Page 39 of A Million To Fall

“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.