“Was it some sort of noctalis meeting?”
“Sort of. He had to ask him something.” It sounds really dumb out loud.
“I think I need some time to think about it. I'll probably have more questions.” Her hands inch toward the notepad that sits on her nightstand. I have an identical pad in my own room. I hadn't used it in a while. Maybe it would help Peter and I figure things out. Or help the case for me becoming a noctalis.
“Sure. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I'm fine. Looks like our day got kind of hijacked.” She fingers the edge of the notepad.
I give her a swift one-arm hug. “We'll do it again soon. I promise.”
“Okay, baby.” She looks back out the window and I can tell she wants to be alone. I close the door softly and go back upstairs to Peter. He's also staring out my window. He looks so good.
“How is she?” he says without looking away from the window. They're so much alike sometimes.
“I think she's coming to terms with it. I did. Tex did. I don't see why she should be any different.” He's trying to distract me.
“I'm not giving up.” I prop my chin on his chest, tipping my head back so I can stare at him.
“I know. I am hoping I can find something that will change your mind.”
I take a deep breath.
“If you want to go for a little bit you can. I'm fine now.” Oh this is such a lie.
“I cannot leave you.” Well that's good because I don't want him to anyway. At least we're on the same page with that.
“You can. I'll be fine. I need to start making dinner anyway. Oh god, the laundry.” I slap my forehead. With everything else, I'm pretty sure we'd left a wet load in the washer.
He thinks for a moment. “I could help you.”
“You know how to do laundry?” This is the first I've heard of it.
He blinks. “You could teach me.”
“Okaayyy.” It sounds like one of the last things he'd want to do, but he attempts a smile and kisses my forehead. The smile's not great, but not bad either.
We go downstairs and find that, yes, there is a load of wet laundry in the washer. I move it over to the dryer as Peter watches like I'm splitting atoms or creating a Van Gogh replica.
“What do you do when your clothes get dirty?” I've always wondered, but felt rude asking.
Blink.
“Get new clothes.”
“Where?” Somehow I can't picture Peter walking into the Gap and coming out with a polo shirt and khakis.
“I steal them.”
“Oh. You should let me buy some for you. I don't feel right about you stealing.”
“I leave them something in return.”
Okay, now my curiosity is piqued. “Like what?”
“Old coins.”
“I guess that's one way of doing it. If you want, I could sell some of the coins for you. Or I could just buy clothes for you. I have plenty of money.” Another white lie. But if Peter needed money for clothes, I'd definitely spot him a couple hundred bucks.
“I cannot take blood and money from you.” What's mine is his.
“I'll give you both those things and you know it.” I start piling more clothes into the washer. Dear god, please let there be no underwear. I don't care so much about Peter seeing my clean underwear, but dirty is another matter. It's way too intimate. I decide to drop the money issue, for now.
“So you put in enough to fill up the machine. You have to put the heavy things like jeans spaced out, so they don't all get to one spot and stop it from spinning.” He listens as if I'm describing the most fascinating thing ever. I let him pour the detergent in and crank the dial. The machine guns on. It's really old. Although, not as old as Peter.
“That's it,” I say, flourishing my hands.
“That was not very hard.” He sounds disappointed.
“Yeah, but when you have to do it all the time, it's a pain in the ass.” I have a crazy thought. Well, not so crazy. If Peter wants to help me out with stuff, I'm not going to stop him. Especially if he wants to do dishes. Or clean the lint trap in the dryer. Or a million other little chores that don't get done anymore. I ask him if he's game.
“Of course.” As if he was waiting for me to ask. How could I not love him?
It seems crazy to be doing little mundane tasks after what happened this morning. But what else are we going to do? This stuff needs to be done, and I could use a hand to do it. I ask him once again if he's okay with it and all I get is a blink. Good enough for me.
I show him a sorts of things like changing lightbulbs and the wonders of Clorox wipes. He takes it all in, and I can tell he's paying attention.
“I'm not totally boring you, am I? I know this isn't riveting stuff.” I'd just shown him the amaziosity of the microwave.
“Anything human is interesting to me.” I find that impossible to believe. Vomiting is not interesting. Neither is doing taxes.
“If you say so.”
Jamie calls me during his study hall.
“Hey you.”
“Hey, Ave. I just wanted to see if you were okay.” My stomach clenches with guilt. A rumble outside makes me look up. It sounds just like...
“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” He hangs up and I rush to the door. And remember that Peter is here. Crap. But he's already ahead of me.
“I will be on the roof.”
“You don't have to leave.” Thinking about him being on the roof makes me feel like I'm going to die all over again.
“You need to be with your friend. I am right here. I will not leave. If you need me, I will know.” He takes my hands and presses a kiss to my hair. And then he tugs away and is up the stairs. Jamie knocks on the door. I glance from the stairs to the door. But I'd let Jamie down so many times. Suck it up, Ava.
I answer the door, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. His own face beams, and I notice he's got a shopping bag on one arm and my homework tucked under the other.
“Jamie.”
“How are you feeling?” I step aside so he can come in. His smell slices through the air.
“Why don't we go outside? I could use a little sunshine.” And fresh air. Fresh non-blood-scented air.
“Are you sure? I don't want you to get sicker.”
“I'm fine,” I say, yanking his arm out the door. He's too much of a gentleman not to follow my orders. He drops the bag and homework before I tug him toward my mother's flower beds. The tulips are just starting to peek their little heads out of the ground. I reach down and brush a leaf off one poor little bud. I'd have to come out this weekend and do some work with Mom.