Page 123 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
The foghorn isn’t coming from outside. It's somewhere in the house, but it's not an alarm I’ve heard before. This sound is loud and deep, like a nonstop tugboat parade, with each boat blaring its horn in succession. I kick off the covers and slip on my trackies—no wandering around pants-less with Piper in the house—and follow the sound of the horn to her bedroom.
I knock and wait. There's no answer, so I crack the door open and peek inside. Her bed is empty. I push open the door a little wider—still no Piper. But I find the source of the sound next to the bed. An old school alarm clock. I switch it off, then scroll through the settings until I find the volume level. Yep, it's at ten.
I’m about to turn it down, then stop. If Piper needs an alarm this loud to get her up in the mornings, I probably shouldn’t mess with it the day before her internship starts; although she obviously didn’t need it this morning.
There's no way I'm going back to sleep now, so I wander downstairs, checking my phone messages on the way, just in case Dad has changed his mind since our convo yesterday, which didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. I wanted to avoid a confrontation, so instead of refusing to sign so that I can sell the house, I came up with a plan that would benefit everyone, including Piper and Cynthia.
I told Dad he should give Cynthia ten million dollars instead of the house. I sold the idea as a less expensive option for him—the house is worth at least twelve million. In reality, Cynthia would come out the winner. She’d have plenty of money to buy Piper a house and still have cash left over to live on herself. On the flip side, if she keeps this house, she’s going to have a massive tax bill come next year and won’t have money to pay it.
Dad’s adamant, though, about not negotiating with her lawyers anymore. Not only is he confident Cynthia would only demand more money, he’s also confident that my idea to sell the house to fund my surf wear company—Bombora—is, to quote him, “daft” when I don’t even have a business plan.
“Then give me time to create one,” I’d told him. “Two weeks to prove I know what I’m doing. If you don’t like the plan, I’ll come home. If you do like it, give me access to my trust, and I’ll use the money there to fund it. Cynthia can keep the house. You don’t have to deal with her lawyers.”
Dad was quiet long enough, I thought he might be considering my idea until he’d said, “I don’t think so, Archibald. Let’s stick to our plan for you to come home Monday.”
I was so surprised that, for a second, my mind went blank. Then everything went black, and I heard someone say, “No!”
In the next second, I realized it was me.
“Excuse me?” Dad said.
And I knew if I backed down then, I’d not only be in Brisbane by Monday, I’d be under his thumb for the rest of my life.
“I’m not signing the deed until you give me the chance to create a business plan and seriously consider making me the trustee of my own money.” The words came out in a rush of heat.
“Archibald, are you threatening me?” The calm in Dad’s voice was more terrifying than if he'd yelled.
“I'm asking you to give me a chance, Dad.” My chest rose and fell in heavy breaths while I waited for his reply.
“Two weeks,” he’d finally said. “You get to be the one to tell Piper she’ll have to leave the house until then. I’ve paid enough of that girl’s expenses already. She doesn’t need free room and board from me before the house is Cynthia’s.”
Then he’d hung up, and I’d gone to tell Piper she’d have to leave.
Somehow what came out of my mouth was that we’d be sharing the house for the next two weeks.
Truth is, I feel a bit bad that Piper got dragged into this. It really has nothing to do with her, and there’s enough room here for both of us. I can’t kick her out.
There aren’t any messages from Dad or Sybil, but there is a text from Dex:
Found a place. Don’t worry about me & Britt. See you Wednesday.
I stop on the stairs. I shouldn’t be disappointed. This is good for Dex and Britta. But it seems like another step toward losing the house. If Dex doesn’t need to live here for easy access to the ocean and a gym equipped with everything for his physical therapy, I have one less reason to hold on to it. And to be honest, Dex was my least selfish argument for not letting Cynthia have the house in the first place.
But, I’m not giving up on my idea that she gets money instead. It’s not just the tax issue that could make the housemore trouble than it’s worth. If she tries to sell it, the buyer pool is small. It could sit for months—possibly years—depending on the market.
If she sells it for what it’s worth, she’ll pay a huge commission to her real estate agent. Ten million is probably what she’d net from the property after all the time and expense of selling it. I truly believe that, in the long run, a cash settlement will benefit her—and Piper, too—more than this house will.
I wander toward the gym where I find Piper on the treadmill with AirPods in. She’s wearing bright pink running shorts that ride high on her thighs with a matching sports bra. I pause at the doorway, hoping she'll do something embarrassing I can video. But a few seconds in, I’m flooded with thoughts of how the pink color shows off her bronze skin and I’m mesmerized by the way her ponytail swishes across her mostly bare shoulders with every step she takes.
I feel like a creeper, so I walk into the room and wave.
Piper startles, nearly stumbling off the treadmill before catching herself and standing up straight. It’s not as embarrassing as what she caught me doing, but I take the opportunity to laugh anyway, feeling slightly vindicated. At least I don’t flip her off—yeah, I totally noticed which finger she used to push up her glasses when we were last in this room together.
Piper stops the treadmill and takes the buds out of her ears.
“You okay?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes and nods. “Do you feel better now that you’ve had a laugh at me?”
