Page 162 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
And if Piper learned how to be less dependent on other people to take care of her, maybe I can, too. I reckon I’ll have to if Dad follows through on his threats.
I scan the kitchen, cataloging everything as I search for a place to start. Half-eaten sushi rolls are on plates, serviettes,and even dropped top-down on the table. Trails of water from the esky full of melted ice lead to different destinations where drinks were set and forgotten. The sink is stacked with dishes and glasses since I forgot to pick up disposable plates.
It’s a bit overwhelming, but there’s nothing to do but do it myself. The problem is, I’m not sure where to start. The easiest thing would be to just throw everything away, which seems a bit excessive with the plates and glasses since they’re reusable.
I start with the containers of sushi that haven’t been touched, but go straight to the rubbish. They’ve been out too long to risk saving—and it’s easier to throw them away. In fact, everything close to disposable gets tossed, which makes an encouraging dent in the mess.
I find the dishwasher, but there are a lot of buttons, and I’m not sure where all the dishes go inside. The last thing I want is to break the thing. I could call Dex, but he’s in bed. Also, I feel a little ridiculous that I don’t know how to wash dishes.
I give it a go, anyway.
Turns out, loading a dishwasher is fairly intuitive. Thirty minutes later, I’m chuffed when I’ve found a spot in the dishwasher for almost every dish.
Washing dishes isn’t as cathartic as surfing, but it does give me space to organize my thoughts and feelings into tangible ideas. I find the kind of clarity I’d hoped to find tomorrow on the waves. I’m still not sure what I want to do next, but I know what Idon’twant to do.
I don’t want to use money to control people or manipulate them into doing what I want. I don’t want to love people only as long as they do what I want—bewho I want. I don’t want to be oblivious to how my actions affect other people, or worse, know and not care. I don’t want to be a bully.
Most of all, I don’t want to lose the people I love most because I love money and power more than relationships.
But I worry that I’ve already started on that path, and the longer I stay on the path, the harder it will be to turn back. The thought that I might be too late drives me to clear the kitchen counters of everything that doesn’t seem like it should be out. I’m not sure where things go, but I find somewhere for them just to feel the sense of accomplishment that grows exponentially the cleaner the kitchen looks.
No amount of work, though, quells my fear that Dad is about to take everything away from me. The idea of starting from scratch terrifies me. I don’t want to give up the comforts I’ve always had. I’m not Frankie. I don’t have her kind of courage.
The fact that I’ve left the kitchen looking better than it did when Piper came home puts a bit of steel in my spine. I can learn new things. I can clean up messes. That’s a start.
It’s also the easy part. Convincing myself I’d be okay getting paid to clean up after people is still a fair stretch.
The next morning when I walk in the kitchen, Piper is already there, stretching on tiptoes to reach a tall cabinet. Her oversized Kendrick Lamar T-shirt rises just enough to reveal the sleep shorts that graze the top of her thighs, and my thoughts skip to the other morning when she was in similar shorts and silky tank top thing. I’m a Kendrick fan, but I’m a bigger fan of that silky top.
I drop my eyes before my face can get any hotter.
“Are you looking for your coffee?” I reach over her head to the top cabinet where I put her coffee last night. She steps to the side, and her t-shirt brushes my bare stomach, sending prickles of heat up my chest.
I take down the bag, quickly hand it to her, and take a giant step backward to put space between us. It’s hard to believe Piper only arrived last Friday. Barely a week ago, but my world has been turned upside down since then.
“Thank you?” Piper’s tone is both sarcastic and confused. She glances at the clock, then puts away the coffee on a low shelf. “I don’t have time to make it now.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I put it away when I cleaned up last night.”
“You cleaned last night?” She looks around the kitchen. “I guess you did.”
She sounds unsure, and my eyes unwittingly follow hers to the overflowing rubbish bin and the two full garbage sacks next to it.
“I’ll take those out,” I say quickly, rushing for the sack of bottles and cans without adding the reason why I didn’t toss them last night is that I’m not sure where the recycling goes. In the light of day, that seems an easy enough problem to solve.
I tighten the sack and carry it toward the door near the laundry room. The side of the house seems a likely place to keep rubbish bins. On my way, I catch a glimpse of my orange face in a decorative mirror on the wall. My reflection does the trick of reminding me that I need to put an end to this prank war. The fact is, as much as I relish tussling with Piper, I enjoy talking to her more.
Last night was a turning point. I learned more about Piper in the twenty minutes we spent alone than I’d bothered to learn in the entire decade I’ve known her.
After so easily finding the recycling bin that I’m embarrassed, I walk back into the kitchen. Piper is at the stove cracking eggs into a pan. She has one foot pulled up to her other thigh, as if she’s at yoga doing tree pose instead of standing in my kitchen making brekkie. And it’s so adorable I have the sudden urge to stand behind her with my arms wrapped around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. I want to make this vision a reality so badly that I can’t imagine ever being happy until I do.
I settle for standing near her, the small of my back against the counter near the stove. “You’ve officially won, by the way.”
She glances at me, confused, and I point to my face.
Her eyes widen behind her glasses, and she sends me an apologetic grin. “I was wondering when you’d notice. I’m sorry. I debated so many times whether I should tell you. I should have.”
“Nah, yeah. It’ll wash out sooner than the blond. How about we say between this and my perfume gag, we’re even?” I ask with a laugh.
