.
Peter remained quiet for a moment, focusing on the road as he drove us home. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, just remember what you’ve seen about me, and you won’t need to be worried, right?”
After a long pause, I turned to him and nodded slowly.
The rain came down harder as we entered the driveway at Pacific Hills.