17. Chapter 17
seventeen
Skye
My plane lands in Minneapolis just before noon, and despite my exhaustion, I’m excited—to be home for the summer, and to spend some quality time with my parents, friends, and Archer.
“There she is,” Archer calls out, striding toward me the second I step into the terminal. He pulls me into a tight hug. “God, I missed you, baby.”
I smile. “I missed you, too.”
Even with our rule of never going longer than two weeks without seeing each other, attending school in different states these past couple of years hasn’t been easy.
I could’ve stayed closer to home—attended the University of Minnesota with Archer, Lily, and Pacey—but the moment I toured Northwestern in April of my senior year, Chicago in full bloom, I had made my decision.
Archer wasn’t thrilled, but I’ve managed to keep things mostly tension-free—morning and night calls, constant little updates throughout the day so he never worries too much.
I thought my dad was protective growing up, but even he never hovered like this.
Archer takes my bag and leads me to his sleek, dark blue BMW M5—a graduation present from his parents. It’s nicer than the lifted truck he still uses for hunting or trips to the mountains.
“We’re all getting together tonight,” he says once we’re on the road.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Everyone. Jake, Pacey, Jonathan, Lily—you know, the whole crew.”
“Oh. Okay. What are we doing?” As excited as I am to see everyone, I was kind of hoping to spend this first evening back in my pajamas, sprawled on the couch, with not a single care in the world.
It’s been a long few weeks with finals, packing up my dorm, and travel.
I’d kill for a quiet night. But this is good, too.
Archer exhales sharply. “I don’t know. Grab food or something.”
“Sorry.” I know Archer gets irritated when I interrogate him too much.
Forty minutes later, he pulls into my parents’ driveway. I practically leap out of the car, then race into the house.
“Hi baby!” my mom cries, wrapping me in a tight hug the second I’m within reach. “Oh, I missed you so much.”
“Don’t mind me,” Archer calls from behind me, lugging my suitcase. “Just over here playing bellhop.”
My mom laughs. “Such a helpful and handsome young man.”
She unravels her arms from around me, and my dad steps up, pulling me into his arms. “Welcome home, Skye.”
“Didn’t expect to see you this afternoon, Dad. Did you leave the office early just to greet me?”
He chuckles. “Not exactly. I’m meeting with Stillwater royalty in thirty minutes and thought I’d stop by home in hopes of catching you.” He and Archer exchange knowing grins.
“Stillwater royalty…” I echo, connecting the dots. “Archer’s dad?”
My dad nods. “And his father. Some business organization reshuffling for the Longfellow family estate.”
I’m still hung up on Stillwater royalty.
“Sounds riveting,” I mutter.
“It is to me,” my dad says with yet another chuckle. “I love my job.”
“Speaking of job.” My mom clears her throat.
“Jessica starts maternity leave tomorrow,” she says of her assistant—or, as my dad likes to joke, my mom’s work wife.
“I’m down one important body for the summer, and we have two big events coming up—the ribbon cutting for the apartment complex in a couple of weeks,” she says giddily, “and a fundraiser later in July.”
Archer smiles, hands deep in his jeans pockets, my suitcase standing at attention at his feet. “My dad’s been neck-deep in both. Half the town will be at the ceremony.”
I laugh, well-aware of the understatement. “Half the town” doesn’t even begin to cover it. More like half the state.
“Did you finally decide on a name?” I ask.
My mom nods. “We had dinner with the Longfellows last month and decided on LM Commons.”
“LM—”
“Longfellow-Monroe,” Archer finishes my thought. He’s practically beaming with pride. And proud he should be. After all, it was his mention of housing that sparked the dinner conversation that led to my mom’s dream becoming reality.
Still, I make a face. “You couldn’t think of anything a little more creative? A little more… I don’t know, hopeful?”
My mom smiles. “I know, I know, it’s not particularly inspired. But it wouldn’t have felt right if I didn’t honor Archer’s family somehow. Without them, this project would’ve never come to fruition. Especially this fast.”
I guess things did move fast after Archer’s dad stepped in. He made his own donation— an amount my parents have kept strictly confidential due to its “significant size”—placed a few calls and bam, the goal was met in less than three months.
The construction, too, moved swiftly—probably aided by the fact that the contractor hired to oversee the project is some second or third cousin of Mr. Longfellow’s.
And now, my mom’s non-profit is the proud owner of a brand-new, fifty-unit apartment complex that will provide affordable housing to people leaving abusive situations.
It may not have been my project, but my heart still swells with pride. After all, it’s Longfellow-Monroe.
“You need my help with the events?” I ask and finally toe off my shoes. I can’t wait to get under the shower.
She tilts her head. “Yes. And answering phones, and filing, and—”
“That sounds like a whole summer job,” Archer chimes in, folding his arms loosely over his sturdy chest. “Come on, Mrs. Monroe. Skye’s been working so hard all year. You should let her rest. Let her enjoy her time with me.”
My mom gives Archer a tight-lipped smile, then looks at me. “It’s something for your résumé. Since you turned down that internship.”
The air in the room thickens, the momentary silence interrupted only by Archer shifting his weight uncomfortably.
I did well during my sophomore year at Northwestern.
So well, in fact, that I was offered a summer internship at a prominent non-profit that overturns wrongful convictions.
Spots were limited and competition was high.
I was over the moon when I received the e-mail, offering me one of only two positions.
Archer was less excited.
“Wait. It’s in Chicago?” he asked.
When I said yes, he lost it a little. “You can’t be serious, baby. After being apart all year, this is how you want to spend your summer? Are you purposely trying to stay away from me?”
We argued. Once. Twice.
After the third time, I decided peace was more important and I gave up the offer. Tucked my excitement away and told him I’d come home instead.
Sitting here now, watching my mom move around with that same fierce energy she brings to helping women rebuild their lives, a flicker of regret sparks in my chest. I shove it down. I may not be in Chicago right now, but helping my mom still means helping people.
I force a smile. “What’s the pay?”
My dad smirks. “Free food, a roof over your head, car insurance, phone plan, college tuition…”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “You had me at food. When do I start?”
“Monday at nine.”
“Alright, so, where to?” I ask when Archer and I are back in his car twenty minutes later. The brief stop at home wasn’t much of a respite, but at least I feel less sticky after my shower.
“We’re meeting everyone at Jake’s, then we’ll figure it out from there.
” He intertwines our fingers, thumb grazing my skin.
“I can’t believe your mom’s making you work this summer,” he says with a sigh.
“Like I wouldn’t want to spend every second with you.
I hate this long-distance crap.” I see him glance at me out of my periphery. “I wish you’d transfer closer to me.”
My stomach clenches. That conversation always ends badly. “I just don’t think it would be a good move,” I say softly.
He doesn’t look at me, but I can tell he doesn’t like my response. “Why not?”
I choose my words carefully. “I talked to my counselor, and she didn’t think transferring would be in my best interest. Best to just finish my degree at Northwestern, you know?”
“You should’ve transferred after your first year,” he mutters, then looks at me. “You know how much I hate not having you close. Not being able to protect you.”
“I know.” I caress his arm with my free hand. “But I don’t want to lose momentum, Arch.”
Archer exhales deeply, shaking his head. “I don’t get why you even bother with college. You know you don’t need a degree, baby. I’ll take care of you.”
This isn’t a new opinion. Archer has told me plenty of times that I won’t work a day in my life once we’re married—that he’ll “provide.” His parents’ marriage is the blueprint. His mom never worked, even now that all four Longfellow boys are grown and out of the house.
“It’s security, Arch,” I say, not looking at him. “I want something behind my name. I don’t want to be dependent—”
“On me?” he cuts in, hurt in his eyes like my desire for independence is the ultimate rejection.
“On anyone,” I say carefully.
He scoffs. “Skye, I provide, you take care of our family. That’s how it works.”
I can’t help but make a face.
“That’s so outdated, baby,” I say, my voice feather-soft.
“I don’t even know exactly what I want yet.
I just know I want the choice to figure it out myself.
Maybe I don’t want to be a stay-at-home whatever.
And we’re not married. We’re not even engaged.
I’m not going to gamble my future on something that might not even happen. ”
His face darkens. I should’ve stopped talking four sentences ago.
“You don’t think we’ll get married?”
I try to walk it back. “I don’t know. Baby, I’m nineteen.”
“So? You’ll be twenty in a week. And I’ll be twenty-one in September.”
“That’s still really young.”
“It’s just a number,” he insists. “When you find the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, age doesn’t really matter, don’t you think? When you know, you know. And I know. I’ve always known. You’re it, Skye.”
Even in his frustrated state, the words snake their way into my heart. Archer can be harsh, but he can also make me feel chosen.
“I guess,” I say quietly.