Page 90 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
I don’t much feel like celebrating Dad cutting me off, but I’ll celebrate taking a stand—shaky as it is—in order to live my own life. Plus, Frankie and I haven’t surfed together for years, and I need a break to clear my head before I work on my proposal anymore.
“Let me do one more thing, then I’m ready.” I link my PowerPoint and research, type out a quick message to Dad, telling him to call me with any questions. I hesitate ending with anything that doesn’t sound professional, but typelove yabefore pressing send.
I exhale. “That’s it. Done.”
I glance at Piper and shrug. I can tell by her expression that she knows what my last task was.
“Good on ya’,” she says in an attempt at an Australian accent.
“You want in too, Pipes?” Frankie uses the nickname she used to call Piper, and Piper’s face breaks into a pleased smile.
“Thanks, but no.” Piper tosses aside the blanket and slowly stands. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, while slowly shutting my laptop. “Let’s grab coffee and brekkie at Frothed after I surf.”
Piper shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’ve got to save every penny if I’m about to be jobless.”
“My treat.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “You might want to practice saving your pennies, too.”
“As soon as Dad cuts me off. Until then, I’ll spend as much of his money as I want in order to celebrate.”
She chuckles and nods once. I give in to the urge to bend down and kiss the top of her head.
When I stand again, her eyes dart to mine and Frankie’s mouth is hanging open.
“That doesn’t technically count,” I say hurriedly.
“Then do it again.” Piper grabs my hand and tugs me back.
“I’ll be in the gym,” Frankie says slowly.
I plant another quick kiss on Piper’s head. “You’ve shocked my sister. Now I’m in for the third degree.”
“Go,” Piper waves her head in Frankie’s direction. “Before you try to break any more of your own rules.”
“I’m an idiot for being so gallant.” I drop Piper’s hand and follow Frankie to the gym.
We grab our boards and wetsuits and don’t waste time getting to the water, but by the time we paddle out, the wave is in a lull. We bob up and down waiting for it to pick up again, Frankie is patient, me not so much. I know what’s coming, and I was hoping to avoid the question that’s been on Frankie’s face since she woke me up.
“So, what was that in there?” The smirk on her face is familiar. I see it every time I pass the “Surf City” print in the stairwell and look at my face. I’ve never been annoyed by it until right now.
I shake my head and let out a long sigh. I can give in right away or let Frankie torture the answer out of me, and I’ve had enough torture for one night holding back from kissing Piper.
“Complicated. That’s what that is.”
Frankie laughs. “Or exactly what you need to get your stuff together.”
“Possibly.” I return her laugh, then glance over my shoulder. Still no wave. “What do I do here, Frankie? I’ve gotta fight Dadfor the house so I can start Bombora, but that’ll put Piper in the middle.”
The water is smooth enough and her shortboard wide and stable enough for Frankie to pull her legs from the water and hug them to her chest. She turns her face towards me and rests her cheek on her knees.
“You’re not going to want to hear this, but I think you need to take the trust fund and the house completely out of the Bombora equation.”
Her board moves up and down in slow motion, but Frankie is still. She knows this wave well enough to sense when a set is coming in. She’ll keep her balance, staying grounded on her board and in her head—trusting the ocean—until it’s time to ride.
“Why?”
