Sunday afternoon, Peter sent Marcus to clean his bedroom. He knew I wouldn’t be happy about yet another stranger entering my apartment, and since I’d met Marcus while visiting him, I couldn’t argue the point.
Marcus was an efficient person. I was amazed at how quickly he changed the bedsheets and cleaned Peter’s room. After he was done, I offered him something to drink, which he accepted gratefully.
“Thank you for letting Peter stay here,” said Marcus, gazing across the coffee table at me. “He couldn’t wait to get back home. I didn’t understand why every day he asked the doctor when he could go home. Now, I know the reason. This place feels like home.” His eyes scanned the kitchen and living room.
“Thank you,” I said, pressing my knees together while forcing a smile. “This place must be small compared to his home in England.”
Marcus nodded. “That’s true. This place is as small as his playroom when he was little.”
What? His playroom was as big as this apartment? I cleared my throat, clamping my agape mouth shut. The more I knew about Peter, the more he became a stranger to me! “No wonder he always makes a mess in the kitchen,” I said, half-joking.
Marcus’s eyebrows furrowed. “Peter, in the kitchen?” he asked, turning his body slightly toward me.
I nodded.
“What did he make? Boiled eggs?”
I chuckled. “Yes, that was his first attempt. And he burned them,” I said, shaking my head.
“Ah,” Marcus nodded, pressing his lips as if trying not to laugh.
“Then, he wanted to make smoothies but forgot to secure the blender’s lid. Fruit juice flew all over my kitchen,” I chuckled, remembering that moment. “The third one was the pancakes. He wasn’t patient enough to use a fork to whisk the egg, so he used a hand-mixer.”
That gray-haired man in a suit tried not to look surprised and even lifted his eyebrows to encourage me to continue.
“He turned it on at the highest power, splattering flour and eggs everywhere. After that, I forbade him to cook unless I’m around,” I said with a grin. “I bet he never cooks.”
Marcus seemed to consider this before saying, “Well, it must be unusual for you to see a man his age that can’t cook something simple like pancakes or boiled eggs. Peter did learn to boil eggs, though. And that was it. After that, he never stepped into the kitchen or showed any interest in cooking anymore. He never told me why. But”—Marcus tilted his head, his eyebrows pinched together in a frown—“listening to you, it seems to me he is interested in learning about cooking again. Hmm, it’s fascinating!”
He shook his head in amazement and then lifted his gaze, smiling. “I guess I have to leave now because my patient is waiting for me. Thanks for the refreshment, Miss Rory. It is a pleasure to talk to you, and I hope we can meet again,” he said, giving me a wink while rising from his seat.
I smiled at him. “Likewise, Marcus.”
I walked him to the front porch, and Marcus bowed slightly before turning toward the parking lot.
***
Though I’d wanted to be home when Peter arrived on Monday, my work had already been piling up, and I was overwhelmed. I’d gone into the office early and had to stay late. I hadn’t been sleeping well because each time I closed my eyes, Rowena’s face flashed behind my eyelids, and her condescending tone rang in my ears. So disturbing!
I was typing an email for Vy when my phone blinked. I’d been keeping it on silent mode since Rowena had complained about hearing too many buzzes lately. I looked down at my phone. Peter texted me.
Rory, I’m not going to be home today. Something happened in London, and I have to fly out tonight. See you in two weeks.
My heart sank. I rose from my seat and stole a glance at Rowena’s office to make sure she wouldn’t see me leaving my cubicle. Rowena was focused on her computer, munching chocolate chip cookies as usual.
I went outside the building and dialed Peter’s phone. “Come on…come on,” I mumbled, breathing faster as I waited to be connected.
“Hello?” Peter said.
“Peter, thank God you picked up. What happened?” I asked.
My eyes widened at the sound of a muffled cry.
“Hey, Roomie, can you tell me what happened?” I said softly.
“It’s Jane,” his voice croaked as he struggled to control his emotions. “Her third surgery didn’t go well. Rory, she is dying!” Then the dam broke, and he wept.
Peter! Carefree Peter, crying! “Oh, Peter! I’m so sorry. So, where are you now?” I asked. “When do you leave for London? From which airport?” What a dumb question—of course, he’d have to leave from LAX. I almost slapped my forehead.
Peter sniffed. “I’m still at the rehab facility. My flight is from LAX. British Airways at 7:30 PM. That’s the earliest flight I could get. How I wish to get a flight now,” he said ruefully.
“I hear you,” I said, my throat closed from the sudden news. “I’m so sorry, Peter.”
“Yeah.” Peter inhaled.
Neither of us said a word for several moments.
“Rory, could you come to LAX?” Peter said, breaking the silence first.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I just need someone to talk to.”
“I wish I could, Peter. But…I’m not sure if I can leave the office in time today. The earliest I could leave is at five, but by the time I arrive, you will already be boarding.”
“Ah, yeah…the traffic to LAX is always worse during rush hour.” Peter sighed.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. But Tom will be there, right?” I said quietly.
I could hear Peter huff on the other end.
“Hey, I have to pack my stuff, so I’ll see you in two weeks, maybe?” he said in a hurry.
“Yes, and I’m sorry about Jane,” I said.
Peter hung up.
I stared at my phone. Poor Peter!
***
The traffic to LAX was crowded. I drummed my fingers on the wheel as I noticed the time was already 5:45. I’d sneaked out of the office at 4:50 while Rowena was in a meeting with Desiree, hoping to get ahead of rush hour traffic.
After driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic for almost two hours, I finally parked in the Tom Brady International Airport’s parking lot. I didn’t know why I was driving to LAX, knowing Peter would be boarding by the time I got there.
The dashboard clock read five to seven. I ran across the parking lot to the Tom Brady Airport among people who were about to travel. They were steering an airport cart with piles of their luggage toward the airline’s ticketing counters. I noticed a grandma busy cooing a crying little girl as I passed the counters, heading toward the TSA passenger screening area. I was feeling pretty foolish for doing this. Then I heard the first boarding announcement for British Airways to London. Peter’s flight would leave in thirty minutes, so he was probably boarding.
Not sure why, I kept looking at the queue of people on the second floor, taking their turn through the last security checkpoint. Five more minutes, and if I didn’t see him, I would leave. Then I spotted a tall guy with a blue backpack, wearing a Popeye’s Fried Chicken hat like the one Peter had bought from eBay. He was weird and didn’t care when I teased him that no one would buy such a thing for even a dollar, and he’d paid $11.
“Peter!” I called out, waving my hands in the air. “Peter!”
But the guy didn’t budge. Then I doubted it was Peter, but maybe another eccentric guy with a similar hat. But I had to make sure. With my hands, I cupped my mouth and screamed louder. “Peter! … Peter!”
From the corner of my eye, I saw a security guard approaching me.
“Excuse me, Miss, is there anything I can help you with?” he said firmly, his hands perched on his belt. At the sight of my desperate expression, his face softened.
“My friend is up there. I got here as fast as I could, but I’m going to miss seeing him before he flies to London. Do you see the guy with the orange hat up there?” I said, pointing to the second floor while glancing at his name tag. Tom Bass. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make a scene, but I have to see him.” I put my hand over my head, glancing up again.
“Well, instead of screaming like that, why don’t you call him from your cell phone?” he suggested.
His words clicked in my mind. Why didn’t I think of that?
“That’s right! Thank you!” I said. Taking out my phone, I dialed his number.
Just one ring and he picked up.
“Rory? Is everything OK? Why is it so noisy?” he asked while stepping out of the queue, giving his place to a middle-aged couple.
“No, yes…everything is OK,” I said, still gazing up. I didn’t want to tell him that I was looking at him while we talked. I was afraid if I faced him, he would see my feelings, and our relationship would change. No. I wouldn’t let it happen. “Are you already boarding?”
“My flight was delayed to 8:30, but they just gave the boarding announcement,” he answered, leaning his back against the railing.
“That’s good that you are already at your gate,” I said, fixing my eyes on him.
“Not yet. I’m still at the security checkpoint.”
“Why aren’t you at the gate yet?” My breath stopped. Was he waiting for me?
“Well,” Peter finally said after a long moment. “I hoped…” He sighed. “Well, I don’t know what I hoped, but…”
“I see,” I said, not sure why I responded like that. “Have a safe flight, Peter. Let me know when you arrive in London.”
“Yeah, sure,” he answered.
There was silence on the other end.
“See you in two weeks,” I said, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“Bye, Peter. And I’m so sorry about Jane,” I said, forcing a smile.
Peter nodded and sighed. “Take care, Roomie. And don’t forget to bolt the door, OK?” he said. In the meantime, the airport intercom announced boarding for Japan Airlines to Singapore.
“Don’t worry, I won’t forget. Bye now,” I said quietly, biting my lower lip and sighing before I pressed the button to hang up.
Peter looked at the phone and then put it back in his jacket. He didn’t move for a few seconds, then strode back into line.
I exhaled and turned to the exit. A golf cart picking up an elderly couple beeped, startling me. The driver smiled and signaled for me to continue. Lifting my hand to thank him, I ran toward the exit. By the time I reached the automatic sliding doors, I thought I heard my name twice but figured I must have misheard or they were calling out to someone else.
***
Getting in and out of LAX was tough. It took me twenty minutes to get out of the parking structure and onto Sepulveda Boulevard. I felt relieved as I hit the I-105 East ramp and found that the traffic wasn’t bad after that.
I just passed the sign for the I-405 South freeway when my phone rang. My heart hammered in my chest as I saw it was Peter calling!
I swallowed before pressing the button on my steering wheel. “Hi, Peter,” I said, trying to control my voice. “Are you already at the gate?”
“Hi, Roomie. Yes, I am,” Peter said. “Are you at home?”
“Hmm, no. I’m…on my way back from the grocery store. I needed some fruits,” I lied, biting my lip. “What’s up?”
“Ah, I just wanted to check if you were back from wherever you were.”
“I see, thanks!”
“Don’t mention it.”
And then neither of us said anything. I could hear his breathing on the other end.
“Hey, Roomie,” Peter finally said.
“Yes?”
“I need a favor,” he said hesitantly.
“Sure.”
“Could we add one ground rule?” he asked.
“Dude, did you really call me for this?” I scoffed. “Couldn’t you text me later or wait until you returned from London?”
“Hmm, I’m afraid I’ll forget. But would you mind?” He sounded urgent.
“Of course not. So tell me what this is all about?”
“Rule number fifteen: Forgive each other for any mistakes made intentionally or unintentionally. Could you add it to our ground rules?” Peter said.
“Hmm, I’m suspicious now. Are you planning on doing something illegal here?” I said jokingly.
Peter gave a chuckle.
“All right. I’ll add it later.”
“Thank you, Rory.”
In the meantime, I could hear the last boarding announcement in the background.
“Hey, got to go. See you in two weeks?” he said.
“Do you want me to pick you up?” I offered.
“Thanks, Roomie, but I don’t know when I’ll return.”
That makes sense. “OK, once you are sure, let me know,” I said.
“Bye, Rory.”
“Bye, Peter.”