Inconvenient Daughter

by Lauren J. Sharkey

"Okay," I laughed.

  "Seriously, I'm not. Everyone thinks I am because I'm on the basketball team, but I'm really not. I like guys."

  "Me too."

  I held the base of the ladder as she climbed up and handed her the sledgehammer. Erin took one swing at the ceiling and the light fixture came down on the two of us. We were excused for the rest of the day, and she still has a small scar on her nose.

  Once we returned to campus, we signed a roommate assignment form, exchanged numbers, and said we'd see each other soon.

  * * *

  "Erin's not here yet!" I called back to Dad.

  Dad was the first to reach the registration table, then Mom, who hadn't spoken a word to me the entire trip down, and Aidan close behind. Dad made sure everything was okay with the deposit and signed all the forms since it would still be two months before I turned eighteen.

  "It looks like you're in, uh," Dad began, scanning the documentation, "Woodcrest 303."

  "Ugh," I groaned. "Erin and I wanted to get into Xavier."

  "What's wrong with Woodcrest?" he asked, as we walked back to the car.

  I didn't want to tell him I didn't spend four years in an all-girls Catholic high school to end up in the female-only building my freshman year of college. I went with, "I heard the rooms are smaller there."

  "Well," Mom said, breaking her silence, "I hope you get used to sharing because no room is going to be as big as the one you have at home."

  "You're talking to me now?" I said to her.

  Nothing.

  Mom remained silent as she helped Dad, Aidan, and me haul my life to the third floor, down the hall, and into a 192-square-foot room with no air conditioner. She brightened up when Erin's parents arrived, putting on a happy face and making small talk, but returned to the silent treatment once we got in the car and began searching for a restaurant to have our last meal as a family until Thanksgiving.

  We ate in silence and returned to campus in silence. Dad got a little teary-eyed when he hugged me for the last time and I was sure the only reason Aidan actually said goodbye was because his DS had died.

  "Take care of yourself, Smedley," Dad said. "Try not to cause too much trouble."

  Mom put her anger aside long enough to give me a hug. She told me not to forget to check in at least four times a week and reminded me to send a copy of my class schedule.

  "I will."

  "Come here," she said, pulling me in for one more hug before taking a package out of her bag and handing it to me.

  I unwrapped the paper to reveal a teal leather diary, with a belt buckled around it. The belt buckle was attached to a button underneath to keep the diary closed.

  "It's to write all your adventures in," she said.

  More than anything, I wanted to tell her I loved her, that I was sorry for the past few weeks, that I was going to miss her. "Thanks," I said.

  "Now, don't forget to call—"

  "I know, I know."

  "Okay. I love you," she said, squeezing me one last time.

  "Me too."

  * * *

  I called Mom once over the weekend before school started to tell her I'd mailed her the schedule and to let her know classes started Monday. Somehow, it was easier to talk to her with 130 miles between us. Mom seemed to really listen, like she wanted to know everything. When we hung up, I was surprised to see we'd been on the phone almost an hour.

  That Monday, I picked up the phone to hear incoherent shrieking and thought she was calling to yell about the state I'd left my room in.

  "I—I—"

  "Mom? Is everything okay?"

  "I've made you chocolate chip cookies every first day of school for—for—" she sobbed, "for thirteen years. And now, now you're off at college, and it's your first day of school, and I have cookies in the oven but you're not going to be home to eat them."

  "Mom, it's okay," I said, trying to pack up for class.

  "No, no, it's not. I just—you're my—my little pumpkin pie—"

  "Look, Mom, I can't really talk right now. I gotta get to class."

  "Okay, okay," she said, breathing deeply, trying to compose herself. "I love you."

  "Love you too. Bye!" I said, closing my phone.

  "Dude, come on," Erin said, "we're gonna be late."

  * * *

  Erin and I were walking to class the first time I saw Hunter. He was wearing a three-piece suit and smoking a cigarette outside Founder's Hall, the pinstripes of his vest and trousers perfectly aligned. He had on a black cowboy hat.

  Hunter was tall and fit. The arms of his purple Oxford were tight against his muscles—the top button was undone and revealed a white T-shirt and chest hair beneath. He dressed with purpose and I longed to know what it was—for he seemed to be a man, and I knew nothing of men.

  I didn't realize I was staring at him until I saw Erin was already at the top of the steps.

  "What are you waiting for—an invitation?" she laughed.

  As much as I didn't want to be late for my first class, I wanted to take him in—wanted to memorize his pale skin and green eyes. Wanted to burn the image of how his warm brown hair fit perfectly behind his pierced ear, and caught the light in all the right places, stopping at the nape of his neck.

  He opened the door as we approached, and I noticed an unfinished tie dangling around his neck.

  "Hi," I said, as we passed through the doorway.

  He simply tipped his cowboy hat forward and said nothing.

  Erin spanked her ass and galloped into the atrium of Founder's. I followed suit and attempted to lasso her—our laughter gathering the attention of those around us. We rode our invisible horses up the stairs and down the hall, coming to a halt outside Intro to Mass Comm.

  * * *

  Erin and I spent the first weeks of our freshman year sneaking boys into the dorm past visiting hours and going for joyrides in her Subaru, stealing random signs from the liquor stores on Upper Gulph Road. Our room was adorned with Mike's Hard Lemonade cutouts and Bud Light banners.

  Eventually, our joyrides grew longer and we found ourselves cruising the empty Pennsylvania streets, the car vibrating to the rhythm of the best of the nineties, barely audible against our perfect recollection of the lyrics that had defined our youth.

  On Halloween, Erin and I were outside Woodcrest waiting for Sporty, Ginger, and Posh Spice when Hunter walked by, dressed as a pirate.

  "Hey," he said, walking toward us.

  "Hey," we replied in unison.

  "What's up?" I asked, in disbelief that I'd mustered the courage to speak.

  "Nothing much. What are you doing tonight?"

  "House 6's Halloween Hoedown," Erin said. "You?"

  "Same. Uh," he mumbled, "are you going to the Hoedown too?" he asked, turning to me.

  "Yeah. Yeah, I'm going."

  He didn't know my name but asked if he could escort me to House 6. I looked to Erin, who gave me a smile before turning to Hunter. "Yeah, sure."

  I was grateful for Hunter's arm since I hadn't learned how to walk in heels.

  "So, do you have a name?"

  "Rowan," I said. "My name is Rowan. What's yours?"

  "I'm Hunter," he said, shaking my hand.

  When we arrived at House 6 a few minutes later, he placed a cigarette between his teeth, motioning for me to come closer. "I need your hands."

  I cupped my palms around his lips as he lit a match. Erin and the rest of the Spice Girls headed toward us. "Hey, I'm going to go in. See you in there?" I said to Hunter.

  "I've got some business to take care of later so I might cut out early."

  "Oh yeah?" I smiled. "What kind of business?"

  "Just need to deliver something to a client of mine."

  Aware of what he was saying, I looked from side to side before lowering my voice, "What? What are you delivering?"

  "Goodies."

  "Like drugs?"

  "Hey," he hissed, pulling me close to him, "keep your voice down."

  The only
time I'd done drugs was on the hood of Cole's car at Jones Beach. I didn't know what Hunter was into—weed, cocaine, pills. But something about the way he held me close—how I could feel my heart beating faster against his chest in the October cold—made not knowing okay.

  "Who's going to walk me home then?" I flirted.

  "Here," he said, handing over his phone, "put your number in and I'll call you later."

  "All right," I said, entering my digits, "it's in there. Now you're going to have to call me."

  "If I call," he smiled, "you better answer."

  * * *

  Public Safety broke up the party after my second beer. I spotted Erin about to go upstairs with the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and managed to grab her before the door shut. It took an hour and a half to get her back to Woodcrest and into bed. About to unhook my bra, I groaned when the phone rang, but answered in case it was Hunter. He asked me to meet him outside, and I said okay.

  "Want to go for a walk?" he asked.

  "Kind of cold, don't you think?"

  "I'll lend you my coat."

  We walked past the Dixon Athletic Center on the other side of campus. Across the field, he gave me a boost over the fence into the St. Davis Golf Club. On the other side, we lay by the eighteenth hole, watching our breath disappear into the October sky.

  "Won't we get into trouble?"

  "No, I come here all the time."

  "How did you find this place?"

  "Me and my dad used to play holes here."

  "You don't anymore?"

  "Not so much. Are you close with your parents?"

  "I'm close with my dad," I said. "My mom—not so much."

  "Why not?"

  "My ass is wet," I laughed. I didn't want to talk about Mom, so we talked about other things until my teeth began to chatter.

  He gave me another boost and when we were both over, he took a step forward, forcing my back against the chain-link fence.

  "Can I kiss you?" he asked.

  I said yes.

  * * *

  "Wait, the pirate from Halloween? You didn't tell him it was your birthday?" Erin asked, throwing yet another top onto the "No" pile growing on our floor. I'd been eighteen for two weeks and we were finally going out to celebrate.

  "It's not that I didn't tell him. I said it once and then never mentioned it again. We've only been doing whatever we're doing for, like, three weeks. I didn't want him to feel like I was saying it just so he'd get me something. Because then he'd feel like he had to get me something. Or worse, I didn't want him to forget and not get me anything. Or, worse than that, I didn't want to have to act surprised when he gives me the worst gift imaginable."

  "Dude, you worry too much. Does this make my shoulders look big?"

  "Not if you wear your hair down it won't."

  She took out her ponytail and started combing. "So where does he think we're going tonight?"

  "He knows we're going to Philly, he just doesn't know why. Speaking of which, I'm going to run over to New Res and say bye."

  "What? The cab's going to be here in an hour!"

  "I know, but I'm not going to see him all weekend. I'll be right back—promise! Don't leave without me."

  * * *

  "You look nice," Hunter said, opening the door.

  "Well thank you," I said, doing a quick twirl. "I can't stay long—I'm meeting Erin and the girls soon."

  "All right, take a seat. I'll be right back." Hunter disappeared into the kitchen. The second-year dorms were so much nicer than ours—complete with single rooms, kitchens, and their own showers.

  The room went dark and a light began to flicker behind me. The aluminum foil pan looked as if it was about to buckle from the generous helping of frosting. A mountain of pink sprinkles populated the center of the cake and looked as if they had been fanned outward after being dropped by accident.

  "You made me a cake?"

  "Yeah, well, you were at the game your birthday weekend and had midterms and shit this week. I haven't really seen you, so happy birthday," he said, kissing me on the cheek.

  "I didn't think you'd remember."

  "Of course I remembered. You're my girl."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yes," he said, placing a kiss on my cheek. "You're always going to be mine. So, let's cut this thing and get into bed."

  "I can't," I said between kisses. "Erin and the girls are waiting."

  "But it's cold out there."

  "I know."

  "And it's warm in here."

  "But—"

  "And I have cake."

  "I really can't," I said, getting up from the table. "Erin has been planning this and she'll be really mad if I don't go. Please don't be mad."

  "I'm not mad. I just want to make sure my girlfriend knows how special she is to me."

  "So, I'm your girlfriend now?"

  "Yes. You are." He smiled, turning my phone off. "Now, hurry up and make a wish."

  I closed my eyes and wished that Erin wouldn't get mad when I called and asked for a rain check.

  * * *

  Our first fight was over a shower. I was getting ready to leave his dorm and told him I'd be stopping by my room after class.

  "Why?"

  "I haven't seen Erin all week and I want to take a shower."

  "There's a perfectly good shower here," he said.

  "But all my girl stuff isn't here—"

  "So what? All you need is soap and shampoo, right? Well, I have soap and shampoo."

  "Well, I'd like to see Erin too. I feel bad about leaving her by herself in Mass Comm the other day. I forgot to tell her I was skipping."

  "Who is he?"

  "Who is who?"

  "The guy you're fucking."

  His tone was so matter-of-fact, I had to stop packing and look at him. Even angry, he was beautiful—the blond highlights hidden intermittently throughout his predominantly brown hair were natural. He'd taken my suggestion, and let it grow out so that a few strands often fell over his right eye. Still, there was something about seeing him in the middle of the doorway that worried me.

  His arms were crossed over his chest, his stance wide. He was ready for an argument, and solid in his belief that somehow I could love another man.

  "What are you talking about?" I laughed.

  "Don't fucking play with me, Rowan."

  "Are you insane? I'm not seeing some other guy."

  "Yeah, well, then why can't you use the perfectly good shower here? That makes no sense."

  "Seriously? I'm just going to take a shower and see my friend. Maybe if you let me keep some of my stuff here I wouldn't have to go across campus to take a fucking shower."

  Hunter's hand hit me with such force that the inside of my cheek split against my teeth and sent blood against the white cinder-block wall. My cheek burned—the blood within prickling the skin where it had been struck. He looked as stunned as I was.

  Dad always said love was built on trust. Trust that the other person would be honest about the things that matter, and the things that don't. Trust that they'd love you despite your flaws. Trust that they'd protect you from harm. Trust that they'd never hurt you on purpose.

  Getting hit in the face violated that trust. I was hurt because I wasn't expecting it. I was hurt because Hunter was not who I thought he was.

  "Fuck you."

  I slammed the door behind me, ignoring him as he called out my name. Once in the stairwell, I pushed my way past those brave enough to take morning classes, hoping they couldn't see my shame. Outside, the concrete chilled my bare feet. I wasn't going back.

  * * *

  An hour later, there was a furious pounding on my dorm room door.

  "Rowan! Come on, I know you're in there."

  "Fuck off."

  "Would you just talk to me?"

  I didn't know then that I'd already forgiven him—that I'd continue to forgive him.

  "There's nothing to talk about."

  "I'm sorry. You know I would never hur
t you."

  "Obviously not," I said, flinging the door open.

  "Look, I don't know what happened. I'm sorry, it's just—"

  "What?"

  "It's just that I don't want you to be with anyone else, okay? I—I fucking love you and I'm scared you're going to leave me."

  "I love you too."

  "You say that, but I've been hurt before and—"

  "Look, I'm not Julie, okay? You want to go through my phone? Here," I said, chucking it at him. All I wanted was to prove what we had was ours—that I was going to protect it.

  "I'm not going to go through your phone. Just . . . come here."

  I opened my arms to him, and let him cry on my shoulder. I was captivated by the intensity of his passion—that the preservation of our love had driven him to violence. There was something seductive about how dangerous my potential departure made him. What we had was so grand that we were fighting one another. Maybe we had to destroy each other and piece ourselves together to form something that was both of us. He loved me, though, and that was enough for now.

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  "Hey Mack, it's Ernie down at 300, how you doin'? . . . I'm good, good—kids are good too, thanks for asking. Listen, I got a girl here lookin' for the SANE Center. You know where that's at?"

  I wait patiently as Ernie's eyebrows rise and his mouth opens wide. "Oh, no doubt, no doubt. I gotcha. I didn't real—yeah, yeah. I'll make sure she gets over there."

  Ernie places the receiver onto the phone carefully, worried that any sudden movement will send me into hysteria. I assume Mack has told him what the SANE Center is, and what kind of women go there.

  "So, miss, what you're going to do is go straight through those doors under where it says Greene Emergency Center. Once you're inside, just go to the desk and they'll get you where you need to go."

  I say nothing and walk past him toward the Greene Emergency Center, where I would have logically ended up had his security booth not existed. When I enter, all I can focus on is the wall of pamphlets.

  To my right, there is an acrylic brochure holder that goes from floor to ceiling. It is so massive that I walk toward it before making my way to the desk. My eyes scan the cartoon illustrations of people and unlabeled bottles of alcohol—What Is Consent: Preventing Sexual Assault; Alcohol, Drugs & Sexual Assault; What to Do If Someone You Know Is Raped.