Page 110 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
Where am I going to go?
“I can drive you.” He grabs my bigger suitcase and wheels it closer to my other bag.
“I’ll call an Uber.” I pull the smaller suitcase to my side before he can grab it.
“That will take forever this time of day. Just let me drive you.” He takes the suitcase handle again, his fingers wrapping around mine.
I tug it back.
Archie doesn’t give in so easily and pulls harder, his hand tighter around mine now.
I pull harder back.
This may be the first time we’ve ever touched, and that thought shouldnotexcite me. Neither should the angry flash of gold in his green eyes or our game of luggage tug-of-war.
I can’t take the emotional tug-of-war happening inside me and fueled by his touch. I hate him. I don’t care that his touch feels more protective than threatening. I need it to stop. I needhimto stop.
“I don't have anywhere to go!” I yell.
Archie’s eyes widen, and he loosens his grip on the handle. I yank it from him, open the front door long enough to roll the bag outside, then go back to take the larger one from him. I don’tbother with the handle this time, just push it toward the door. When Archie reaches out to help me, I stop him with a glare. He steps back to let me by, and I slam the door shut behind me.
On the porch, I stare at the empty street in front of me and face the reality of my situation. I reallydon’thave anywhere to go. Even if there was a hotel close enough for me to drag my luggage, I’ve got a grand total of one hundred dollars in my bank account until my internship starts. Mom paid for my ticket here, but I told her I didn’t need any more help. And now she’s unreachable in the middle of the ocean with the next guy who’s bound to eventually toss her aside.
I have a few friends in LA from before I moved to New York. I could probably crash with one of them, but the thought of making those calls overwhelms me. I’ve been out of touch with most of these people for years if you don’t count occasionally liking their Instagram posts. My day has been humiliating enough.
I squeeze my eyes shut, holding back the tears welling there.
But it’s not tears that wet my cheeks. The clouds open and a drop of rain hits me. Then another. And another. I turn my palm to the sky and let my eyes follow as the drops grow heavier. Perfect.
With a huff, I move back under the awning over the front door and take out my phone. I can’t call an Uber until I have a destination.
I try Mom, in case she still has reception. When she doesn’t answer, I send her a text instead. She’s always better about answering those, anyway.
SOS. Archie is still here. He says the house is his for another two weeks.
Despite the covered porch, a drop of rain finds its way to my glasses. I wipe it away, leaving a smudge behind, and lean my back against the door. When I look at my phone again, dots appear beneath my message. Then Mom’s answer.
Sybil said everything was settled. I’ll call her tomorrow morning. Grab a hotel for tonight. Joe says it’s on him.
Not a minute later, five hundred dollars appears in my Venmo. I sigh. This day is officially the most aggravating on record.
I don’t want to take money from Joe. I swore when I found out Malcolm cheated on Mom that I’d never take money from another man in her life, or mine. But what else can I do besides be grateful Mom had service and take the money?
Five minutes pass while I search for the cheapest hotel close to Valente headquarters. I can’t find anything for less than three hundred dollars a night, which means I can’t afford even two nights.
The door I’m braced against opens behind me and I stumble backwards with a squeak of alarm. Archie catches me. In the instant he rescues me, I’m so relieved I relax into his arms before he helps me stand upright again.
“Thanks,” I mutter, stepping back and straightening my skirt.
“You’re welcome,” he answers with a reluctant smile.
An awkward beat passes, and I let my eyes go to my phone, hoping a new, affordable hotel has miraculously appeared in the past thirty seconds.
“Your mom is giving you the house she’s getting in the settlement?” Archie asks, not unkindly.
A quick glance tells me he’s asking a serious question.
“No,” I scoff. “In my world, people don’t give each other twelve-million-dollar beach houses.” He winces, and I soften my tone to explain. He’s trying. I can try too. “Mom is letting me stay here while I intern at Valente.”
