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“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,reallywished 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 soyoung.” 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 bound 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 evenwantany 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.
