Page 62 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
Most of all, I don’t want to lose the people I love most because I love money and power more than relationships.
But I worry that I’ve already started on that path, and the longer I stay on the path, the harder it will be to turn back. The thought that I might be too late drives me to clear the kitchen counters of everything that doesn’t seem like it should be out. I’m not sure where things go, but I find somewhere for them just to feel the sense of accomplishment that grows exponentially the cleaner the kitchen looks.
No amount of work, though, quells my fear that Dad is about to take everything away from me. The idea of starting from scratch terrifies me. I don’t want to give up the comforts I’ve always had. I’m not Frankie. I don’t have her kind of courage.
The fact that I’ve left the kitchen looking better than it did when Piper came home puts a bit of steel in my spine. I can learn new things. I can clean up messes. That’s a start.
It’s also the easy part. Convincing myself I’d be okay getting paid to clean up after people is still a fair stretch.
The next morning when I walk in the kitchen, Piper is already there, stretching on tiptoes to reach a tall cabinet. Her oversized Kendrick Lamar T-shirt rises just enough to reveal the sleep shorts that graze the top of her thighs, and my thoughts skip to the other morning when she was in similar shorts and silky tank top thing. I’m a Kendrick fan, but I’m a bigger fan of that silky top.
I drop my eyes before my face can get any hotter.
“Are you looking for your coffee?” I reach over her head to the top cabinet where I put her coffee last night. She steps to the side, and her t-shirt brushes my bare stomach, sending prickles of heat up my chest.
I take down the bag, quickly hand it to her, and take a giant step backward to put space between us. It’s hard to believe Piper only arrived last Friday. Barely a week ago, but my world has been turned upside down since then.
“Thank you?” Piper’s tone is both sarcastic and confused. She glances at the clock, then puts away the coffee on a low shelf. “I don’t have time to make it now.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I put it away when I cleaned up last night.”
“You cleaned last night?” She looks around the kitchen. “I guess you did.”
She sounds unsure, and my eyes unwittingly follow hers to the overflowing rubbish bin and the two full garbage sacks next to it.
“I’ll take those out,” I say quickly, rushing for the sack of bottles and cans without adding the reason why I didn’t toss them last night is that I’m not sure where the recycling goes. In the light of day, that seems an easy enough problem to solve.
I tighten the sack and carry it toward the door near the laundry room. The side of the house seems a likely place to keep rubbish bins. On my way, I catch a glimpse of my orange face in a decorative mirror on the wall. My reflection does the trick of reminding me that I need to put an end to this prank war. The fact is, as much as I relish tussling with Piper, I enjoy talking to her more.
Last night was a turning point. I learned more about Piper in the twenty minutes we spent alone than I’d bothered to learn in the entire decade I’ve known her.
After so easily finding the recycling bin that I’m embarrassed, I walk back into the kitchen. Piper is at the stove cracking eggs into a pan. She has one foot pulled up to her other thigh, as if she’s at yoga doing tree pose instead of standing in my kitchen making brekkie. And it’s so adorable I have the sudden urge to stand behind her with my arms wrapped around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. I want to make this vision a reality so badly that I can’t imagine ever being happy until I do.
I settle for standing near her, the small of my back against the counter near the stove. “You’ve officially won, by the way.”
She glances at me, confused, and I point to my face.
Her eyes widen behind her glasses, and she sends me an apologetic grin. “I was wondering when you’d notice. I’m sorry. I debated so many times whether I should tell you. I should have.”
“Nah, yeah. It’ll wash out sooner than the blond. How about we say between this and my perfume gag, we’re even?” I ask with a laugh.
Piper returns my laugh but shakes her head. “Except you get your product for free and I still have to replace my perfume.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, nah. Not since they quit using me in their ads in 2017.”
Her grin disappears. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. That face wash is more expensive than my perfume.”
I shake my head, then realize what she’s offered, and I can’t help myself. Now that I understand her financial situation, I won’t let her give me money she doesn’t have, but she could do something else. “If you really want to make up for it, you could mention the idea of a cash settlement to your mum.”
I’ve said it jokingly, but in a heartbeat, Piper’s expression changes from sorry to frustrated. “I’m not going to ask Mom to re-negotiate with Malcolm, Archie. Please stop asking.”
The hint of anger in her voice puts me on the defensive, and I’m ready to fire back. Then I remember what she said last night about me fighting her instead of Dad.
I have to quit running from that truth. Dad’s said no to my ideas dozens of times, but his reasons are always about himself. Piper, though, is saying no to protect her mum. That’s what’s fueling her resistance, and I can’t help admiring her loyalty to Cynthia.
“Okay,” I say softly. I want to say more, but I don’t want to make another mistake that will raise her wall higher.
Piper grabs a plate and scoops her eggs onto it, avoiding my gaze. “I need to eat and get ready for work.”
