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Peter responds, gesturing for me to leave my bags by the door, and I follow him down two flights of stairs.
We enter a kitchen, which is cozy and white, and there’s an older woman bending over and peering into the oven. His mother, I guess. She and Peter converse for a minute before she straightens up and wraps him in a hug.
When she pulls back, they’re still talking in Swiss-German, her eyes flicking back and forth from him to me. Her face is open and warm, as opposed to Peter, who looks nervous and is trying not to show it.
“Kara, this is my mother, Nora. Mami, this is Kara.”
Nora offers her hand for a shake, which I take.
“Thank you for having me. I know it’s a big inconvenience over the holidays to house a stranger.”
Peter’s mom puts her hands on her hips. She’s much shorter than Peter and soft, with graying blonde hair and reading glasses on her nose. She peers over them at me. “Well, you agreed to come here even though there are plenty of hotels in Baden. We can always toss you into one of them if we need to.” A quick smile and a twinkle in her eye tells me she’s kidding. “We’re happy to have you.”
Her tone changes to instructional, but they are in Swiss-German. I expect it’s something like “show her to her room,” but then Peter responds, and there’s some back and forth. Next thing I know, Peter’s turning around and heading out the door, I assume to get the rest of the luggage.
“Come on,” his mom says. “Let’s get your bags downstairs.”
I follow her back to my luggage. She mutters something under her breath and then says to me, “You don’t travel light.”
“It was a work trip,” I explain. I grab the garment bags before glancing out the window in time to see Peter pull away from the curb. “Wait. Where’s he going?”
She grabs my carry-on bag and tromps down the stairs. “To pick up his grandmother.”
Okay then. I’m alone with his mother.
It takes a few trips, but we get my luggage down the stairs and into the guest room. The bottom floor is small, barely a hallway with two closed doors, the bedroom I’m staying in, and an open door through which I can see a sink and toilet.
“Get settled in,” Nora says to me. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Let me know if you need anything. It’s not a hotel, but hopefully, it’ll do.”
I stand in the room after she leaves, looking around. There’s a bed with a striped duvet on it and two pillows. It’s not a single, but it’s not a queen, either.
The space is a little utilitarian—definitely a guest room—but there are photos on the walls, which I wander over to look at. There are a few photos of Peter, one of him in a suit I picked out for him with his mom on his arm and a stiff smile on his face. Then him, even younger, in various family configurations, including a photo of the whole family—Nora and an older gentleman who must be Peter’s dad, a woman with short hair and a sensible outfit who has the same eyes and must be his sister, a man with olive skin next to her, and the two kids, one an infant in their dad’s arms, and the other about five with dark hair wearing shorts and a T-shirt.
Everyone’s dressed casually and smiling happily—well, I guess what passes for happily with Peter.
There aren’t any more recent pictures of the kids or Peter, so I open the closet door and peek inside. It’s empty save for a few boxes, so I hang the garment bags up and tuck the stuff I won’t need over the next few days into the closet and out of the way.
Noises drift up from downstairs, the soft thumps of cabinets opening and closing and the water running: Nora working in the kitchen.
I sit on the bed and pull out my phone.
Kara
So...I’m at Peter’s parents’ house...
Clara
Oh no! Did your flight get canceled?
Kara
Yeah.
What do you know about his family?
Clara
Not much. I met his mom once. What’s their house like?
