Page 165 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
I walk slowly back home, thinking about that smile. Thinking about Piper.
I should hate her.
My face is orange, my hair platinum. In one week, I’ve been subjected to cold showers, disgusting smoothies, early-morning alarms, and overall humiliation. As if that weren’t enough, I’m under the pump to make decisions about Dad, Bombora, and Forsythe Tech that will change my whole life.
I’m a bit of a mess right now, but somehow, Piper’s smile carries me all the way home.
Chapter 21
Piper
As the bus pulls away from my stop, I can’t get Archie’s face out of my head. Mostly the shy smile he flashed and the unsure set of his brow as he waved goodbye. That one look said what I think Archie was trying to tell me this morning. Hedoescare about me.
But I still don’t know what that means.
Those five seconds of locking eyes with Archie have made me rethink everything I thought I knew about him, especially the things I’ve accused him of. Being oblivious to other people’s needs. Acting entitled. Following in Malcolm’s manipulative footsteps. Leaving literal and figurative messes everywhere he goes.
I mean, the literal messes part is true, but I wonder if that’s been as intentional as I’ve accused him of. After all, I had to figure out how to clean up after myself once I didn’t have access to hired help anymore.
Along with the firehouse of second thoughts blasting me, I’m wrangling with guilt that, after he called me privileged, I left the garbage bag full of sushi in his room. That would have been bad enough, but I also turned the heat up as high as it would go to make the fish smell even worse.
By the time I got to my bus stop, I’d calmed down enough to realize I’d done something I might regret. I was actually relieved when I spotted his hard-to-miss platinum hair and his bright blue chenille patch Rhude sweats. I worried he might be coming to retaliate, or at least yell at me. I could have justified my actions if he had.
But then he went into Starbucks and stayed there. Every time I glanced in the direction of the store, he was watching me, which was almost as weird as him going to Starbucks for coffee. He’s too loyal to Frothed to cheat on Britta with any other coffee shop.
And, yet, how many times—including this morning—have I accused him of being just like Malcolm?
That’s not fair. Archie is loyal to the people he cares about. That’s his best quality.
He has others, but if he hadn’t looked at me the way he did just now, as the bus pulled away, I’d still be worried about what he was planning to do to me. Now, I wonder if he hasn’t found the sushi yet and was here to make sure I got on the bus okay. And he’ll go home to a bag of rotting fish and wasabi in his bedroom.
So, while I listen to the woman who pretended to be my grandma and rescued me from the men Archie had reason to be concerned about, I desperately text Stella to ask if she has Archie’s number.
My puddle of guilt grows to pool-size the farther away my bus gets from Archie until I’m swimming in it. I was mad that he’d called me privileged when the garbage was full of uneaten sushi. I was mad that he’d put my coffee up higher than I could reach. I was mad that he mentioned the cash settlement again.
But mostly I was mad that every nice thing he does for me is going to make it harder to say goodbye.
I’m still mad about that, which is ridiculous.
I pick it apart like the seam of an old garment I want to make into something new. As I do, I discover what I’m actually feeling isn’t angry, but anxious. I don’t want to say goodbye to Archie just as I’m finally getting to know him.
The idea occurs to me that just because Malcolm and Mom want to permanently end their relationship, I don’t have to end mine with Archie. We can be…friends.
I sit with that for a minute and some of my anxiety slips away, but not all of it. While the idea of friendship is appealing, there’s something still missing. Like a dress design that needs one more pop of color.
Every few seconds, I check whether Stella has texted back with Archie’s number. There’s so much I want to apologize for, even beyond the sushi. For getting defensive and accusing him of being like Malcolm. For telling him he’s not responsible for what Malcolm’s done, then treating him like he is. For being a giant hypocrite.
Stella doesn’t text back, and I don’t know who else to ask. The number I have for Frankie is an old one that she doesn’t use anymore. I carry worry and guilt all the way to my drop off point, where I loudly tell “Grandma” goodbye so the creepers on the bus hear. They were disrespectful enough to say some inappropriate things to me, but respectful enough to stop when they thought I was with my elderly grandmother.
The block to Valente might be the longest walk of my life while I wait for Stella to answer my text. As I take the elevator to my floor, I check my phone again for a message from her—still nothing—and circle back to my reaction when Archie called me privileged.
The truth is, his pointing out my own privilege stung. He opened my eyes to the hard truth that I’m living in the beach house for free, too. I haven’t done any more than he has to earn it. Even less than him, to be honest.
I’m not rich, but when Mom married Malcolm, suddenly I got to attend exclusive private schools and had nannies to pick me up at the end of the day. I had private tutors, private tennis coaches, private swimming lessons in our own pool. Even private after-hours shopping trips to luxury stores a time or two when Mom didn’t want to deal with crowds.
If I’m totally honest with myself, Archie wasn’t wrong when he called me privileged. I haven’t wanted to admit it because he’s had even more advantages than I have, but privilege is privilege.
After everything she gave up to be what Malcolm wanted her to be, Mom deserves the beach house. Malcolm should pay for the way he’s treated her. But, ultimately, giving the beach house to Mom is Malcolm’s way of avoiding any suffering or consequences. Archie is the one who gets the consequences instead.
