Page 125 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
And if I get pummeled by a wave, I can get back up. I can ride the next one.
When I reach the lineup to wait for my turn, I let the ocean rock me up and down. It occurs to me for the millionth time that surfing is similar to life. A lot of waiting, some ups, more downs, and every once in a while, everything falls into place for a perfect ride.
But a new similarity between life and surfing occurs to me for the first time. Maybe the realization is prompted by my saying no to Dad—I don’t know—but the thought occurs to me that for every person, there will always be something, somebodystronger. Somebody bigger. Somebody more powerful. There will always be some force that tries to move you, to act on you. That is, until you learn how to resist without resisting—how to be the one doing the acting, not being acted on.
Dad is that something and someone for me. And I've allowed him to be that sort of force for too long. It's time I quit letting him be the thing that moves me in life, that decides where I'm going, or what I'm going to do. This isn’t about Bombora or money or even Dad. It’s about the sort of man I want to be. A man who makes his own choices and his own success. Free of other people’s expectations and in my own power.
I spend the next few hours enjoying myself more than I have since Dad ordered me to sign the house back to him. By the time the waves fizzle in the Autumn sunshine, I've gotten what I needed from my surf session. Not the best waves ever, but maybe the best clarity I’ve had so far.
I head back to the house and peel off my wetsuit in the outside shower. After spraying it down and throwing it over the partition to dry before tomorrow, I rinse off in the cold water. The sun’s up, but there's a chilly breeze coming off the ocean that makes me shiver. I'm ready for a long, hot shower, a good cup of coffee, and some brekkie. If I ask nicely, maybe Piper will make me eggs again.
Water drips down my face as I reach for one of the beach towels that always hangs inside the shower. I’m met by air and empty hooks. I push back my hair and open one eye. No towels.
I check the bench where I left my trackies a couple hours ago when I got changed to surf. They’re gone, too. I’ve got nothing to cover myself with except my wetsuit, which is soaked through and won’t go back on without chafing in some very tender areas.
Unless I’ve been robbed, there’s only one person to blame for my current predicament.
All those soft and curious thoughts about my fake sister disappear like sand down the drain.
I don’t know what Piper’s up to, and between the breeze and the cold water clinging to my body, I’m shivering too much to think about it. I wrap my wetsuit around my waist, and it covers enough—barely. I’ll track water and sand inside wearing it like this. And, as Piper pointed out, I might not have housekeepers anymore.
A door on the side of the house leads to the laundry room. There will be towels there. I glance toward the sliding glass door to confirm the curtain is closed. Even if Piper is in the kitchen, she won’t see me…probably. It’s only a couple meters to the side door. I’d rather take the chance she’ll get a glimpse of my ass than get lectured for making a mess, or worse, having to clean up myself. So, I drop the wetsuit and make a mad dash for the door.
The second I step inside, I’m hit with a blast of Arctic air. Piper must have helped herself to the air con as well as the gym, the towels, and my trackies. It's colder in here than it was outside and I’m instantly covered in goosebumps. Luckily, I’ve got the utter terror of being caught naked to keep me warm. Or at least, to keep me from freezing.
I dart into the laundry area—it's through an archway and has no door—and yank open the dryer. The door provides some cover for me, but the dryer is empty. I open the cabinets within my reach, keeping my nether regions hidden behind the dryer door. No towels there either. I venture away from the dryer and fling open the other cabinets, even the ones too small to hold anything but facewashers.
If there were ever towels in this room—and I honestly don’t know if there were—they’re gone now. Disappeared to wherever the beach towels and my trackies have gone.
Over the sound of my pulse, I notice a whirring and shaking. I peek through the clear door of the washing machine, spinningmadly. Whatever is in there looks very similar to the striped towels from the outside shower, along with the gray towels from the downstairs bathroom.
It’s no mystery who put them in the washing machine since there are only two of us here, and I didn’t do it. I don’t even understand how to work the washing machine. The only real question that remains iswhy. Why is Piper suddenly doing the laundry?Allthe laundry.
Before I can piece together that puzzle, there’s a more pressing one to solve. How do I get out of here and back to my bedroom unseen? The laundry room is the only room on this side of the house and the hallway leads directly to the family room and kitchen area, which I’ll have to go through to get upstairs. If Piper is downstairs, she’ll see me.
I'm trapped.
At least until the towels finish washing and drying. And I have no idea how long that could be. Or how to start the dryer if I were to stay until the washer finishes.
I’ll have to take my chances with streaking.
Not keen to be seen naked by my fake sister, I grab a bottle of washing detergent—making a mental note to join one of those big box warehouses so I can purchase things in larger sizes—and hold it below my waist. It works, but it’s very, very awkward.
I peek my head into the hallway and yell, "Piper!"
No reply.
"Piper Quinn!" I yell again at the top of my lungs.
I creep down the hallway toward the stairs, my back against the wall where she’s less likely to see me. When I reach the end, I yell her name again, as loud as I can.
“PI-PER!”
This time she hears and answers. “What?”
“Can you get me a towel from the gym?Someone’sput all the others in the wash.” I hold the washing detergent tighter and press my butt against the wall.
“Oh! Sorry! I thought I’d tidy things while you were gone. Give me just a sec!” she calls back in a voice sweet enough to arouse my suspicions that she was doing more than a little tidying.
