One Pink Line (11 page)

“Well it is different, Syd, I’m done with school, I’m moving out of state to a job where I don’t get summers off,” he made a flippant gesture with his hand. “I’ll be lucky to come home for the weekend over Christmas,” his tone was authoritative and made me feel very naïve. “I love you, Sydney, and I want us to be faithful to each other, and I know it will be hard, but I need to know that you are committed to this relationship.”

I wondered if he threw the word faithful in as some sort of a test. Ethan and I had done our best over the years to remain true to one another, but we’d both gone to college dances with other people, hung out with members of the opposite sex, and both of us were very social beings. He had lots of female friends, and I had lots of male friends, some of whom I was extremely close with. It was college for God sakes, and we gave each other the freedom to enjoy it without feeling chained down to a long-distance relationship. Apparently once he graduated, he wanted that to change.

I took a deep breath. “I love you, too, but I’m not ready to give up my social life during my senior year.”

“I’m not asking you to tear apart your busy calendar,” he said sarcastically. “I’m just asking that we make more of a commitment to each other, that’s all.”

“I don’t know,” I looked away. “I’m not ready to make that promise, and quite honestly, I’m not even sure what it entails, and I think things are fine the way they are. You’re making me feel very pressured.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Sydney, I’m not trying to pressure you, I’m trying to tell you how much I love you, and that I want to focus my attention on us and our relationship, as best I can… and for you and I to be more serious about what we have.”

His eyes were wide and his right hand was in a fist on the table. Ethan had changed too, he was much more settled with himself and his playful spirit had all but vanished. He sat tall in his chair, like one of those adults who spewed their infinite wisdom about how quickly time flies, and how we shouldn’t take things for granted. I still loved him very much, but I was not ready to do what he was asking.

“Well, maybe you’ll feel differently once you move to Boston, and you won’t want to be tied down to some girl back home?”

His expression turned to frustration. “Why are you trying to turn this around on me?”

“I don’t know,” I said quietly and fumbled with my fork. “It’s just that, I’m not feeling what you’re feeling right now. I love you, but I don’t want to have to work at taking this relationship to the next level, I just want to have fun this year, and not worry about things between us.”

He nodded, more in defeat than in agreement.

“I’m sorry, Ethan, I didn’t bring this up, you did. We have a great relationship, and we’ve made it work, so why go there?”

He waited a moment before answering. “Because I think I want more than you do.”

I folded my hands in my lap. “I don’t know what you mean by that, I just want to get through senior year, and find a job and make a life for myself.”

“With me or without me?” he asked.

“With you,” I snapped.

He looked hard at my face, trying to determine whether or not I believed what I was saying. When I glanced back at his questioning expression, I felt like getting up from that table and walking away, but I didn’t. I’d made sacrifices for him over the years and he knew it. I’d never let myself get emotionally involved with anyone else because I cared about Ethan and his feelings…and our relationship. But I was going to be a senior in college, and I had little patience for him making me feel guilty about enjoying it.

Given our distance and growth as human beings over the years, we’d naturally drifted apart, but both still made a conscious effort to hold on to what we had, as much as we could. I never loved anyone like I loved Ethan, and in the back of my mind, I knew we’d be together one day, forever. I assumed he felt the same way.

Saying goodbye to him that summer before my final year of college was bittersweet. It was sad to see his car packed up, not knowing when we’d be together again, yet I was really looking forward to getting back to school and seeing Jenna and all my friends. When Ethan pulled out of my driveway, on his way to Boston, he did his best to hide the tears in his eyes. But I saw them.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“F
LUSHING!”

Jenna and I lived in the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority house for our sophomore and junior years, and shared three bathrooms with eighty other girls. Anytime you were in one of the five toilet stalls, and someone else was in one of the four shower stalls, you had to announce that you were flushing the toilet so they could prepare themselves for the surge of intensely hot water that would hit them as a result. That was only one of the many reasons we decided to get our own apartments by the time we were seniors. Sharing six telephones with eighty girls was another.

She found a place near the student union, and mine was just a block off campus. I never, not for one minute, feared living alone, and welcomed the peace and solitude after two years in the sorority. My dad had taken me to Kmart before I left home that August, and we filled my car with new bedding, new towels, cleaning supplies, throw pillows, non-perishable foods, a tool set, light bulbs, shower curtain, answering machine, alarm clock, and a twenty-piece kit that had glassware, stemware, and plate service for four. That day at Kmart was one of the most fun afternoons with my dad that I’ve ever had. My mother had attempted to take me, but the trip turned into a screaming match over buying an extra garbage can. She insisted that one in the kitchen would suffice, and I insisted that there be one in the bathroom as well. I left with nothing more than a dustpan, and begged my father to take me without her.

My campus apartment was very generic. Not dilapidated or icky, just really, really generic, almost asylum like. It was a furnished one bedroom, one bathroom, with a living area that had a kitchenette against one wall, a couch against the other, and a faux wood coffee table in front of it. Each of the three rooms was perfectly square in shape, and had white walls the color of a tee shirt that had been washed too many times. The landlord cleaned the beige carpeting prior to me moving in, but that was it. I was allowed to hang things on the walls, but forbidden to paint. And the metallic vertical blinds would have made any hospice proud. The string that was once used for opening and closing the blinds was so frayed, that some student before me had threaded a shoelace through instead. But despite the lack of personality, it was mine, alone, and I was thrilled to display my new coordinating toothbrush holder, soap dish and water glass trio.

The first night back at school, two days before classes began, Jenna threw a party at her apartment for some of our best friends. Amy Bornheimer, Alexa Giannoules, Andrea Ingrilli and three of our closest guy friends, Kevin Hansen, his roommate Rocco D’Ancona, and their fraternity bother, Tim Miller. The eight of us had become family over the years, and I couldn’t imagine not having them in my post-college life. I couldn’t imagine much of anything in my post-college life for that matter. But our close-knit group of friends had been through so much together; road trips, tailgating, spring break in Cancun, sorority dances, all- nighters during finals, family crises, and parents’ weekends with more family crises. Especially when my mother would visit. One time all my close friends and their parents reserved the back room at the nicest restaurant near campus. There was a huge group of us, probably thirty people including some random siblings, parents and friends, and the first thing my mother does is ask for separate checks.

“Everyone just planned on splitting up the bill when we’re done,” I nudged my father and whispered in his ear.

He turned to my mother. “That’s not necessary,” he said to her. “We’ll just divide it up at the end.”

The waiter looked at my mother for her blessing. He didn’t get it.

“I’d rather have our own check, I’m not very hungry, and you’re not drinking, so I’d prefer not to split up a large bill.”

At this point, conversations around the table came to a standstill and all eyes were on my parents and the waiter as they attempted to work things out. My body temperature reached boiling, and Jenna squeezed my knee to help me relax.

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.