Check, Please (Book #2)

Five.

Pete Kovich, the head of the business school's academic advisory department, held a finger up to his mouth but motioned for me to come in when I arrived at his office early Thursday morning. The chair opposite where he sat at his desk was empty, and it took me a moment to realize that he was talking to someone on a wireless headset. Not that good old Pete ever talked, per se; his everyday speaking volume always seemed to hover somewhere near the sonic boom. I'd been forced to schedule meetings with him multiple times per semester since failing my first class at L.A.U., and each time I walked out of his office with at least some degree of hearing loss.

He was a funny man, that was for sure, and as I sat down, I took a moment to peer around the oddly decorated room. An entire wall had been dedicated to framed postcards from obscure little towns around America. "That's where you find the most charm," he'd once told me. "All the really beautiful things in this country... You're not going to find them in New York or Chicago, are you?"

I hadn't known how to answer that question -- I liked both of those cities -- so I shrugged, and Pete apparently took that as a sign that I agreed. That, combined with the fact I'd complimented his bobblehead collection as a sophomore, resulted in him liking me far more than any academic advisor should like a student with a faltering 2.3 GPA.

"No, I can't pick up Rosie today, honey, you know that," Pete said, shaking his head. "What am I doing? I have back-to-back meetings with students until five." He paused, frowning. "Well, I can't help that. Maybe you should've listened to me when I said we needed a sitter."

I tried my best to tune out the one-sided bickering, but I couldn't help but feel reminded of family dinners back home. Mom and Dad had always gone at it like cats and dogs, though they'd done their best to hide it from Michael and I when we were growing up. Now that we were older, I think they must have decided that there was no point in shielding us from the fact that they couldn't stand each other. Sometimes I wondered why they didn't get divorced but considering how volatile my relationship with Gemma was, maybe stubbornness ran in our family.

After Pete hung up a few minutes later, he rubbed his temples and sighed. "You got a girlfriend?" he asked, catching me off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" He paused, and then corrected himself, "I suppose I shouldn't assume... Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Someone waiting for you at home?"

Slightly taken aback, I shook my head. "No to all three."

With something that looked like a cross between a grimace and a smile, Pete said, "Enjoy your freedom for as long as you can. Don't get me wrong -- I love my wife, my kid... But it'd be nice not to worry about anyone but myself for a day or two."

"Yeah," I replied, confused as to why he was confiding in me. "I bet."

"Let me tell you something else," Pete said, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the table top. "You know what I'd do with a few days off from daddy duty?"

I shrugged, and Pete went on, "I'd grab a couple beers and just sit in front of the TV. No Barney, no one complaining that they don't understand the game. It'd just be me, my sixty-inch TV, and the Seattle Seahawks."

Pete continued to describe his fantasy world until he caught my eye again. As if reading my mind, his monologue abruptly stopped and he offered me an awkward chuckle. "I see you so often that sometimes I forget you're a student. I probably shouldn't be saying stuff like that to you, huh?"

"I mean, I'm not going to tell anyone," I assured him, though the truth was that I'd probably use it as conversation fodder for days.

Somehow even more booming than his voice, Pete's laugh echoed around the room. "No, no. There's no need for me to act like a grumpy old man. Marriage is great, really; I promise." The lingering tightness in his jaw told me that he didn't quite believe that what he'd said was true. With a deep breath, he clapped his hands and rubbed them together until his fingertips turned red. "So, what've you got for me?"