Love's Learning Curve (3 page)

Clearly, my mother disagrees about my needs when she responds directly to Laura.  “Laura, that would be a lovely connection.  Let’s talk schedules and plan a dinner for the two,” she sweetly replies, as if I’m not inches away—only proving I don’t have a voice in the decision.  It’s apparent this guy has her approval, and she has no interest in my input.  It’s a done deal in her mind.

If I could have a wish, it would be to be anywhere other than a campaign trail.  I crave the normalcy of life, and this is not normal.  The main priority in my life set up by my parents and enforced strictly by my mother is to play this role.  It’s what
I was born to do
, as she’s reminded me every time I’ve requested to do any of the things normal kids do.

I wanted to have playdates, go to gymnastics class, and attend birthday parties.  I yearned for friends I could see after the school bell rang.  I could never relate to movies I watched growing up when normal girls wished for riches and fame because I wanted the opposite.  I would have given anything for one of those disgusting school lunches with pizza and mandarin oranges in syrup instead of the grilled chicken salad with a measured dressing portion, fresh fruit salad, and bottled water.  The opportunity to commiserate with my school friends over the gross school food would have been fun, but alas, that day never came.

Off to college and away from my mother’s watch, I should be taking advantage of the time and enjoy some of those things I missed out on, but I haven’t and I won’t.  I’m hyper-focused on studying and eager to make something of myself that’s bigger than my surname. 

As the two women engage in conversation, I take advantage of the distraction to excuse myself politely to the ladies’ room while my mother puts her skills to work.  The fact that an escape to the bathroom leaves me feeling a little giddy is insane, but I have a reprieve for a short time so that’s all that matters.  I leave my mother and Ms. Odom to their superficial conversation, which will likely result in a substantial financial contribution.

I catch the eye of Morgan while making my escape.  She excuses herself from the small group gathered and rushes over to join me, so I pause to wait for her to catch up.  Her arm links through mine, intertwining them elbow-to-elbow.  “Hey. Finally.  I haven’t had a chance to talk to you all night,” she whispers.  “How’s it going with Sandra?” she asks quietly with concern as we walk into a ladies’ room that exudes the same opulence as the rest of the club.

Leather chairs frame a gas-burning fireplace in a sitting area just outside the restroom area.  Soft music is playing, and the coffee table contains the latest designer magazines.  I look toward the area yearningly as Morgan pulls me to the mirrored vanities instead.

She releases my arm at the counter and opens her handbag to gather the items to refresh her makeup.  I watch as she carefully and meticulously touches up her lipstick before passing it to me to do the same.  My eyes silently answer her earlier question, and they tell her all the things that my voice cannot.  I don’t have to use my words to tell her how terrible I feel.  Or that I’m miserable and hate being forced to play this role.  And she already knows my mother is being as awful as normal—our unspoken language with eye contact is nothing new, and neither is her response.  As usual, she is full of encouragement to do what I have to do to make it through the night peacefully.

 “Tomorrow, we should study for our calculus exams poolside.  That’ll be fun, right?” she sings a little too cheerfully, knowing that studying is what I really want to be focusing on right now.  I smile at her attempt to covertly cheer me up, and since the night is more than half over, I accept it.

“That would be lovely,” I say with as much cheerfulness as
my terrible personality
will allow, and we both laugh as we take one more glance at ourselves before vacating the ladies’ room.  Morgan thankfully follows me back to my mother’s table and takes the seat next to me, which leaves my mother no choice but to play nice with me and avoid dissecting my every action aloud.

Saved by Morgan again. 
The dinner bell rings, and people quickly make their way to the assigned tables as the dinner service begins.  My father joins us as well as Morgan’s parents.  I’m grateful to have the company since it will hinder my mother’s critiquing.  She would never want anyone to overhear her comments, even my father.  As she always says,
Eyes and ears are everywhere
.
Be careful what you say and do.  You’re a direct reflection of your father and me. 
She would die before anyone else became aware I’m not the epitome of perfection.

Growing up, Morgan was the one and only friend she allowed me to spend time with.  Her father has been my father’s lead political advisor for years, and because of that, our families have always been very close.  Morgan’s childhood was much like my own with the politics taking priority, but she had a lot more freedoms than I did and grew up with some sense of normalcy.  Plus, her parents actually love her and enjoy her company as more than just a showpiece.  She, unlike myself, wasn’t brought into the world to play the part of a political pawn.  Morgan walks the golden edge of both lives, normal college student and political socialite, and she transfers back and forth with ease.  Thankfully, I’ll be able to watch Morgan make that transition very soon when we escape the evening and drive the two hours back to campus. 

The craziness in the sorority house right now could likely compete with the behind-the-scenes dressing rooms at the Miss USA pageant, I suspect.  Girls are running around half-dressed to primping stations throughout the rooms of the house.  With some painting nails, others doing makeup, and clothing being exchanged all around, the house is filled with craziness and excitement as my sorority sisters get ready for the Fraternity - Sorority Mixer this evening four full hours from now.  I’m confused why it should take anyone that long to get ready for any party or event that doesn’t include a beautiful white dress full of lace with a long train where every eye in the room only focuses on two souls.  Shaking my head in confusion, I hurry upstairs past all the chaos to the second-floor room I share with Morgan.

When I open the door and find her lying on the bed with earbuds in staring into her iPhone taking selfies with puckered lips, angled head, and whatever else she does, I can’t hold back my laughter.  My best friend is a goofball, but she’s pretty much like every other goofball girl I know, so maybe that makes me the goofy one.

Music radiates from every room in the house.  It’s loud even with the door closed.  I toss my backpack onto the bed and plop down still laughing at her as she turns to me and removes an earbud from one ear.

“You look insane, just so you know,” I tell her, and she makes her stupid duck face in response while I mimic the face back to her.

“How was the day in the world of
Miss Perfect?
 Saving the world, one failing student at a time,” she asks sarcastically.  She doesn’t approve of my volunteer work.  She thinks I need to live a little and have more fun, but I like it.

I’ve been at the library leading a peer tutoring session with other college students for the past few hours.  As exhausted as I am from tutoring others and helping out, I now wish I’d stayed there to study on my own instead of coming back to this zoo of a place we call home.  I tell Morgan as much, but she responds with her usual eye roll since she also doesn’t approve of what she believes is my excessive need to study.  Truthfully, I probably don’t need to study as much as I do, but I’m a perfectionist.  I also have nothing more productive to do, even though Morgan considers studying a waste of time and is content with minimum effort and average grades.  She’s fully invested in college as the social experience.

 I’m not sure what I was thinking coming back here.  The mixer has been the talk of the house this past week since it’s the first huge party of the spring semester.  I’ve been through many of these primping parties despite the fact I’ve never attended one.  Most college students LIVE for parties, but I wouldn’t know anything about that since I LIVE for far different things under the strict guidelines as a presidential hopeful’s daughter.  Not many things make the list of acceptable extracurricular activities for me, and I’m confident that list does not include college parties of any sort.  My life is probably as boring as Morgan tells me, but I’m okay with it.  I could still be living under my parents’ roof, so I’ll take this boring life over that any day.

Finally remembering her question before my thoughts ran away with me, I answer.  “It was fine.  I probably should have just stayed there, but I wasn’t expecting the girls to need four hours to prep for a party.  What kind of party is this, anyway?  What’s the big deal?  It’s just a normal gathering and not a formal, right?”  My obvious frustration filters through my voice, but actually, I’m curious to understand.

Her eyes narrow with her matching annoyance, only she’s annoyed at my questions on the very same party topic that we’ve rehashed countless times.  “You know what, Char, I’m not going into the details with you AGAIN.  You should just come.  It’ll be fun, and you’ll enjoy yourself.”  She attempts to persuade me for the two-millionth time since we left for college two and a half years ago.  I turn away from her not wishing to once again have the discussion and list the reasons why I allow myself to be under my mother’s thumb when she’s over two hours away from us and would never know.  Despite the distance between my mother and me, breaking her rules is not a risk worthy of the consequences.

My excuse is the same as always.  “I have to study, and I have a paper due next week.  Maybe next time.”  I situate myself on my bed faced away from her scornful glare. I nonchalantly pull my brunette locks up into a messy bun on top of my head before pretending to consolidate my already perfectly organized notes in my backpack.

I can still feel her sneering at me, scorned by my rejection.  I know I won’t be getting anything accomplished while the rest of the house is prepping for this party.  I know I could just pop in my earbuds and read, but I don’t want to rehash the same argument with Morgan, so I need a quick escape.  I stand, leaving my organized books ready for me when everyone is gone, and walk over to the closet.  I search for my workout gear and running shoes attempting to appear uninterested in the dumb college party.

Let’s be honest, it can’t really be that great anyway.  They do the same stuff as always while seeing the same people, right?  Although, at this point, it feels like I’m trying to convince myself of this more than anyone.

I see Morgan watching me out of the corner of my eye while she shakes her head, but I sit on the floor and lace up my Nikes ignoring not only her but also my own questions about the
fun
that’s to be had by all this evening.  I can’t say anything more to avoid her look of disappointment, but I know she won’t try again to convince me.  It’s a waste of her breath, and I won’t be going to a party—now or ever.  I’m interested in understanding, but a massive difference exists between me understanding and me experiencing.  I have zero interest in experiencing.

“I’m going for a run.  Will I see you later?”  I ask, feeling a little guilty.  I already know she won’t be back tonight.

This is the biggest and only real battle in our friendship.  I hate that as my best friend, she is just another person I struggle to understand.  I know her better than anyone else does, and my guess is she feels the same.  I know all her secrets, her hopes and dreams, every single insecurity, and I know all her good and bad habits.  Just like she knows mine.  Because of that, I know she understands I’m walking out the door to avoid more than just the noise in the house.  I’m avoiding this conversation.

Morgan’s beautiful, popular, and lives life fearlessly as a college student.  In spite of the
perfect daughter
status she pulls off so well outside campus life, she’s somewhat of a wild child at school.  Not only will she attend this party, but she’ll also attend every other one that comes up after this.  She doesn’t have to worry about how her actions will affect the future presidential hopeful.  She’s not tied to him like I am, so she’ll strive to be the life of all the parties even though it’s the complete polar opposite of how she appears to the real world.  Well, the only world I actually know and understand.  Maybe it’s not the real world.