One Pink Line

by Dina Silver

  My father looked at the waiter. “One check for the table will be fine.”

  Mom had a puss on her face for the rest of the evening, and didn’t say a word to anyone. She also ate nothing but breadsticks.

  Rocco and Kevin were roommates and fraternity brothers, and the two people whom Jenna and I had known the longest. We met them our second week of freshman year as they were trying to get into an off campus party with no luck. Just as we walked up, they were trudging away, defeated. Jenna took pity on them and we all went back to our dorm, listened to music, ate microwave pizza and got acquainted. Rocco D’Ancona grew up in New York and came from a large Jewish-Italian family, which was easy to determine once he opened his mouth and spoke. He was physically strong, but a teddy bear at heart, always telling everyone he loved them…and was crazy close with his ‘Ma’. He’d talk to her for hours on the phone, and would call her for advice whenever one of us was ill. Almost every remedy she gave him included ginger ale.

  He was attractive, in a dark European way, but had the manners of a momma’s boy. Once I fell asleep studying with him late at night, and woke next to him shaving with an electric razor as his tiny hair fragments fell into the cracks of my calculator. He had no shame, and I loved him like a brother. Kevin was yin to his yang. He was from Los Angeles, had more of a handsome surfer appeal, and preferred a much more low key existence. While Rocco would be at the head of a conga line, Kevin would be glued to a chair somewhere, with his six-foot-five legs outstretched, always enjoying his surroundings from the sidelines. But where Rocco loved everybody, Kevin had only a few close-knit friends that he was fiercely loyal too, and fiercely protective of. Friends such as Jenna and I. Anytime we needed anything, a ride, a meal, a plumber, a shoulder to cry on…he would take care of it. He was simply one of those people who would drop absolutely everything to help a friend, and over the years I’d gone out of my way to always make sure he was happy, because he deserved it.

  “A toast, to senior year, fabulous friends and lots of beer!” Jenna christened the evening that first night back.

  “Here ye, here ye!” I shouted.

  We spent the next eight months doing much of the same thing.

  By springtime, schoolwork kicked into survival mode. We were all doing whatever it took to pass and graduate on time, without giving up an ounce of our social life. Most of my classes were scheduled in the morning, from eight-thirty to twelve thirty, so by one o’clock I was free. On the days I felt disciplined, I would head straight to the student lounge, do my homework, and meet up with my friends for dinner. Kevin and Rocco were great cooks, and hosted Elvis Hour two nights a week at their place. Guests were in charge of bringing alcohol, appetizers or desserts, and they would serve up everything from pan-seared steaks to classic spaghetti carbonara to enchiladas, along with endless tunes from the King of Rock & Roll. The pasta dishes were always my favorite, and one night when only Jenna and I were able to make it, Rocco broke out a bottle of black truffle oil that his mom sent him, and drizzled it all over the noodles. I have never been the same.

  “Rocco,” I swooned.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to need a bottle of that truffle oil.”

  Jenna looked at the tiny two-ounce bottle on the table in front of us. “You can buy this anywhere,” she said.

  Rocco looked at her, offended. “No, Jen, you can’t.”

  “I’ve seen it before,” she said.

  He lifted the bottle and held it obnoxiously close to her face. “You ain’t seen nothing but truffle-infused olive oil before, a commoner’s substitute. This is all truffle, baby.”

  She pushed his arm away.

  “Don’t drop the bottle!” I gasped.

  “Don’t you worry, Syd,” he set it back down. “I’ll have Ma send you one.” He leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned his jeans. “So, which one of you broads wants to be my date to the Beta formal?” he directed his question to the both of us, but we all knew he wanted Jenna as his date. Rocco had a not-so-subtle crush on her over the years, but she’d made it perfectly clear to him that he was nothing more than a friend. He accepted her refusal to date him, but that didn’t stop his liquid nerves from trying time and time again to make out with her.

  The Beta house was having their end of the year dance at a hotel in Indianapolis. Jenna and I assumed that one of the guys would ask us to go, since they had no legitimate dates to invite.

  “Well, with that chivalrous invitation, how could I say no?” Jenna accepted. “I get shotgun on the drive down.”

  Kevin looked at me and winked. “Guess that leaves you and me, sister.”

  “I would love to,” I said. “But what about Alexa? You know she’s going to blow a gasket if she doesn’t get asked by someone.”

  Rocco belched. “I talked with Tim’s housemate, Barney, he said he’d take Alexa and double-up with Tim and Andrea,” he said as Kevin began to clear the table to “Blue Suede Shoes.”

  “Great,” Jenna clapped. “We have to make sure we get rooms on the same floor, and maybe we can drive down early and spend the day at the indoor pool?”

  “Can I book a massage for you as well?” Rocco asked sarcastically.

  “If you want to make up for the pathetic invite, you can,” she told him.

  He leaned back, balancing his chair on only two of its four legs. “The dance is in two weeks, if you want to change your mind and catch Casablanca at the Student Union instead, let me know and I’ll go stag.”

  “You’re a shit,” she slapped him.

  Jenna and I did the dishes, and then set up the make-your-own sundae bar we brought. After we were through, the four of us went to Harry’s bar to meet up with the rest of our friends who skipped dinner on account of studies, but always made time for Harry’s. Three Long Island iced teas later, I was back in my bed, belly full and head spinning. There were three messages from Ethan on my answering machine.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  grace

  “I want to speak with my father tomorrow,” I repeated. “Do you J-know how to reach him?”

  Mom glanced at the clock on my nightstand. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  She forcefully gathered some of my clothes off the floor and shoved them in the laundry hamper. “It’s just not that easy.” she snapped at me, which was not something she did very often. It was clear I’d hit a nerve, but at that age, I struggled to appreciate her sensitivity to the subject.

  “Goodnight, Grace, we can talk more about this later, okay, honey,” she regained her composure.

  “Okay, Mom.”

  She closed the door behind her, and I grew more anxious to understand why she reacted the way she did. My confidence slid off the bed that night as I grew more and more insecure about who I was. My whole world seemed like one huge embarrassment, and all I could picture were people pointing and whispering. Especially people in my own family who’d been privy to my shame for years.

  “Mom,” I approached her in the kitchen the next morning as she was wiping Patch’s hands clean.

  “Morning, honey,” she said to me, and then kneeled in front of Patch. “Go get your book bag and your gym shoes, okay?” she told him.

  He scurried away and she began to rinse his cereal bowl. I could feel her wishing me away.

  “Mom, I really want to call my dad.”

  She dropped the bowl in the sink and it sounded like it broke, but didn’t. She placed her hands on the edge of the sink. “He’s not your Dad.”

  “Why are you getting so mad?” I asked sincerely.

  “Because it’s very complicated, and this man has never been in your life, and you cannot just call him up out of the blue.”

  I felt a surge of adolescent defiance when I realized that I wasn’t going to get what I wanted. “Well it wouldn’t be out of the blue if you’d told me the truth!”

  She gestured to the kitchen island for me to have a seat. “I know this is hard for y
ou, and I knew that once this day came, that it would be the hardest thing we would have to face as a family,” she said softly.

  I could tell that she didn’t want this to turn into a fight. She hated arguments and did not respond well to me yelling at her.

  Then it hit me. Maybe he didn’t even know I existed. I mean, she’d already kept this information from me; the one person she apparently loved more than anything, so maybe my father was also in the dark.

  I was breathing heavily, and my face was scrunched in anger, but I lowered my voice. “Does he even know about me?”

  She tilted her head toward the ceiling and left it there as she answered. “Yes, Grace, he does know about you.” A slow trickle of air escaped her nostrils and she turned to face me. “Which is precisely why this is going to be so difficult for you, and I.”

  “Why for you?”

  “Because it kills me to see you struggling with this, and quite honestly, I have no idea whether he’ll be willing to talk to you or not.”

  Her words slapped me across the face, and left a stinging burn.

  “What do you mean, I’m his daughter, why wouldn’t he want to talk to me?” I asked, thinking she was delusional and selfish. How could she have said that to me?

  Patch walked back in the kitchen and handed her his gym shoes. She stood up, placed him on the island, and began to lace him up.

  I pushed my stool away from the granite counter top and created a loud screech against the wood floor. “I want to call him, and he wants to talk to me!” I screamed at her like a frustrated basketball coach, and both she and Patch jumped out of their skin. I grabbed my backpack and headed to the bus stop in tears.

  As I approached the corner where two of my neighbors were waiting for the bus, I decided to walk to school instead. The fact that I was going to miss the first bell, and be late for classes had literally no effect on me whatsoever And heck, since I was going to be late, why not skip school altogether.

  After about an hour and a half, my mom found me at the park. Her eyes were puffy and red and she approached me as if she was trying to catch a stray cat.

  “You had me worried sick, honey.”

  I let my feet dangle in the sand beneath my swing.

  “Grace, I take full responsibility for everything, okay. I’m not angry with you, and it’s completely my fault that you are sitting here,” she came closer and crouched down in front of me. “I was completely naïve, and in denial about the effect all of this would have on you, and if you will give me another chance, I would like to sit you down and explain everything,” she reached for my hand and I let her take it. “Please give me the chance to make this right.”

  I nodded.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sydney

  I could hear Ethan leaving a message as I stepped out of the shower. I grabbed my robe and ran into the kitchen.

  “Hello,” I said breathlessly, and hit the stop button on the answering machine.

  “Hey you, I was just leaving a message.”

  “Sorry about that, I was in the shower and heard you. How are you?”

  Ethan had been getting tired of not being able to reach me. I wasn’t home very often during that last semester, and he was always complaining that every time he called he had to talk to the machine.

  “I’m good, what are you up to?” he asked.

  I was about twenty minutes away from being picked up by Kevin for the Beta formal in Indy, but I hadn’t told Ethan about any of it. He knew I spent a lot of time with Kevin, Rocco and my other guy friends, but an out of town, overnighter might have pushed him over the edge of his tolerance wall.

  “Just getting ready to go out.” Enough said. “How’s work?”

  “It’s work.”

  “Have you finished training your intern?” I asked. Ethan was given an intern for the spring, and he had been bringing them up to speed.

  “Yeah, he was here every afternoon for two weeks, and then he starts full time in June. It’ll be nice having someone to boss around. Anyway, Caddyshack is on WGN tonight, maybe we can watch it together on the phone? We might even get through the whole thing.”

  I glanced at the clock; Kevin was due to be at my apartment in ten minutes. “You’re going to be annoyed with me, but Jenna is going to be here any minute, and I’m dripping wet.”

  “Sounds hot.”

  “Pretty chilly actually,” I said.

  He let out a sigh of frustration…if he only knew. “Alright, Syd, have fun, and be careful. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “Call me later, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said and my knees buckled from the guilt. I lied to Ethan and I wouldn’t call him later. Kevin and I were just friends, but Ethan would never tolerate me spending the night with him in a hotel room, and I didn’t have the energy to argue about it. This was one of my last collegiate hurrahs, and I simply had no desire to create unnecessary drama. I knew I would have to spend Sunday afternoon on the phone with Ethan backpedaling and apologizing.

  We said our goodbyes, then I hung up the phone and shook my head. I was annoyed, and wasn’t going to let Ethan bring me down this weekend. He was always making me feel badly about enjoying myself. Not this time. I removed the charcoal pearl necklace I’d just put on, grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

  “I thought you called shotgun?” I asked Jenna as I peeked inside Kevin’s car. She was already in the backseat with Rocco when they picked me up for the dance.

  “My date is riding back here with me,” Rocco answered for her and threw his arm around the back of her neck.

  Jenna grimaced and shook it off her shoulders.

  The drive to Indianapolis was about an hour, during which we stopped at McDonalds for Jenna and me, Hardee’s for Rocco, Steak ’n Shake for Kevin, and Dairy Queen for the group. The lingering scent of fried grease was barely tolerable.

  After arriving at the hotel and checking in, Jenna and I went straight to our rooms, while the guys went straight to the bar.

  When we reached the fourth floor, our rooms were at opposite ends of the hall, so we parted and agreed to meet back at the elevators in fifteen minutes. I put my tote bag on the bed, and hung my dress in the closet in hopes of removing the wrinkles inflicted from Kevin’s trunk. I fished my Le Sportsac make-up case out of my backpack, reapplied some eyeliner, and brushed the Quarter Pounder off my tongue in less than five minutes. Then I thought of Ethan. Staring at the two queen-size beds meant for Kevin and I made me think of Ethan. I tugged on the roots of my hair. All I wanted was guilt-free fun, but I instead I felt like a naughty toddler. I would get mad at Ethan for making me feel badly, and then I would feel like a complete shithead for blaming him.

  I left the room and waited for Jenna in the hallway.

  “Sorry, my curling iron took forever to warm up,” she said, walking briskly toward me and zipping her purse.

  “I’m feeling bad about Ethan.”

  She gave me a knowing eye roll. “Why, what’d he say?”

  “Nothing, he called me this morning, but he doesn’t know where I am.”

  “So no worries then, my pretty,” she said and repeatedly tapped the elevator button.

  “How does he always seem to know when I’m out doing something I shouldn’t be doing?” I asked.

  “What shouldn’t you be doing, Syd?” she padded her lower lip, then tucked her lip-gloss into her front pocket. “He’s miles away, and what does he expect?”

  “He doesn’t expect anything…except that maybe I’m not road-tripping with frat boys all over Indiana.”

  Jenna waved me off, like it was no big deal. Which I guess it wasn’t to me either, since I never bothered to mention it to Ethan or ask his opinion…or permission. But she was right; why should I feel guilty about being out with someone and enjoying myself? How dare he make me feel like I was going behind his back and misbehaving? I was not going to let Ethan ruin my evening.

  We met up with our dates at the bar, wh
ere a huge crowd of people who were attending the dance had congregated. Jenna took off looking for Rocco, and I sat down on a stool Kevin had saved for me.

  When it came right down to it, Kevin and I were mostly drinking buddies, but we actually had a pretty good time together even when we were sober. I discovered how handy he was one day at my apartment while we were studying for a Spanish exam, and two of my book shelves abruptly fell off the wall behind my couch. He grabbed a toolbox from his trunk, and had them back up in less than ten minutes. And the time my refrigerator was making a buzzing sound for two days, he pulled the whole thing away from its nook, smacked it around a little and silence was restored. He grew up in Los Angeles and came from money, but never flaunted it. He drove a Honda Accord and shared an apartment with Rocco, even though his parents had offered to rent him one of the brand new condos near the Student Union. His family never came to visit, but they were always sending him airline tickets to meet them in various parts of the world.

  “Hey, short stuff,” he said as I sat down. “What’s your poison?”

  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  “Two more Bud Lights, and two shots of Jager,” he shouted to the bartender.

  “Jager, already!” I gasped. “I don’t even have my dress on yet.”

  Kevin took a swig of his beer. “You can hold your own, Syd, I have faith in you.”

  Soon after that, things began to get interesting, and mildly confusing.

  There were more drinks and more shots.

  There was Jenna and I holding hands and dashing upstairs to throw our dresses on.

  There was dancing, and a questionable amount of Disco music.

  There was Jenna screaming obscenities at Scott Makin, a guy who broke her heart junior year.

  Then there was Scott Makin screaming obscenities at Jenna.

  Then Rocco yelling at Jenna.

  Then Kevin and I on the floor of the ladies room consoling Jenna with more shots.