Page 4 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
I amluhhhhh-vingthis show, but—and this is weird for me to admit—not just for comedic reasons. Full disclosure—Archie looksgood.
His wide-ish shoulders curve into fully formed biceps, which he flexes for the mirror in front of him. His waist tapers into low-riding board shorts, and when he squats low on the bench, pretending to surf, I can tell he’s got some serious abs going on.
Back in my “Surf City” fangirl era, if Archie hadn't been my stepbrother, I might have had a huge crush on him. Or at least his character, Dylan, with his green eyes and thick, auburn hair. But he was my stepbrother, and a mean one at that. Awkwardfeelingsfor him were never an issue.
I remind myself, though, that admiring the fact Archie has grown into a total thirst trap is not a priority right now. What’s important is that I revel in the anticipation of the humiliation Archie is about to feel.
I know that feeling well. I experienced it more than once, thanks to Archie.
And now, karma is about to smack Archie right in his massive ego.
He’s pretending to surf on a weight bench while “singing” a quintessential female empowerment song at the top of his lungs, completely off-key, and kissing his biceps. I’ve got a viral TikTok moment happening right in front of me.
I fumble through my purse for my phone.
Forget how Archie looks…this is my chance for delicious revenge.
Chapter 3
Piper
The last time I saw Archie was the Rhys James Incident of 2017.
I’d felt so grown up when Frankie—Archie’s twin—gave me her tickets to Rhys’s concert, which included backstage passes. I was dying to ask Rhys who coordinated his wardrobe, a topic that was way more interesting to me than his music. But I made the mistake of asking Archie if he could introduce me to Rhys after the concert. The two had known each other for years—even before they were on Surf City High together.
I should have known better. Archie assumed I was like every other girl my age who had a major crush on him. I didn’t.
I never even got to ask my question. Before I could, Archie raised his voice and said to the dozen or so people backstage that I thought Rhys would go out with a nerdy kid like me.
I was fourteen years old and completely mortified. I ducked out of the venue and hid next to the dumpsters until Mom came to pick me up after what was supposed to be my first backstage party.
Humiliated, I avoided Archie at any cost after that, and since he wasn’t around much to begin with, it wasn’t hard. But as I grew up, the embarrassment turned to anger.
I’d been a teenager with all the insecurity and longing for acceptance that any girl has at that age. Archie, unlike Frankie, had never been nice to me—he only ever saw me as an annoyance—but he’d never humiliated me like that before.
It seems only fair that, eight years later, I’ve caught Archie in a compromising position.
Karma is currently everything Taylor Swift claims. It’s literally purring in my lap.
Okay, maybe not literally. But karma and I are definitely vibing.
If I were still a kid in awe of, and a little afraid of, Archie, I'd slink away and let him have his dignity. Too bad for him, I'm an adult now, and he's in my house. Or, at least, my mom's house. So, I hold up my phone and press record.
I get another bicep kiss, plenty of singing, and some shouting about being “World Champion!” that I’m pretty sure isn’t part of the lyrics of the song. It’s good stuff. Whether I’ll actually use this against him remains to be seen, but I’m not above blackmail if the need arises.
When Archie stops singing long enough to push his sweaty hair out of his face, I assume the song is over. And while I’m tempted to get more blackmail footage, I drop my phone into my bag and tuck the frying pan under my arm, so I have both hands free to reward Archie with a loud, slow clap he’ll hopefully hear between songs.
His head whips around so fast he loses his balance. He windmills his arms, tipping forward and back on the bench, trying to regain his balance. Just as he’s about to fall, he gains enough equilibrium to hop to the floor. But not without crashing against the mirror.
I gasp and stop clapping long enough for him to straighten. He doesn’t seem to be hurt. Beyond his massive ego, anyway. Icover my mouth to muffle the laugh that escapes and regret that I stopped my video.
Archie pushes himself away from the mirror, then pulls back his shoulders before facing me. His face runs a gamut of emotions, moving from horror to surprise to humiliation, each a darker shade of red.
In a million years, I couldn’t have predicted this is how a reunion with my stepbrother would play out.
What a delightful surprise.
“P-Piper?” Archie sputters.
