Page 5 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“Hello,Archie.” I push my glasses up my nose, hoping he doesn’t miss the middle finger I use to do it.
"It’s been a while. What are you doing here?" Archie picks up his shirt from off the floor and tugs it over his head, but not before my eyes follow the triangle of golden-red chest hair to his stacked abs.
Which is not my fault. I mean, my brain has been conditioned to tell my eyes to follow the direction of an arrow. Archie might as well have a blinking road sign on his chest that says Detour to Ab Town.
I swallow and force my eyes back to his. “I live here.”
He flinches. “Since when?”
“Since right now.” For a second, his surprised expression tempts me to be nicer. Then my brain replays the scene of my backstage humiliation. I roll my shoulders back and stand firm.
“The better question is, what areyoudoing here?” I ignore the glare he sends to scare me away. “Sybil said you’d be out by this morning.”
“Out of what?”
“This house.”
He turns away from me, but the mirror catches a flicker of pain in Archie’s expression. But it’s gone so quickly, I wonder ifI imagined it. When Archie faces me again, there’s only anger in his eyes.
“Yeah, nah. Think again,sis.” Archie crosses the room toward me so fast, I barely have time to move out of his way before he charges out the door. “Dad said Friday,” he calls over his shoulder.
“That’s today.” I follow him down the hall and into the kitchen, trying to keep up. He knows even better than I do Sybil is Malcolm’s henchwoman. If she’s said a thing is happening, it’s happening.
“I only got back from Fiji yesterday. Dad meant next Friday.” He yanks open the double wide fridge that blends into the surrounding cabinets, and the door blocks my view of him. But I don’t move.
I pull up Sybil’s email that Mom forwarded. When the fridge door closes, Archie faces me, holding one of those expensive electrolyte drinks that should be labeled Bougie-aide.
I hold out the phone to show him the email from Sybil with the house info. “You need to leave. This is Mom’s house now.”
His glare sends a flicker of unease through me. I’m nine-years-old again, excited to share space with my new big brother, only to be told to get out. The difference this time is that I don’t back down from Archie. And I won’t. Not anymore.
“That’s funny,” he says, with no humor in his tone. “Because the deed says Archibald Forsythe, notCynthiaForsythe. Definitely not Piper Quinn.” He brushes by me with a smirk and flops onto the big sectional in the family room, every action claiming this house as his own.
I hate the way he’s always treated Mom like an intruder in his life, and Ihatethat smirk. It’s the match to my dry kindling seconds away from becoming an uncontrollable wildfire. On the brink of a full explosion, my phone buzzes in my hand, and I remember I’ve already got revenge.
“You know what’s even funnier?” I walk around the sectional and stand in front of him.
He cracks open his drink, and a splash of red hits the white sofa, but he doesn’t notice. “No. Tell me. What’s even funnier?”
“The video I just took of you kissing your biceps while singing—if you can call it that, which, I wouldn’t. But I’m sure every Surf City High fan on TikTok would looooove to see what Archibald Forsythe is up to.” I call his smirk with one of my own and raise the stakes, toggling to the video and turning it to face him.
With his drink still in his hand, Archie bolts up from the sofa. I jump back as he swipes for my cell and misses. “Give me the phone, Piper.”
“Pack your bags, Archie.” I drop the phone in my purse, then hug it to my chest.
Archie glowers at me but doesn’t go for my phone again. Instead, he takes out his own, tells Siri to call Sybil, then makes a big show of pushing the speaker button obviously so I’ll hear everything. That’s how sure he is that Sybil will tell me to leave.
As hard as I try not to let his certainty faze me, my confidence wavers. I have no idea what time it is in Brisbane where Sybil is, but she might have sent Mom an update Mom forgot to forward or didn’t see. I talked to Mom last night before she sailed off this morning while I flew here. She hadn’t said anything about new plans.
To cover my nervousness, I point in the direction of the red spot on the sofa and the new ones on the rug he added while lunging for me. “Are you going to clean those?”
With his phone ringing loudly, Archie glances from me to the sofa. “The housekeeper will know how to clean it.”
I roll my eyes and turn away from him in search of a dishtowel. Typical Archie. He’s never had to clean his own messes or pay for anything. He breaks something, Malcolm buysa new one for him. The couch and rug are probably worth what I paid for a year of school back East and he doesn’t even care.
While I pull open random kitchen drawers, I furtively take out my phone and check to see if the buzzing a minute ago was a message from Sybil or an update from Mom.Neither.Only ‘Nightmare Ashley’ asking where she’s supposed to take the garbage.As I swipe away the text, Sybil’s voice sounds from Archie’s phone. My heart stops, then starts again when I realize it’s her voicemail.
I face Archie and raise my eyebrows, challenging him to make his next move now that his first one isn’t working out the way he’d hoped.
