Page 174 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“Fine.” I can’t tell her about what Valente has done to me without admitting I don’t have anyone to help me plan what to do next.
“Do you have plans for the weekend?” She hands me a section of orange.
I hesitate, then bite into the orange. Tangy juice fills my mouth while tears fill my eyes. I can’t tell her that my only plansare not only to plot revenge against Valente but also to undo my already plotted and executed revenge against Archie.
“Oh, Julia,” I sigh-cry. “I did something really stupid.”
Maybe it’s the black bandana she’s used to hold her hair back that makes her look vaguely like a nun, but I confess everything.
I tell her about the trash bag full of stinky fish I put in Archie’s room and how I justified it by telling myself that Archie expects to be catered to and given what he wants. I admit to judging him for living off an allowance from Malcolm and spending ninety percent of his life without a shirt on because he doesn’t have a job. I leave out that I don’t mind the no-shirt part.
But I tell her the truth about why I’m living in the house. I was born to a beautiful, stubborn woman who snagged a rich guy, then wouldn’t finalize a divorce until she got something more than the bare minimum from him. I didn’t earn the privilege through any talent or work of my own.
The wider Julia’s eyes grow, the more I realize I’ve enjoyed all the privileges of wealth that, from the little I’ve learned about her, I doubt Julia’s ever experienced. Most people in the world haven’t.
When I finish, though, it’s the sushi Julia’s most concerned about. “Everything will stink. The whole house!”
“I know. What am I going to do?”
Julia goes quiet, and a ridiculous lump forms in my throat.
If Archie reallydidcome to my bus stop to make sure I was okay—after everything I said to him this morning, and everything I’ve done to him this week—that’s maybe the nicest thing anyone has done for me.
Mom says I’ve been independent since birth, and I believe her, but circumstances have also forced me to be more independent than I sometimes want to be. Everyone likes to be taken care of. There are times when all I’ve wanted was to be looked after.
Malcolm filled that need for a while, but I recognize now that he cared for me because he wanted to shape me into who he thought I should be. When I wanted to be my own person, he didn’t care about me anymore.
But Archie was trying to take care of me this morning, even after I refused to let him. Even after I’ve done everything to push him away. Not just push him away—drivehim away.
“I know what to do,” Julia says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “My padre was a fisherman in Guatemala when I was a girl. He chartered boats for rich Americans who wanted to catch big fish.”
She smiles, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. “His clothes always smelled like fish. I remember Madre washing everything in vinegar and leaving coffee grounds around to absorb the smell that lingered after he was gone.”
“Did it work?”
She nods. “Vinegar works on everything. You don’t need expensive cleaners.”
Knowing I can undo some of what I’ve done once I’m home alleviates a little of my guilt.
“Thank you,” I tell her, reaching out to give her arm a squeeze. “Are your parents still in Guatemala?” I ask her.
Julia shakes her head slowly. “Padre drowned before I turned ten. Madre passed a few years ago. She raised me and my four younger brothers alone. We were very poor.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She smiles. “He was a good man. He watches over me.”
“I’m sure he does.”
I consider how Julia’s life might have looked being raised—along with four siblings—by a single mother in a fishing village in Guatemala, compared to my own life as the only child of a single mother who married rich men so we could live in Beverly Hills, and I could attend private schools.
I’d give it all up to be able to confidently say I have a father watching over me. Or somebody who loved me enough to protect me.
Julia and I don’t say much on our bus ride. I’m not sure how to comfort her beyond telling her that if I can come up with a way to help her, I’ll do it. I hope the promise doesn’t sound as empty to her as it does to me. The longer I sit next to her, the more helpless I feel to do anything about my own situation, let alone hers.
On top of feelings of helplessness, I wrestle with anger and regret. The more I dwell on Valente's actions, the more I consider Archie's revelations about Malcolm taking his "Surf City" earnings.
I may have been naïve in trusting Luca Valente with my designs, but at sixteen-years-old, Archie wasn’t wrong to trust his own father.
