We finalized our selections over lunch, which Peter made because Peter was in the kitchen, and Peter in the kitchen meant food was happening whether anyone planned it or not. He made grilled cheese sandwiches with a surgeon’s precision, actually measuring the thickness of the bread before slathering it in precisely the same amount of butter on each side.
Because he’s Peter.
“Most people make grilled cheese because they’re hungry and just want to eat quickly,” Mia said.
“Hunger is not a justification for thermal inconsistency,” Dr. Loupier replied.
“Thermal inconsistency? Did you really just use the phrase ‘thermal inconsistency’ about a sandwich?” she asked, blinking rapidly.
“The phrase applies.”
“You’re insane.”
“The sandwich is perfect,” I said.
And the sandwichwasperfect. I ate it in four bites and considered asking for another one but didn’t because asking Peter for a second sandwich felt like it would cross a line that I couldn’t identify but that definitely existed somewhere in the territory between “roommate” and “person whose sandwiches I will think aboutlater.”
Which was weird.
And strangely heartwarming.
Mia ate hers in small, deliberate bites while looking between Peter and me with a bemused grin that told of shit-stirring to come.
“These are really good,” she told Peter.
“Thank you.”
“Benji says you’re a good cook.”
“Benji says a lot of things.”
“He says you leave him plates in the fridge with Post-it notes describing the contents.”
Peter looked at me.
I looked at my sandwich, which no longer existed because I’d eaten it, so I looked at the plate instead.
“I make extra when I cook,” Peter said. “It’s efficient.”
“Efficient. Huh,” Mia repeated in the exact same tone she’d used when I told her the twelve-minute shower timing was about acoustics.
“Okay,” I said, standing up. “Mia, don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You have plans,importantplans, plans that require you to leave this apartment immediately.”
“My plans are watching you eat grilled cheese and turn red.”
“I’m not turning red! I’m warm. It’s warm in here.Peter, is the thermostat up? The thermostat feels up.”
Peter, who had returned to the stove to make a third sandwich that no one had asked for but that I was absolutely going to eat, said, without turning around, “Thermostat’s the same as always.”
“Then it’s the ring lights. The ring lights are generating heat. It’s a ring light situation.”
Mia stood up, kissed me on the forehead, kissed Peter on the cheek (which produced a visible system error on his face), and collected her equipment.
“Upload the photos tonight,” she told me at the door. “I’ll build the campaign around them. The Beyoncé air photo leads, General Tso reaction as the second slide, and then the individual portraits. I want this posted by tomorrow morning, and I want it everywhere.”
