I couldn’t shake off the warning from the girl the night before. It had loomed in my mind the whole night, interrupting my beauty sleep.
I was waiting for the coffee machine to brew me a cup of coffee when I heard my phone buzz on the kitchen counter. The screen showed that Peter was calling. At the same time, the soft ding from the coffee machine alerted that my coffee was ready.
“Hi, Peter!” I said as I brought the phone to my ear with one hand and set down my coffee cup on the countertop with the other.
“Hi, Roomie! Do you miss me?”
“Nah,” I chuckled.
Peter blew a raspberry at me. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be home Monday. Yes, the doctor said I can go back home. Finally!” he said, letting out his breath. “God, I can’t stand this place.”
“Why?” I asked, sipping my coffee slowly. “Don’t you get pampered while staying there? You have Marcus to take care of you, and maybe he assigns a masseur to come and give you a massage.”
“Huh! That old man!” Peter grunted. “He always said he cares about me, but then he gives me nothing but Jell-O each meal. I thought he was my buddy.”
I snickered. “If he gave you everything you wanted, you wouldn’t be healing so quickly, dude!”
Peter scoffed. “Don’t take his side. You should be on my side!”
I laughed at the grumble in his voice.
“Hey, someone will come to the apartment today and clean my bedroom. Is that OK?” Peter asked. His voice sounded unsure because he knew how I hated for strangers to come to my house.
“Oh, come on! Not again. Rule number thirteen!” I said, rolling my eyes.
“But my bedsheets need changing,” he protested.
“I’ll do it for you,” I said stubbornly.
Peter scoffed again. “I locked my room, and you don’t have the key. Besides, you aren’t a maid, you are my roommate,” he said.
I could imagine his expression at this moment. He sounded annoyed.
“OK, call Tom and let him change them for you,” I suggested, biting my lower lip to hold my laughter.
“Not Tom. He won’t do it for me.”
“But he is your boyfriend. Couldn’t he help you with that?” I said, starting to feel annoyed.
“He isn’t my—”
But I’d already heard him clearly. “He isn’t your what?” I asked, half-teasing, half-curious.
“Jesus, Rory. Why are you making things so hard?” Peter said, raising his voice. “Fine, I don’t want to argue with you anymore. Have a good day!” And he hung up.
I tsk-ed and put my phone down on the countertop. What an irritable person he was! But I was happy about seeing him again. The apartment was too quiet without him.