Chapter Sixty-Two
Sixty-Two
WE END UP ORDERING room service again and Peter takes another photo, an artsy black-and-white pic of the two of us surrounded by all the food (caption: Making Eloise proud), but this time no one really eats anything. This post is going to be the last thing on his timeline. Forever.
The numbers are getting too low. We’re running out of time.
So this is how it’s going to be, then. Some complication of his Huntington’s. A seizure. Or an aneurysm like Ms. Jegstrup. Some traitorous thing in his body is going to steal him away.
Peter takes my hand, rubbing circles on my palm. “I think … I think I have to see my parents again,” he says, carefully.
Of course. Of course he has to see them again. It was stupid and selfish of me to think I could keep him all to myself. But there’s not much time left. And I don’t want him to go.
“I sent them a text a little while ago,” he says. “I told them where I was.”
“You told them you were in a hotel room with me?”
“Yeah,” he says. “They don’t really get what’s going on. And I don’t really want to tell them. But I need to see them in person one more time. They’re going to catch a train in. I just … I need them to know I love them. And that I didn’t leave them, you know?”
I nod, fire burning the back of my throat. “I understand.”
Peter calls down to the concierge to let them know his parents will be coming. He doesn’t want them to have to wait around checking room numbers and getting permission to come up. He doesn’t have time for that.
Almost two hours later the phone rings and Peter picks it up. I can hear a muffled voice on the other end telling him his dad is at the front desk.
“Yeah. Okay. You can send them up. Thank you.”
00:35:01
There’s a soft knock on the door. Peter turns to me and we both take a deep breath.
How the hell am I going to explain this situation to his parents without actually explaining it?
His mother is going to hate me. But at the same time, I feel this immense relief for Peter.
They won’t have a ton of time, but they’re going to be here. He’s going to get to say goodbye.
Peter leaves the room to open the door and I get up and try to make the bed really quick so it doesn’t seem like Peter and I have been lying in it and making out for hours.
I hear Peter unlatch the door and then a man’s voice. “Is Sydney here?”
My heart stops. No.
No.
“Can I help you?” Peter asks.
No.
Oh my god. No.
I drop the pillow I’m holding and move in slow motion out of the bedroom.
“Yeah, I was just looking for …” He looks over Peter’s shoulder. “Sydney. There you are.”
“Oh, sorry.” Peter turns to me. “Sydney, is this your dad?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“No,” he says with an easy smile. “I’m Charles.”