8. Piper #2
While he talks, Archie dips up and down on the counter, like he’s working his triceps.
I think it’s an unconscious thing, not to show off the definition in his arms. They aren’t weight-lifter muscular, but lean and toned.
And I really shouldn’t be getting distracted by them when I’ve got breakfast to make and a grudge to hold.
I pour the eggs into the pan and move them back and forth with the spatula. “I read about the accident. It sounded terrible. How’s the recovery going?”
“Slow, but steady. He’s started to surf small waves again. He’ll be back on tour, eventually.”
“He hasn’t been surfing professionally? How is he paying his bills?” I don’t follow surfing much anymore, but during my Surf City fangirl years—and even after—I followed it religiously. When a surfer drops off the competition circuit, so do his sponsorships and earnings.
Archie clears his throat. "Yeah, well, that’s part of why they live here, to save on living expenses. Dex hasn’t had many paychecks coming in the past nine months, but I’ve got...other income, so it’s worked out okay."
Though he doesn’t say it directly, I get the picture—he's been covering their living expenses. "That’s really generous of you." I mean it sincerely, as much as I hate to admit it. Archie is loyal to his friends. I’ll give him credit for that.
The toast pops, and I grab plates from a nearby cabinet. “Do you want to check the fridge for butter?”
He pushes himself away from the counter and walks toward the fridge. “Sure. I doubt we have any, but I reckon I can find the?—”
“—Don’t say?—”
“—Vegemite!” He finishes with a wicked grin, and I know he’s recalling the one time—at Mom’s insistence that we be one big happy family—we took a trip to Australia.
We went out for breakfast, and Archie insisted I’d love Vegemite.
He spread a thick layer on a piece of toast for me.
I took one bite and wanted to barf, but I knew that’s what Archie wanted.
So I ate the whole thing, choking down a bite at a time, until I gagged and had to make a run for the bathroom.
I send him a warning look and his smile softens.
“Don’t worry. We’ve got butter somewhere. Britta loves the stuff,” he says before opening the fridge. “I reckon I should apologize to you for the Vegemite incident.”
“I reckon there’s a lot you should apologize to me for.” I slide the eggs onto the plates.
Archie closes the fridge and hands me a stick of butter. “Nah, yeah. I was a kid who didn’t know what to do with his emotions. I had a lot going on with my parents’ divorce and life in general. I’m sorry if your feelings got caught in the crossfire.”
I stare at him. It’s more of a sorry you’re so sensitive than an apology. But it’s something. Probably all I’ll ever get from Archie.
He strolls to the table while I butter the toast, cut it into perfect triangles, and add two pieces to each plate of eggs. I take Archie his plate then sit across from him. An uneasy quiet settles between us. I’m not sure we’ve shared a meal since the Vegemite incident.
“What’s this?” Archie opens my sketchbook I left on the table.
I jump up and yank it away from him. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? That was a big reaction for nothing.” He laughs and bites into his toast.
I close my book and sit back down. “Yeah,” I snort. “I may have over-reacted. Sorry. It’s just some ideas I’ve been playing with.”
“Ideas?” He tips his head, reminding me of a curious puppy with overgrown red hair framing his big green eyes.
I have an irritating weakness for puppies.
“For my own designs. They’re still pretty rough.” I poke at my eggs, avoiding any teasing that may be in his eyes.
“Your own designs? So not for Valente?” His genuine interest draws my gaze to his.
“If they hire me after the internship, maybe…” I glance away, then take a risk sharing my secret. “But I’d rather put them out under my own name.”
I keep thinking about Archie sharing a bit of his own insecurity yesterday. He gave me an insider’s view of his life. I guess I can give him a peek at mine.
His eyebrows arch into his shaggy bangs as he studies me. “You’ve got things figured out, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Good on ya’, Piper. I can’t wait to brag that I was the bloke who made Piper Quinn’s life miserable before she was the Piper Quinn.”
I laugh. “Don’t hold your breath. That’s years down the road…if I’m lucky.”
Archie smiles and shrugs. He opens his mouth, but whatever he’s about to say gets lost in the sound of the Darth Vader song from Star Wars. Bom bom-ba-bom, bom-ba-bom. That one. Where the bad guy marches into the picture, all evil and heavy-breathy.
Archie swears under his breath and takes his phone from his pocket.
“It’s Dad. I’d better take it.”
He goes out the back door before answering, leaving me giggling over the ringtone he’s chosen for Malcolm. I had no idea Archie could do subversive, but he’s on point with that sound.
But it also makes me wonder if he doesn’t worship Malcolm the way he used to.
If that’s the case, I feel bad for Archie.
I understand exactly how it feels to lose faith in a parent—Malcolm, in particular.