Page 15 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
Even when the marriage was annulled less than a year later, Dad wouldn’t change the terms back. If she wants her “Surf City” earnings and what she made from the couple of movies she was in afterward, she’ll need to take him to court.
He’ll bury her in legal fees in a matter of weeks, and she knows it.
So, she’s turned her back on the money—hermoney—and made a life of her own. Not one I envy, though. Independence is too high a price to pay to work in a greasy diner in the middle of nowhere. Frankie will come to her senses, and when she does, I’ve put aside every cent Dex has paid me so she’ll have something to live on while she starts over.
“If you sold the house, you’d have money to start Bombora,” she says. “You hold the title. There’s nothing stopping you from selling.”
Sand—still wet from today’s rain—covers my feet, squishing between my toes. I shiver as much from the cold sand as I do Frankie’s suggestion. She’s not only read my mind, she’s remembered my dream to start a surf wear company. She even remembered the name Bombora, and I haven’t mentioned it in years.
“Dad would never forgive me for selling it out from under him, let alone starting my own company instead of working for him,” I say to tamp down my rising excitement.
“Yeah…Youwouldlike it, though. Right?” Frankie is so good at reading my mind, it’s scary sometimes.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“Then you can’t sign over the house. If you need to go to battle to prove you’re the rightful owner, do it. The courts will side with you. Then you can sell the house,” Frankie says with an easy confidence—that is the one thing we don’t share.
As though what she’s suggesting wouldn’t sever my ties to Dad for good.
“Remember how Dad was when we were younger? Before Forsythe took off?” I ask her.
“I remember he worked all the time,” she says. “But that hasn’t changed.”
“Yeah, but work wasn’t his whole life. He made time for us and what we wanted to do. He taught us to surf.” My best memories of Dad are the early mornings when he’d take us to North Burleigh Heads to surf before he went to work.
“He taughtyouto surf. I tagged along, then learned mostly from you.”
An older couple with four yappy dogs walk behind me, speaking a language to each other I don’t recognize. “That’s not how I remember it,” I say when I can be heard over the yapping. “He taught both of us.”
“Archie, come on. Dad was always more interested in you than he ever was in me. You know that, right?”
I hear her words, but their meaning hits a second later with enough force to throw me off balance.
“That’s not true.” I push myself up and grab my shoes, but stumble as I walk back toward the Promenade path.
“Let’s agree to disagree.” Hurt underlies Frankie’s forced laugh.
Sand under my feet usually grounds me. Tonight, though, I feel every grain sink, then slip away with each step I take. My convo with Frankie has me unmoored. I knew we saw Dad differently. I just didn’t realize how differently. The memories I’ve stored begin to unravel. If I don’t stop them, they’ll take on a whole new shape that I don’t recognize.
“If you’re worried Dad will cut off your trust for good, I get it,” Frankie says. “It's not easy to make your own way when you’ve been raised to believe that’s impossible. But itispossible. You don’t need his help to make a good life for yourself.”
My brain is still unwinding, giving me glimpses of an image of Dad on the beach—not in the water with me—unaware of Frankie struggling on her board as he yells instructions to me at the same time my instructor calmly tells me to focus on him, not Dad.
I quickly shake it away. “Yeah, nah. I’m not sure what I’d do if Dad cut me off.”
“Get a job and a crap apartment, same as the rest of us.” She laughs again, and there’s less hurt than before.
"Oh, you’re keen on your crap apartment?" I tease back.
"I’m keen on having my independence. I likekeepingmy own money. I like making my own choice about who I'm going to marry." Her shoes squeak across the linoleum floor, emphasizing each of her bullet points, while also crushing them.
When I picture the thick-soled runners Frankie wears during her eight-hour shifts, I’m only more convinced I should preserve my relationship with Dad. Not just for the money, but because I believe he truly wants what’s best for Frankie and me. And even though she seems happy on her own, it’s hard for me to accept it.
“You can live your life however you want,” Frankie says, “But that’s the key. Knowing what you want and fighting for that.”
I clutch my mobile tighter and stoop down to pick up a soft drink can someone left behind and drop it in the rubbish bin. “I'm not ready to sever ties, Frankie. I like Dad. I want to be part of his life…but I want more say in my future.”
Seconds tick by before Frankie speaks in a softer voice than before. "It's interesting you say 'like' instead of 'love.'"
