I picked up my car from a different cashier at the carwash than I’d left it with. She was a big and tall lady named Olivia with a contagious smile who asked for the claim ticket for my car.
“Here is your car key, Miss,” she chirped as she handed me the key. “The car smells much better now. And maybe next time don’t throw up in the car, because that is one of the odors that are really hard to get rid of.”
She must think I’m a drunk. “It wasn’t me, and that person won’t have the opportunity to do it again. Thanks, Olivia,” I said with a nod.
“Have a good evening, Miss!”
My car did smell better. No more vomit. But the image of Peter drunk couldn’t be erased easily. I’d never seen him drink like that while he lived with me. When I’d brought home a bottle of wine I’d gotten free from work, he didn’t even touch it. Then I remembered Tom say Peter hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol in the last three years. Why did you drink like there would be no tomorrow last night, Peter?
As I was driving to my assigned parking spot, I noticed someone standing in front of my apartment. I frowned upon recognizing the figure was Peter. What was he doing there? Peter gave a thin smile as I passed him.
I parked and saw Peter walking toward me as I got out of my car. I considered pretending to get a phone call or something just to buy a few moments to think before I had to deal with him.
“Hi!” he greeted me with a bashful smile as I reached the sidewalk.
“Why are you here, Peter?” I frowned.
Peter swallowed and rubbed the back of his head. “Tom told me about your request, and I’ll honor it. But I came here to thank you for helping me,” he said, gazing at me ruefully. “Please let me pay for the carwash.”
“I’d told you don’t worry about that,” I said flatly.
Peter looked down, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked like a boy caught red-handed doing something terrible. There was no confidence or authority in his voice like I’d heard when he gave the speech. If I were not upset, I would have teased him.
“Go home, Peter,” I sighed, pointing at the entrance with my head.
He gave me a hurt look. “I’ll go home, but do me a favor. Don’t go out with Jason anymore,” he said.
I thumped my foot on the concrete. “You’ve crossed the line, Peter!” I shouted, pointing at him. “You have no right to tell me with whom I can go out.”
“But he is not who you think he is,” he argued. His neck turned red. “At least let me protect you, as my ex-roommate. Please?”
“If you wanted to protect me, you shouldn’t have posted all those nasty pictures!” I fumed, stomping my foot on the ground again before stomping toward my apartment.
“Those aren’t my pictures!”
Peter’s voice sounded desperate. But I ignored him. As I neared the front door, I heard him slam his car door. His car shrieked as he drove angrily out of the parking lot.