by Joy Penny
“What?” Archer looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
“I saw no sense in Pauline waiting around all evening in a Starbucks, so I sent her home. I assured her she’d be paid for the full hours we agreed upon.” She held her coffee cup aloft as her eyes scanned the room. “Don’t they have a garbage around here…?” She wrinkled her nose as a display of rotting zombie statues caught her eye. “Ah.” She stepped around the counter as if she owned the place and dropped the cup into a basket that must have been back there. The cashier stared at her as she did so, slack-jawed. She smiled and pointed at the group behind her. “My son is the star of the evening.”
“Sweet Jesus,” muttered Archer. He ground his teeth and whispered. “I’m so sorry, Brielle.”
Brielle wanted to laugh, but the humiliated look on Archer’s face stopped her.
“Mother,” said Archer, clearly trying to keep an even tone to his voice as Mrs. Ward re-approached, “you can’t just do things like this; we’ve talked about this!”
“Nonsense. Most people would be happy to have a mother half as attentive as me.” She clapped her hands together. “I’ll drive you both home. There’s plenty of room in my van.”
Brielle looked to Archer. “My car’s at his condo.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Ward nodded, clearly considering Brielle’s statement and assigning it more meaning than there was. “And you, dear?” she asked, staring at Pembroke.
Brielle nudged Pembroke’s arm. “I live an hour away…” said Pembroke.
“I can drive her once I get my car,” Brielle offered.
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Ward. “I love a long car ride.”
“Heaven help us,” said Archer, rotating his chair to get around his mom. “This is sure to be a long car ride indeed.”
His mom nodded, turning after him. “Maybe we should stop somewhere… more accessible… so you can go to the bathroom before we hit the highway.”
“Mother. Please. For the love of God. Stop.”
Brielle would have found the whole situation somewhat comical if it weren’t so clear Archer was suffering.
Chapter Twelve
If he had to choose between a slightly long car ride or his anger and embarrassment being the cause of his current nausea, Archer would have to wonder if it weren’t a little of both. He always did get a little carsick. Although perhaps not that strangely, that did seem to abate somewhat when he could rely on Pauline to drive him instead of his mother. Pauline didn’t make a habit of grating on his nerves.
Oh, boy was he regretting not pressing his dad to help him get his license and a car now.
Luckily, or not so luckily, depending on whether or not you considered what she could be talking about, his mother hadn’t shut up about inconsequential aspects of her life, from the way Charlotte (whoever that was, Archer didn’t remember) had made a big deal about Lucy’s (also a name Archer didn’t have a face to put to) dietary requests at a dinner the other day to her usual liquor store no longer carrying her favorite brand of white wine. She spent the first half hour droning on, Pembroke beside her upfront and Brielle in the back beside Archer, his wheelchair strapped in the trunk of the van. Every few minutes, he’d look over to Brielle and find her either staring out the window silently or, on occasion, even raising her eyebrows at something his mother had said. He wanted to apologize so badly.
But then he figured, well, he had told himself that acting on his desires with her would be foolish for so many reasons. Maybe a good, embarrassing few hours with his mother would be enough to slow things down. Surely (he hoped), it wouldn’t be like when he and Brielle had had their awkward exchange the first day they’d met. They could still be friendly even after this spectacle, surely. It would just be enough to warn her away—far away—from getting more involved in his life than she already was.
“So where do you go to school, dear?”
Archer looked at the van’s clock. Nice. Only forty minutes into the drive does Mother even remember other people are in the car with us.
“Dear?” his mother repeated, and Pembroke jumped in place, just realizing she might be talking to her.
“I graduated. I’m job hunting,” she replied, quietly.
A rustling drew Archer’s attention. Brielle drummed her fingers across the bag of books on her lap.
He felt bad that, thanks to his mother, she wasn’t getting a chance to console her friend in the privacy she deserved. He still wasn’t sure what was going on and what exactly had happened between the two of them, but it was clear that Daniel dick didn’t like Brielle.
Which meant they’d either dated before or he’d simply really wanted her. That type of asshole never took the end of a relationship or a flat-out rejection very well. He shifted all the blame to the woman while his mouth betrayed the reality that he had nothing of substance to offer once you scraped away the good looks and whatever charm he’d turned on in the beginning.
The thought of that handsy asshole with his hands all over Brielle made Archer more nauseous. Brielle was upset—too upset. He was inclined to believe she and that Daniel had actually dated. There was no reason to be upset at Brielle over the idea—it was none of Archer’s business, and she wouldn’t be the first person burned by someone who turned out to be a grade-A asshole—but Archer really, really wished now he’d taken a slug at the guy anyway. He may not have been able to reach his face, but he could have punched him in the dick.
He took a deep breath. He was better than that. But god damn it, that guy didn’t deserve Brielle—or a cute girl like Pembroke, either.
He supposed Daniel didn’t have either now, which was some consolation.
“Hmm, you might consider college,” said his mother, oblivious as always that even if it were true that Pembroke meant she’d just graduated from high school, not everyone could afford higher education—or even saw the need for it. “Better prospects for a long-term job.”
Pembroke cleared her throat. “I did go to college. I graduated last weekend. Biology major.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Ward, clearly flustered. “You look so young.” She took a hand off the wheel to pat Pembroke’s shoulder affectionately. The car veered ever-so-slightly to the right. “But you’ll be so grateful for that in a few years, believe me.”
Pembroke shrugged. “We take the next exit,” she said, as sullen as could be. Archer knew the feeling, although he suspected her mood had more to do with that jackass than his mother.
“The one that says—”
“The college,” said Pembroke. “I live a few minutes down the road from it.”
Crumpling plastic startled Archer a little and he realized Brielle had taken a chunk of her bag entirely into her fist. A little more effort and she’d probably twist the piece right off.
His mother took them off the highway and then merged with the light traffic to head east. “Well, a major in biology is a smart choice. I hope you plan to go to medical or nursing school now.”
“No,” said Pembroke. “Not really…”
Mrs. Ward took her eyes off the road for a bit to glare at Pembroke like she was gum found under her shoe. Archer ran a hand over his face, trying to relive some of the stress with the massaging movements.
“Hmm,” said Mrs. Ward. “I hope you’ll reconsider. Although a girl like you with that bright, clear face… I suppose you could marry a doctor instead.”
“Mother!” Archer could feel Brielle staring at him, but he couldn’t look. He wrung his hands through his follicles instead.
“Oh, I don’t mean anything by it. I asked her if she wanted to be a doctor herself, didn’t I?” His mother pulled her visor down and fluffed her hair, even though it was dark out and the lights that went on around the mirror were distracting. Archer could feel his heart pounding a mile a minute.
“Besides,” she continued, thankfully shutting the visor after half a minute, “there are still plenty of reasons to get at least a nursing degree. I know one man you can marry who’s b
ound to inherit a respectable fortune who could definitely use a nurse for a wife.” She stared pointedly into her rearview mirror.
“Mother,” said Archer, swallowing, “if you could please stop bothering Pembroke…” He found himself looking at Brielle, the rest of his sentence lost on his tongue as she cocked her head, studying him. Did she just now realize he—well, his family, really—was well-to-do? Surely, she knew most people didn’t have cleaners come six days a week.
Did that make her think less of him? Did that make him more attractive to her—did he even want any interest from her based on that anyway? Despite all the security and extras his dad’s money provided, he didn’t exactly feel like he was rolling in it. He simply… had the luxury to do things others couldn’t through no action of his own. He hadn’t earned that luxury. (Unless you counted by putting up with his mother’s overzealous behavior.) And someone forced to clean houses to save up would probably not find that an endearing quality in a supposedly grown man.
“All right, all right.” She readjusted the mirror, angling it toward Brielle. “How about you, dear? How do you know my son?”
“Take a right at the next traffic light,” said Pembroke, cutting into the conversation. “The first house on the right side of the road.”
The car went eerily quiet at that, but as his mother was executing the turn, she didn’t seem aware that her question had gone unanswered.
Archer wasn’t sure if it would be more awkward for Brielle to admit their connection or if he should just get it over with.
“Thank you,” said Pembroke, unbuckling her seatbelt. “You really didn’t have to go so far out of your way.”
“No problem, dear,” said Archer’s mother as Pembroke opened the door.
“Pem,” started Brielle, “please answer my messages—”
Pembroke turned around, clutching her bag to her chest, and nodded back at Archer. “It was nice meeting you.”
Flustered, Archer looked to Brielle and back, the snub not going unnoticed. “You too… Thanks for your support. Uh, if you and Brielle need to talk about what happened—” But she’d already shut the door and walked away, heading down the driveway with her shoulders slouched.
The crinkle of the bag on Brielle’s lap was hard to miss as she watched Pembroke walk away.
Laying a hand behind the passenger seat headrest to look over her shoulder as she backed out, Mrs. Ward spared a glance at Brielle again. “I still haven’t heard about you.”
Archer gestured toward Brielle beside him. “She’s my house cleaner.”
The van screeched to a sudden halt a little too quickly at the end of the driveway. “From that… Scrubbing Angels service?”
“Scrubbing Cherubs,” corrected Brielle, cringing. She looked to Archer for confirmation on how to proceed, but he didn’t want her to have to explain more.
“We have a lot in common,” lied Archer, wondering if the only thing he knew they had in common was at least somewhat of an interest in comics and perhaps a little sexual tension. (The latter, of course, was mostly wishful thinking, but he didn’t think it impossible.)
Brielle drummed her fingers on her bag as his mother frowned and finished backing onto the road. “I really liked your book,” she said. “The Wheels one.”
“Thanks.” In the moonlight, Archer caught a glimpse of Brielle’s smile and it was so dazzling, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“I thought your cleaning lady was an older woman,” said Mrs. Ward, completely ruining the mood.
“That was Deena,” said Brielle. “She requested a swap in clients.”
“Requested a swap…?” Mrs. Ward’s voice went high-pitched.
Brielle bit her lip. “She wanted a change in shift, I mean. I came back for the first time in a year after going to school, and I was free to take on her clients.”
“So you’re a student?” she asked.
“I was,” said Brielle. “I graduated with Pembroke.” She nodded at the sign for the local college as they passed, although Archer’s mother couldn’t see it. “Right there.”
“Congratulations,” said the older woman, but there was a false note to the sweetness. “Were you a biology major too?”
“History and philosophy, actually.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Ward. “And… do you plan to do anything with that or…?”
“Mother, can you please stop having an inquisition?” said Archer, certain he should step in if he wanted to prevent her from embarrassing him any further. As if that were possible.
“It’s okay,” said Brielle, but even in the dark of night, it was clear her smile was strained. “I’m currently looking for a career. I’ve worked at Scrubbing Cherubs every summer since I was sixteen, so I thought it could hold me over and help me save up for whenever I move.”
“You still… live at home?”
Archer didn’t know why she said it so disdainfully, considering she wanted him to still be home and he doubted he could afford to live on his own without his parents’ help.
“Yes,” said Brielle, nervously laughing. “But I did graduate only last weekend.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?” Mrs. Ward asked, taking them back onto the highway. “I’m not sure what a history or philosophy major might do, other than teach history and philosophy.”
“I thought about it,” said Brielle. “But I didn’t think I was suited for it.”
“Then why the major…?”
“Mother—”
“I just find the subjects fascinating,” said Brielle. “I’ve been applying to basically any entry-level office job. As far as using my majors, well, I applied for a few museums, but no luck so far.”
“I imagine they want people with PhDs for that.” Archer’s mother drummed her manicured nails on the wheel.
“There are some lower-level jobs,” said Brielle, her head bowed as she played with her fingers on her lap.
“You know, I know somebody who works at the Field Museum of Natural History.” Mrs. Ward took a breath. “I should call him up for you.”
“Mother, please don’t interfere with—”
“Oh, that’d great!” Brielle spoke so quickly and with such excitement, even though it was like she’d stabbed Archer in the back while smiling about it.
“Give me your info before you leave,” she said.
“I will,” said Brielle, and she looked so happy, Archer felt bad for even feeling hurt that she was so anxious to leave town and what little they had behind.
“Good-bye! Good luck, dear!” Mrs. Ward waved to Brielle as she tucked the piece of paper she’d written her name and number down on into her purse. Archer watched the paper greedily, realizing his mother now had Brielle’s contact information and he’d yet to get it. He had the Scrubbing Cherubs number, and he knew it was likely Brielle’s mother would answer, but that would be one of the most awkward conversations he’d ever had.
Archer waited until his mother had opened his door and the two of them stepped inside completely. Of course she’d insisted on stepping inside for “coffee,” even though tomorrow was her day with him, it was getting late, and she’d already had coffee earlier from Starbucks. Once she shut the door, he spun on her in the living room of his condo. “What do you think you were doing?”
Dropping her purse on the kitchen counter, Mrs. Ward turned on his Keurig. “Well, that’s a fine way for you to thank me for going out of my way to help your friends this evening.”
“You promised me you weren’t coming tonight.”
“I promised nothing of the sort.”
Archer wheeled closer, trapping his mother in the kitchen. “You implied you were going to a dinner with Dad.”
She grabbed one of the K-Cups out of the small open jar he kept them in and took down a couple of mugs from the higher-up cupboards, where she kept the things she liked to use when there. “Do you want any?” she asked, making herself a cup.
“No, Mother, I don’t want coffee at ten o’clock at
night. I want…” He rubbed his temple. “I just… want some privacy once in a while.”
The sound of the Keurig as it finished brewing was so loud, it called to mind the cartoonish depictions of old-fashioned tea kettles practically about to blow. Something his mother said went unheard beneath the noise.
“What?” said Archer, his tone short and clipped, his hand flying back down to his lap.
She was in tears as she gestured around. “What do you call this? This place? This life your father and I provide for you? I wanted you home. I don’t see why you couldn’t do your drawings at home.”
Archer blew out a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry. That came out the wrong way, but—”
“And I try to make sure you’re okay, even when I’m not here.” The Keurig, briefly quiet, started growling again as it tried to keep the water still left warm. “I make arrangements with Pauline for your therapy and extra needs and to get you out of the house on occasion.”
“I know, I know, I appreciate it. But tonight was me getting out of the house, me doing something on my own—”
“It was you having a book signing and not wanting your own mother there! What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t go and support you?”
She didn’t even read his comics, he was sure of it. She’d tried reading Wheels once, but she had no interest in The Mystified. Not that he cared. “You’d be a mother who respected her son’s request.”
She looked as if she’d been slapped and she flicked the Keurig off to quiet it mid-growl. “You never said I wasn’t invited!”
“I thought I didn’t have to only because you told me you had a dinner tonight!” He slammed his palms on his wheels. “I was outright going to ask you not to go until you said that.”
Water flowed freely down her cheeks. “I thought you wanted me to go. You wanted me to cancel my plans to go.”
“No!” Archer wrung his hands through his hair. “I’m glad when you have a life outside of me. I want you to do things for yourself.”
“You didn’t disinvite your father!”
“I don’t have to! He’d never come!” He swallowed then, the words harder to articulate than he’d thought.
