Page 153 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
His smile disappears, and he sits back with his arms crossed. “Yeah, nah. I’m stuffed.”
I wipe my hands on my napkin and stand. “I should get to work.”
Archie practically leaps to his feet and calls out a goodbye to Diva and Mitzi, and I wonder if he senses the same danger I do.
I wave my own goodbye to the baristas, both sorry I have to leave and relieved I only have to endure this awkwardness with Archie for a little longer.
On my way out the door, I notice a sign that says:Thank you for supporting our mission to end homelessness.
I study it for a second before catching up to Archie. I’m tempted to ask him what it means, until I remember Britta is coming over tonight. I have to tread carefully with Archie. If talking about hair can lead to an intense moment of vulnerability and eating a stuffed pancake can turn into flirting, I’m not sure any topic is safe to talk about with him.
Neither of us say much on the way to Valente, except when we stop at the light parallel to my bus stop. I peek in the side mirror and see my bus a block behind us. I check the time and make a split-second decision. “I’ll take the bus from here. Save you the trip.”
I reach for the door handle as Archie looks past me to the bus stop, his brow furrowed.
“Are those guys usually there in the morning?”
I follow his gaze to the two totally jacked bros standing uncomfortably close to a nervous-looking woman. Their face tattoos hint that they might be prison-swole rather than gym-swole.
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen them before.”
“Well, then you’re not getting on that bus this morning. Maybe not ever, if it’s up to me.” The light changes, and Archie presses the gas.
“Archie! I’m fine on the bus—it's a block behind us,” I protest as the bus stop grows further away.
“Not with those guys, you’re not. They’re fresh outta lock-up, and the other tossers waiting there don’t look much better.” Archie sits up taller, as though he might intimidate them from half a mile away.
And every conflicting emotion I’ve been wrestling this morning returns with a vengeance.
I let out a short laugh. “They’re just regular people, Archie. You’ve been traveling by private jet and luxury van for too long. Everyone looks like an ex-con when you’re surrounded by billionaires who can buy anything—including perfect bodies, hair, and teeth.”
Archie scoffs. “I don’t surround myself with people like that.”
“Okay, multi-millionaires, then. My mistake,” I tease.
“You’re one to talk. All your mates were regular blokes at the fancy design college my dad paid for?” He shoots back with a smirk.
I jolt, caught off guard. “Ipaid for that fancy design college. Malcolm didn’t give me a dime.”
Archie looks directly at me. “What about that college savings account he set up for you?”
“He’d only let me have access to it if I got a degree in business administration so I could take over for Sybil when she retires. I didn’t want to do that.” I shrug. What happened next should be obvious since he’s seen it play out with Frankie.
“But he paid for your expenses. He didn’t cut you off.” His insistence surprises me.
I shake my head. “He did. Malcolm hasn’t given me a dime since I went to Parsons.”
A car behind us honks, and Archie presses the gas. A silence falls between us until we’re close to Valente.
He pulls into the drive and stops in front of the building before turning to me. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”
“It’s not your fault. It was good Malcolm cut me off. I learned to take care of myself—or, at least—fill out student loan applications.” I scamper back to the safety of sarcasm. That’s familiar territory. This apologetic, concerned Archie makes me dizzy.
He doesn’t laugh. “I don’t want to be that way.”
“What way?”
“My dad. I don’t want money to be the thing I love most.”
