Page 61 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
I have no idea what to do with these feelings. The fact is, I can’t keep this house and Piper at the same time. The decision which one I should fight for should be easy.
It’s not.
That realization needs some serious processing.
I’ve given Piper a place to stay—partly to make up for the way I treated her when we were younger—and tried to find a solution to this house mess that benefits us all. Somehow, I end up coming out in the wrong with purple hair bleached blond and a bad tan to boot.
Yet, instead of hating her, I hate the thought of her never forgiving me. Or, worse, never wanting to see me again.
“My mom used to say you catch more flies with honey,” Britta says, interrupting my thoughts. “You could try that approach instead of spiking her perfume with garlic.”
“Piper told you about that?” I wince at the memory. I still need to replace her perfume.
Britta nods at the same time the guys let out a collective groan as the Cats score again against the Lions. Before the wailing stops, Dex tugs on Britta’s hand.
“Let’s clean up and get out of here. You’ve got an early morning,” he says.
“Don’t worry about cleaning up.” I wave away his suggestion.
“You sure?”
I nod. “Yeah. Get your wife to bed.”
“Gladly,” he says in a voice that gets a blush, followed by a pinch, from Britta before she calls upstairs to Stella that they’re leaving.
I’m almost relieved they’re leaving. It’s hard enough sorting through my thoughts about Piper without talking about everything I’ve done wrong, too.
Everyone says their goodbyes and half an hour later when the game ends, the other’s follow. As soon as they leave, I face the kitchen and regret not accepting their offers to help. I have as much idea how to clean up this disaster as I do about how to sort through the feelings Piper’s stirred up.
Both tasks seem impossible.
I turn my back on the kitchen and check the surf report on my phone. Wave will be good in the morning. That’s what I need to sort all this out in my head—a good surf sesh. Which means bed for me. Kitchen can wait.
I make it three steps before I turn around. I can’t stop replaying every time Piper has compared me to Dad—and not in the way I’d want to be compared to him.
For all his faults, Dad is smart and works hard. He cares about his family, even if the way he shows it sometimes does more damage than good. He’s built a successful conglomeration of businesses from the ground up.
I’ve always known he wasn’t perfect, but Piper’s bluntness about the way he’s hurt people has forced me to really look at him.And what I’m discovering is a man who I don’t want to model myself after.
The first step there, I realize, is to be aware of how my decisions affect other people. If I walk away from this dirty kitchen, Piper may feel like she has to clean up after me, or that I expect her to. I don’t...at least, not anymore.
And if Piper learned how to be less dependent on other people to take care of her, maybe I can, too. I reckon I’ll have to if Dad follows through on his threats.
I scan the kitchen, cataloging everything as I search for a place to start. Half-eaten sushi rolls are on plates, serviettes,and even dropped top-down on the table. Trails of water from the esky full of melted ice lead to different destinations where drinks were set and forgotten. The sink is stacked with dishes and glasses since I forgot to pick up disposable plates.
It’s a bit overwhelming, but there’s nothing to do but do it myself. The problem is, I’m not sure where to start. The easiest thing would be to just throw everything away, which seems a bit excessive with the plates and glasses since they’re reusable.
I start with the containers of sushi that haven’t been touched, but go straight to the rubbish. They’ve been out too long to risk saving—and it’s easier to throw them away. In fact, everything close to disposable gets tossed, which makes an encouraging dent in the mess.
I find the dishwasher, but there are a lot of buttons, and I’m not sure where all the dishes go inside. The last thing I want is to break the thing. I could call Dex, but he’s in bed. Also, I feel a little ridiculous that I don’t know how to wash dishes.
I give it a go, anyway.
Turns out, loading a dishwasher is fairly intuitive. Thirty minutes later, I’m chuffed when I’ve found a spot in the dishwasher for almost every dish.
Washing dishes isn’t as cathartic as surfing, but it does give me space to organize my thoughts and feelings into tangible ideas. I find the kind of clarity I’d hoped to find tomorrow on the waves. I’m still not sure what I want to do next, but I know what Idon’twant to do.
I don’t want to use money to control people or manipulate them into doing what I want. I don’t want to love people only as long as they do what I want—bewho I want. I don’t want to be oblivious to how my actions affect other people, or worse, know and not care. I don’t want to be a bully.
