Page 7 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
Before I make it to my bedroom door, I hear Frankie’s voice coming from my mobile in the recording she set as my ringtone for Sybil.You have a call from She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Ignored.
The ringtone is eerily ominous as I consider the dozens of times I’ve ignored it over the past week.
“Hello, Sybil,” I answer.
“Hello, Archibald. What’s the issue with the beach house?”
As a kid, I wondered if Sybil was a Personal Assistant Robot prototype Dad had developed. Like Tony Stark’s Jarvis, minus the congenial chip. Sometimes I still wonder. For all I know,Dad’s plans for me could include building an army of Sybils for his billionaire buddies as the final piece in their plan for world domination.
“Well, Piper showed up and thinks she’s moving in today, for one.” With Sybil, I don’t have to work as hard to keep my voice neutral like I do with Dad. “And two, the house is in my name. Dad can’t just give it away without more warning. Britta and Dex need time to find somewhere else to live. I can’t kick them out while they’re on their honeymoon.”
He moved back in last year when he married Britta. After his accident surfing Pipe a few months later, his living here turned out to be a stroke of luck. The home gym already had some of the equipment he needed for therapy, but I outfitted it with everything else he’s needed while recovering.
Dex is a good excuse, but the other reason I don’t want to move out is that Dad’s putting pressure on me to go back to Brisbane and work for him at Forsythe Tech now that Dex can’t compete. He thinks Dex is finished and won’t need me as a coach again.
Dad and I don’t see eye-to-eye on that or my moving back to Aus. It’s hard for me to admit all those feelings out loud, but the truth is, I’m not interested in leaving LA. This is home.
“I tried a number of times to reach you. You didn’t respond to my messages,” Sybil says.
“I was in Fiji. I barely had service.”
“I left a message from your father that you’d need to be out by Friday. You should have conveyed that to Mr. Dexter, who isn’t a paying tenant and has no legal claim to the house.”
“I thought you meantnextFriday.” I don’t have any other argument for not telling Dex he and Britta have to move, except I thought I had more time.
Sybil is silent for a few seconds. “I’m sorry I didn’t specify, but you’ll need to leave now that Piper is there. You received thedocuments to sign the house back to Mr. Forsythe weeks ago. You should already have them notarized and filed. I’ll schedule a flight for tomorrow for you.”
Sothat’swhat’s in the overnighted package that arrived a few days before I left for Fiji. “I haven’t had time to do any of that.”
Including actually opening the package.
“I’ll send a paralegal over today to assist you,” Sybil says in her robotic tone.
I clutch the deed in my fist. If Dex hadn’t been hurt, I wonder if I would have been more willing to sign over the deed. Maybe. I’m just stubborn enough to shoot myself in the foot if it proves a point, even if I’m not even clear on what the point is.
Things are different now, though. Dex needs the gym here, and I’ve got nowhere else to go. I’ve had enough of neighbors above and below me and a limited ocean view. Suddenly, it hits me that, with the beach house part of the settlement, Dadneedsme to sign over that deed before he can finalize his divorce. Which means…
For the first time ever, I have some leverage.
“No,” I say sharply.
“Pardon,” Sybil replies just as sharply.
I swallow and clench the deed tighter. “Tell Dad to call me. We have things to discuss before I’ll sign.”
Sybil sucks in her breath. “I’ll let him know.”
The phone goes dead, but something in me comes alive. Saying no to Sybil is close to saying no to Dad, something I haven’t done before.
I think I like the feeling.
With that settled, I go back downstairs to confront Piper.
She’s in the kitchen when I get there. I hold the deed in front of her face. “Dad signed over the house to me two years ago. My name is still on record.”
Her eyes move back and forth behind her glasses as she scans the document before she raises them to me. I don’t remember her eyes being that color—shimmering, sunlit sand, soft and golden, like they could hold heat even on a cold morning.
And there’s plenty of heat in them right now.
