Page 8 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“Right, so this is the proof that Malcolm gave you this house to hide it from Mom’s attorneys?” She pushes up her glasses with her middle finger—again.I didn’t miss it the first time.
I drop my gaze and set the deed on the counter, not only because she’s right but also because I’m uncomfortable with the thoughts I’m having about her eyes and how nice they are. In the pretty sense, not the kind way. There is zero kindness in them right now.
“Malcolm wants it back to finalize the divorce now that mom’s willing to settle, and you don’t want to give back your free house,” Piper continues, and my eyes shoot back to hers. “I get it. But since you didn’t pay for the house and the trick to hide it didn’t work, and everyone has agreed it’s the key to resolving this ridiculous divorce settlement, it’s time to get over yourself and be a big boy.”
My mousy little stepsister has grown a backbone. A spiky one…like an echidna. But similar to that spiny anteater, Piper onlylooksdangerous. She’ll curl into a ball the minute I push back.
“I own the house, Piper,” I say, stepping closer to her. “You’re trespassing and have, oh, three minutes to get out of here before I call the police. You can explain all your theories to them. You can even show them Sybil’s email, but it doesn’t mean anything if my name is still on the deed.”
Piper goes still. An uncomfortable tightness seeps into my chest. Then her shoulders fall and she backs away from me. Like I predicted she would.
I should feel as good about this as I did when Sybil backed down.
I don’t.
Chapter 5
Piper
Like Archie just sang, I also havea lot of fight left in me, but legally, I don’t have a leg to stand on. Archie hasn’t signed the house over to Malcolm, and Malcolm hasn’t signed it to Mom. It isn’t her house, which means I don’t have any right to be here.
The realization that he can absolutely make good on his threat to call the police—and he’s a big enough jerk to do it—blasts me with humiliation a thousand times hotter than the radiator in my old apartment.
“Fine. I’ll leave.” I’m shaky as I walk toward the foyer. “Once again, the whims of the Forsythes screw up everyone else’s lives.”
I’m almost to my suitcases when I hear his footsteps behind me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The defensiveness in his voice turns the heat coursing through me ice cold.
I’ve never been one to run from a fight. Instinct kicks in and I whip around so fast that Archie steps back. “The Butterfly Effect. Look it up. Or pay someone to do it for you. That’s how it usually works, right? Pay someone to do the work, so you can stay inyour privileged little bubble with no concept of how your actions have consequences.”
Archie’s face turns a dark maroon, and I brace myself for his comeback. I was harsh. He deserves some of it, but Malcolm is the real target. Archie—intentionally or unintentionally—is just Malcolm’s shield.
To my surprise, Archie’s face softens. His eyes dart to the floor, where he searches for something. Maybe an escape hatch? If he finds one, I’ll follow. I’ve got nowhere else to go.
When he looks back at me, his jaw is tight, but there’s no fight left in him. “I’m sorry you got caught in this mix-up, Piper. I’m as much a victim of Dad’s whims as you are.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably. “I have some things to take care of before I can leave. Then I’ll sign the deed.”
I stare at him, wondering if there’s more. Wondering if he might tell me I can stay, at least for the night, until I work out something else for the next couple of weeks.
I can’t ask for it, though. I can’t be that pathetic.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you need help getting your bags to your car?”
The only answer I have is a slow blink. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. I’ve had nothing to eat besides airplane snacks. I’m exhausted. I’m hangry. And I’m on the verge of losing the battle against the tears storming my eyes.
And I don’t have a car.
I push back the emotion and answer him in a tight voice. “I’m fine, thanks.”
I quick-walk to the suitcases I left in the entryway and grab their handles, expecting them to pop up. The smaller bag cooperates, but the handle of the bigger one stays down. The heavy bag tips, launching me forward before slipping from my hand and crashing to the floor.
My lighter suitcase escapes my grip at the same moment and rolls merrily away. At the same time, I step on my own skirt, bringing both of us down—me and my stupid elastic-waistband skirt. I land on all fours on a plush rug, my skirt mid-thigh.
Meanwhile, my second suitcase gains forward momentum. It skates across the slick wood floor with the speed of a hockey player going for a goal. Before I can pull myself or my skirt up, a shattering sound fills the foyer.
I yank my skirt back to my waist and slowly raise my eyes to the corner where I’d seen the little table with the delicate Murano vase when I walked in. I’m glad I got a glimpse of it then, because now my suitcase looms triumphantly over the pieces. I really, really hope it’s a fake. Now it’s even more broke than I am.
“Are you okay?” Archie takes my arm to help me up, but I shake him off and scramble to the vase, ignoring that he saw me in my panties during the brief seconds my skirt was down.
