I wasn’t sure if I should’ve kissed him right away, so I just got his cheek. All of my doubt had gone away as soon as he pulled me into a hug. Peter was there, and Peter would be willing to hear what I have to say.
Peter has both of my hands in his as he pulls me towards the house. I’m taken aback by how excited he is. Eric and Michelle follow behind, and we’re all careful to wipe our muddy shoes off before going inside.
“Gram, meet some of my friends!” Peter calls through the house, releasing one of my hands. I glance around the area. It’s not too big, not too small. There are two couches in the living room, surrounding a coffee table, yet no television. A table covered with a cloth reside in the dining room, six chairs around the sides. Then we approach the kitchen; it’s a beautiful room with those durable counters and a pale yellow color scheme.
A joyful looking woman with long, gray hair drapes a rag over the divider in the sink and turns to face us. A smile covers her face and her eyes squint so much they appear to be closed.
“You must be Ryleigh!” She says, after glancing at or hands. Peter’s grandmother rushes over and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my free hand around her back as she whispers in my ear. “Don’t you dare break my boy’s heart.”
“I won’t,” I whisper back, hoping with all of my heart that it’s true.
“Michelle and Eric, I’m assuming?” She says to the two awkwardly watching from a distance. She hugs Michelle, then pats Eric’s shoulder. “You three can call me Fran!”
“Thank you, Fran, for letting us in,” I say, leaning against Peter and sighing.
“Dear, you guys must have driven ten hours! And don’t think I’m letting you drive home tonight.”
“It was more like nine and three quarters,” I mumble. Peter smiles down at me.
“So they can stay the night?” He asks, not looking up.
“Of course! Let me show you the spare bedroom!”
Fran whisks the three of us away and down a hallway. She points out the bathroom, then opens a door.
“This is Peter’s room. Eric, you can sleep in here.” As much as I wanted to say something, I refrain. Plus, I still want Peter and Eric to become good friends. “And for the lovely young ladies, here is the guest room.”
The guest room looks very clean, like the sheets were just washed. A queen sized bed sits in the middle of the room, fitted with white sheets, pillows, and a fluffy comforter. It looks so much more comfortable than the seats of the car.
“We should go get our bags,” I say, glancing at Michelle. She nods, then we grab Eric and walk back out to the car.
Peter reappears, just in time to take Michelle’s suitcase from her. He mouths at me that we need to talk, then goes back inside. Oh, how badly I need to talk to Peter also. We just have to get alone, which didn't seem too hard, at first.
“Let me make you all some breakfast!” Fran says, bending down to pull a pan out from a drawer. I’m not really hungry, which I inform her of.
“Ryleigh, since you don’t need breakfast, would you mind helping me with something in the shed?” Peter offers.
“Nonsense! If you need help, take the handsome, strong looking boy right next to you!” His grandmother interjects.
“Grandma, it doesn’t require much strength…”
“Fran, it’s alright. The strong looking boy looks a bit hungry,” I comment. Then, before she can respond, Peter pulls me out the back door.
We’re silent on the short walk to a small shed next to a dock. The lake water makes small waves from the wind. I had taken my sweater off earlier because I was warm, but with the breeze, it’s a bit chilly.
It takes not a minute for Peter to remove the lock and open the door. “It gets dark, be careful,” he says, letting the door shut once we were inside.
I reach my hand out to find him again. I touch his cheek, then slide my hand down to his shoulder and his arm and finally, his hand.
“Why’d you come?” He asks, as if it didn’t have the most obvious answer.
“You.” Short, but sweet.
“I’m done with the whole leading both of us on thing. It’s either me or Eric. I left so the choice would be easier for you.” There’s pain in his voice that breaks my heart.
“Well, you were right.”
“Oh… Should we go back inside?” He pulls his hand from my mine.
“No. I didn’t mean that I picked Eric. I picked you. You’re the one who helped me get over Simon the most. And I was rarely upset when I was with you. You made it easy. Eric’s leaving, anyway. It makes perfect sense that I want you.” I stop, unsure of what else to say.
“What are we going to do?” Peter asks after a minute of silence.
“I was hoping that you'd come back, but I see how happy your grandmother is with you around, and how happy you are to walk around freely. I don’t want you to give that up for me. Especially after I strung you along for months.”
“You got that last part right,” he says, laughing. “But here’s a trick question for you. What’s more important to me, your happiness or mine?”
“Uhh… Hint please?”
“You being happy makes me happy. If you plan on living in Sourdough for the next few years, consider me already there. I’ll just have to break the news to my grandma. I haven’t even been here for a week!”
“Peter, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Ryleigh. But just because you picked me doesn’t mean you get me as easily as you may wish.”
Peter kisses my chin. Giggling, I say, “You missed! I’m not that short.”
This time, he didn’t miss. And it felt pretty darn good to know that I have Peter, and only Peter. We didn’t leave the shed for what felt like an hour. My guess wasn’t far off, since Michelle and Eric were done eating when we came back inside.
Peter and Eric nod at each other as I sit down next to Michelle. I don’t know what it means, but I think they’re getting along, at least.
“Well, the house is clean, and I don’t think there are any chores left to do, aside from groceries. After you pick up some food, you four can do whatever you please, as long as you stay out of trouble,” Fran says, laying a towel across the counter to dry.
“Need to add anything to the list?” Peter asks, tearing off the top sheet of a notepad magnetically attached to the fridge. A little pencil sits on top of the notepad, almost falling.
“Just make sure apples are on there, since I’m making pie later. Thank you, Peter,” Fran replies, kissing his cheek and sending him in the direction of the door to the garage. We follow behind, not bothering to grab phones or sweaters. Peter grabs his keys and a card, although I don’t know if it’s credit or debit.
Peter’s stick shift car sits in the garage. Michelle calls shotgun, her defense being that she had to ride in the back the entire way here. Eric and I climb in back with no argument.
This is the second time I’ve ridden in a vehicle while Peter drives. Now, it’s broad daylight. The clock on the dash read 10:17, meaning we’ve been at the house for almost two hours.
“You two talk?” Eric asks quietly. Michelle doesn’t seem to hear, since she is occupied with the radio, trying to find a local station with good music.
I nod. “It didn’t go perfectly, but Peter kissed me, so chances are we’re good. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re happy, Ry, and that’s what matters. Which reminds me, I have a surprise for you all. Wait until we’re all together and not singing along to the radio.” Eric and I laugh, his last comment referring to Michelle. She found a station playing Taylor Swift, and is now jamming out to Love Story.
I join in, belting out the chorus with amazing pitch. Truth be told, I only sound good in this song because I’ve sung it so many times I could do it in my sleep. When it comes to a song I’m unfamiliar with, that’s when it gets ugly.
“But I got tired of waiting, wondering if you were ever coming around. My faith in you was fading, when I met you on the outskirts of town,” Michelle and I sing. Peter and Eric are both laughing. The car pulls into a parking lot in front of the building which must be the grocery store, since Peter hops out.
We trudge behind Peter. It strikes me as odd how he feels perfectly comfortable strutting up to a public place, after spending years hiding from everyone. He seems confident, as if he’s done this everyday of his life.
“Peter,” I whisper in his ear, “tomorrow is Eric’s birthday. Can we get him something?”
For a second I thought he was just going to ignore it. He kept walking as if I had never leaned over and told him. But then, he began to divide the list.
“Eric, Ryleigh, can you guys pick up fruits?” He proceeds to list off all of the fruits he wants us to pick up. He tells us that him and Michelle will pick up bread and a few other things, then meet in front for the check out.
I hope he has everything figured out. It won’t take us very long to go to the back of the store, grab everything we need, and head back up front. Peter’s a smart guy; I shouldn’t worry. Instead, I should take advantage of being alone with Eric to talk to him.
“So, are you and Peter friends now?” I ask. Real subtle, Ryleigh. I mentally pound my forehead with my fist.
“Yeah, actually. Turns out it’s not so bad seeing you and him together. I’m still happy,” he replies, facing forward the entire time. “No offense, dating you was still great, but I don’t know. Maybe when I leave for college, I’ll meet a nice girl who just wants me.”
“I really hope so. I’m glad you’re doing good, no offense taken. Gosh, this could’ve went so terribly. I was preparing myself for the worst.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? That you think I’d be balled up in a puddle of tears because you broke my heart?”
“To be fair, you did say something offensive about me just a second ago.”
“Good thing we both have thick skin,” Eric replies, grinning. I smile back.
It doesn’t take long to gather what we were told, balancing everything in our elbows and hands. I joke about how we should’ve gotten a basket, and Eric laughs. When we make it to the front of the store, quite some time later, due to me pointing out every new and interesting thing, Michelle is waiting in line with a cart full of stuff.
“Where’s Peter?” Eric asks. He sets the apples down inside the cart.
Michelle replies instantly. “He went to the car to get those reusable bags, since we forgot to grab them before coming in.” I’m thankful for the great excuse. It makes perfect sense, and Peter did come back in with cloth bags that he handed to the lady checking out our purchases.
At the end, Peter uses the card he took before we left. The total rings up a fair bit under a hundred dollars, which seems fair, since there’s enough food to last a week for the five of us, Peter’s grandmother included.
Michelle was only allowed to carry one bag to the car. I take one for each hand, while Peter and Eric easily strut out with three or four. One of my bags had a jug of milk in it, otherwise I’d totally take that other bag from Michelle.
I laugh to myself. Michelle would’ve yelled and made us give her another bag, but now she’s actually starting to let people take care of things for her. She’s due in just under three months, so she is finally hitting the third trimester of pregnancy.
“Here, Eric, just set your bags down next to me. Can you get the keys from the front seat and unlock the car?” So that’s how Peter planned to keep Eric from looking in the trunk and seeing whatever they got him, whether it be a cake or cake mix or something.
As soon as he could, Peter opens the trunk and shoves his bags around a white frosting covered cake. I smile. Eric’s finally going to be eighteen!
Then I’ll be the only minor left. I’ll just have to wait five more months, then I’ll be an adult. I’m perfectly okay with that, too.
We all climb back in the car and drive back to Peter’s grandmother’s house. It’s silent again, aside from the radio. No one sings, since the song currently on is unfamiliar to me, at least. I assume they don’t know it, either.
When we get back to the house, Peter is sly to let Eric take bags first, then give Michelle the cake once he’s inside. She walks around to the back door, and I’m guessing she sneaks in when he comes back for more. I carry a bag in and begin putting things away.
It takes me a while to find the snack cabinet, but when I do, I load Cheez-Its, animal crackers, chips, and tons of other food. It makes me curious; does Fran eat a ton of junk food?
The easiest thing to put away was the milk, since there was only one shelf in the fridge tall enough for it to fit on. Then I put the fruit in the drawer that had a few peaches left in it. I didn’t see where Michelle put the cake, but it’s probably somewhere Eric is highly unlikely to look.
Fran emerged from a room down the hallway. She was carrying a laundry basket full of soft, clean-looking clothes. She set it next to the couch to help us fold down the bags and put them away. Then I offer to help her fold the clothes.
“Sure, dear! If you’re up for it,” Fran replies, patting my shoulder.
“Gram, no, it’s my laundry. She doesn’t need to fold it,” Peter intervenes.
“And I do?”
His voice dropped low, but I could still hear him mutter something about me seeing his underwear. I giggle and bite my thumb nail. Without waiting for any other instruction, I pick up a t-shirt and fold it the way my parents taught me to.
“Thanks, Leigh, but you don’t have to,” Peter says. He takes the jeans I held in my hands.
“Leigh? I like it,” I reply, grinning and standing on my tip toes to kiss his cheek. He drops the jeans and takes my hand.
“I’ll finish the job,” Peter’s grandmother says, giving us a shove out of the room.
We walk down the hallway to the bedrooms. Eric and Michelle are sitting on the bed of the guest room, chatting along. They don’t pause when we settle ourselves next to them.
“Yeah, it’s a bit sad that I’ll be away from my family tomorrow,” Eric adds, slyly. Michelle pretends to take no notice, saying how she’ll miss being away from her parents too and how we can probably go home the day after tomorrow, on Wednesday.
“That poses a big question, though. Peter, are you coming home with us?” Michelle asks. We all look at him.
“No,” he says softly.
“But-” I try.
“Someone has to drive my car home, so I’ll probably just drive alongside you all.”
I sigh in relief. Peter’s really coming back to Sourdough! I hug him and lean against his body. “What about your grandmother? Is she going to be alright with you leaving?”
“She might be upset at first, but she's been on her own for years. I think she even got a boyfriend, but told him not to come around since I'm here.”
“I'm so happy,” I say, hiding my face on his arm. Am amazing smell fills my nose. “Have you been wearing ,cologne?”
“Yes ma'am. Used to belong to my granddad. Doesn't it just reek of World War Two?”
“I love it,” I whisper.
“It is a little weird that you're sticking your face in my neck,” Peter adds, laughing.
“Please, you've done the same to me.”
Eric clears his throat. I sit up straight to listen to what he's going to say. “I have a surprise for you all.”
“What is it?” Michelle asks, separating her back from the big pillow behind her.
“I got accepted on a football scholarship to the University of Minnesota.”
“That's great!” The three of us cheer in unison. Michelle and I hug him while Peter shakes his hand.
“The only thing is, it's so far from home. I'd probably only visit every other month.”
“We could always videochat! Or we can come to you, I've never been to the Mall of America,” Michelle replies, sympathetically.
“I'm glad you're all okay with it. The only thing is, tuition is expensive, so I won't be able to help much with the twins.”
“Don't worry so much. Leigh has a job, I've got savings and I can get a job, and Michelle can work while one of us or their grandparents care for them,” Peter replies.
“Alright, when did you two become best friends?” I ask, frowning.
“Who said we never liked each other?”
“If I recall, you left because he wanted to beat you up and you didn't want me to watch.”
“Hey, one punch does not mean beating up,” Eric interjects.
“Either way, what happened.”
“We just kind of made peace with the situation. Eric realized he'd have tons over girls fawning over him as soon as he goes to play ball, and I've been living under a rock the majority of my life, so it didn't make sense to fight anymore. We matured.”
“Good.”
“Peter, does your grandma have any books for kids?” Michelle asks.
“Yeah, there are a few she keeps in my room. I'll go and get them.”
Peter releases my hand and slides off the bed. When he comes back, Eric takes them and starts reading one to Michelle's stomach. Peter and I silently walk out of the room.
“Here, “ he says, stepping aside so I can go into his room first. We sit down on the twin bed and look at each other.
“You know, your name means rock. I never understood it until now.”
“What is there to understand?”
“It fits you.”
“I'm not that muscular,” he replies, laughing hard enough that his shoulders shake.
“Not physically. It means that you're something to latch onto. It's like facing the storm, but knowing you're going to make it because you've got something holding you down from the wind. A paperweight.”
“That's some deep stuff. What's your name mean?”
“Descendant of Roghallach,” I mumble.
“I have no idea what that means. But it doesn't matter. I'm your rock, and you're my everything.”
3/26/16
Happy early Easter! Here's a small blurb on the cities used in this story:
Sourdough, Montana, is an actual city, however it is uninhabited. It is used in this story purely for the fact that it is tiny and near a few small towns. Massadona, Colorado, is also a real city, however there is a population of about 2,500 people. The time it takes to travel between the two cities, according to Google Maps, is approximately ten hours.