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A knock at the door woke me from my reverie.
“Come in,” I said.
A lady dressed in a maid's uniform entered and brought me a phone on a tray.
“If you wish anything else, like tea or coffee, I will gladly bring it to you,” she said with a gentle voice.
“No, thank you. Maybe later,” I said as she excused herself.
I unlocked the phone and realized I didn’t have my parents’ phone numbers. When I scrolled through the contacts, they were already there. As per usual, the man thought of everything. I dialed my dad’s number, and when I heard a raspy voice, I almost burst out crying. “Dad, it’s me, Petra.”
“Oh, hi,dovlecel. How’s Romania treating you?”
“Good. I’m having a lot of fun. How are you? How is Mom? I haven’t spoken in so many––I mean, I missed you both.”
“We missed you more when you left for college, but I’m glad you’re returning the favor now,” he said and chuckled.
“Mom’s doing great. She got the summer off, so she’s forcing me to go with her on several Mount Rainier trails. As if she hasn’t seen that dang mountain a thousand times.”
“What about you? Did you sell any cars recently?” I asked, holding my breath in excitement.
“Not much, but summer has just begun. I’m sure it’ll get better,” he said. Then I heard Mom’s voice. “Hey Sharon, it’s Petra calling from Romania,” Dad yelled so loud my ear drum took a hit.
“Petra, sweety. How are you? Did you have any problems finding the hotel? Are you eating well? How’s the weather?” Mom asked anxiously.
“I’m good. The weather’s great. I did find the hotel, and I’m well taken care of,” I said.
“Who’s taking care of you?” my ever so quick-witted mom asked. “Did you find someone there?”
“Um, I guess you could say that,” I said.
“Stop beating around the bush. Who is he?” she asked. The woman had a talent, and that was to decipher her daughter’s thoughts in less than a minute.
I exhaled deeply and said, “His name is Gabriel. He’s from Târgovi?te.”
“A Romanian man? Interesting. Were we the inspiration for your choice?”
“There were several factors, Mom,” I said, already embarrassed by her incessant questions.
“Let me put you on speaker. Is he handsome? Does he have a job? When is he able to come to America?”
“Mom,” I retorted in frustration.
“Come on. This is the first boy my daughter has ever mentioned, and what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and keep my mouth shut?”
“Does Gabriel like fishing?” my dad asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said, questioning why I missed my parents so much in the first place.
“Okay, just be careful. Make sure he’s a nice guy first,” Mom said.
“I already made sure of that,” I said, remembering our two years of marriage. But how was I to explain that to them?
“Tell him I’ll fly over there and beat him up if he dares to hurt you. I know the streets of Bra?ov like the back of my hand,” he said.
“Don’t get so animated, or your blood pressure will go up,” Mom said.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m fine. He’s fine (‘in more ways than I could say’). Relax and enjoy your summer vacation, Mom. And Dad, I hope you get a few more sales by the end of the month.”
