Page 47 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
I’ve done the exact opposite, considering my audience of two complete coffee snobs.
Britta stops what she’s doing and stares at me. “Youhidthe coffee? What is she supposed to drink in the morning?”
I shift awkwardly, wishing I had something to do besides stand in the doorway. “She bought some instant stuff at the Sev,” I mumble.
“Oh, mate…” Dex sighs like I’ve just revealed I have a terminal disease.
Britta’s eyes narrow. “Is she drinking Folgers? Are you forcing her to drinkFolgersevery morning when she could be drinking my blends?”
I shake my head slowly. I’ve dug my own grave with this one. I may as well climb in. “I think it’s Dunkin’ brand.”
“That’s not better, mate,” Dex mutters softly.
Britta answers with a noise that’s part growl, part moan, but at least she’s gone back to taking pictures off the wall instead of glaring at me. “Was the purple a temporary color or permanent dye?”
“Temporary, but?—”
“I would have made it permanent,” Britta cuts in. She takes the pic of Dex with his WSL trophy from his Finals win last year off the wall. “You should have waited for it to wash out.”
“Apparently my hair takes color really well or something. Juan worried it wouldn’t wash out completely. My choice was to strip it or shave it.” I turn and flip on the ceiling fan. It’s hot in here, and the beanie doesn’t help.
“You realize the blond is going to last months, right?” She wraps Dex’s picture in paper, then points to a flat box, all sympathy for me gone. “Put that together, please.”
I’ve never been so happy for a job to do. The glare of the metaphorical spotlight I’m under is more uncomfortable than any actual spotlight I’ve been in.
“Juan is going to darken it in a few weeks and help with the grow out.”
I triple tape the box. The tape holder thing is loud enough to fill the space in the conversation that would otherwise be full of more questions and comments I’m keen to avoid.
“Send Piper into Frothed tomorrow. I’ll make her coffee and comp her a bag of whatever roast she wants.” Britta exchanges my finished box for another flat one to tape.
“Will do.” I hope that means Britta is willing to forgive me.
But amIwilling to forgive Piper? She’s not getting to Frothed before work without me driving her there.
“You’re moving everything today?” I ask, circling back to where the conversation started before going haywire.
“We found a place move-in ready.” Dex drops a stack of T-shirts into the open suitcase on their bed. “It’s best we get out of your hair.”
“Nobody’s asking you to do that,” I say.
He smiles, but it’s not the easy smile he used to have before his accident. I’m not sure how to read this one. “It’s time.”
I shift back and forth while he continues packing. When Britta takes some boxes out of the room, I turn to Dex. “You upset with me, mate?”
Dex stops short and looks at me. “Course not.” He crosses the distance between us and lays his hand on my shoulder. “We’re ready to start our own life, and you need to move on with yours. But nothing about our friendship is changing beyond our living situation.”
My lip pulls to the side. Everything about our friendship has changed, except for our loyalty to each other. Britta is Dex’s first priority now—as she should be—but I’ll always have his back. He’ll have mine…as long as he doesn’t have to choose between me and his wife.
“We’re only ten minutes away, Arch,” Britta adds, coming back into the room in time to catch the end of the conversation. “Practically next door to Frothed. If we’re not there to make your coffee in the morning, walk a few doors down to our place. You’re always welcome.”
“We’ll never be able to repay you for everything you’ve done.” Dex squeezes my shoulder, and we give each other a quick embrace.
When we break away, I give his cheek a light slap. “We’ve got the AFL Finals tomorrow. You’re still coming over for dinner and to watch, yeah?”
Australian Football League Finals are kicking off with a special Thursday match up that’s being played at 2:30 am LAtime. Dex and I are determined to avoid any news about the match until we can watch the replay tomorrow.
“Who’s cooking?” Dex asks, going back to his suitcase.
