Forever Baby (2 page)
“Volleyball?”
In as calm of a voice as I can muster up, I say, “Mom, we have been over this. I didn’t want to play anymore, and that is it. There is no underlying reason. Just stop it.”
“But you were so great, honey. You could have gotten a scholarship.”
“I’m not going to keep rehashing every decision that I’ve made with you. I have reasons for everything I do. Please, just stop.”
We drive the rest of the way to the office in silence. My mom sighs, and I can sense the defeat in her posture. Hopefully, this will be my last session. I know she worries about me, and she probably always will.
Apparently, the only way to prove to her that I am a well-adjusted person is to make it through college without doing something idiotic. I think I can handle that.
Three Years Later
I stare in amusement at the sight of one of my sorority sisters in a wedding dress with her long blonde hair dangling toward the floor while she’s doing a keg stand.
Ten or so drunk frat guys in ties and untucked dress shirts are standing around her, cheering and yelling, “Five! Six! Seven! Eight!”
I wonder how long she’ll be able to chug down cheap beer while upside down before she throws up all over that secondhand gown.
My eyes move to the handsome, tall guy holding up one of her legs. He winks at me and flashes his all-American boy smile. That adorable boy is one of my best friends, Nolan. I’m not surprised that he’s right up in this comical keg stand action as he always manages to be the life of every party.
“Nine! Ten! Eleven!”
Just like that, beer sprays out of the sides of her mouth, like a shaken soda can exploding. She signals to be let down. The guys guide her feet to the ground, and I watch her wipe her face as she stands.
“Weak,” says the voice next to me.
I turn to my best friend, roommate, and sorority sister, Cara.
“Totally,” I agree. “I can do fifteen seconds, and I hate beer!”
“I know, right? Lame.”
At that moment, Britney Spears and will.i.am pound from the speakers, and Cara grabs my hand.
We wind our way to the makeshift dance floor as we both shout in unison, “It’s Britney, bitch!” Our love for Britney is one of the many things Cara and I share.
The Italian restaurant has been converted into a bar for the evening. Our sorority and Nolan’s fraternity rented it for our year-end Wedding Social. This is the exact reason I joined the sorority three years ago—for the awesome parties. Sure, I know that sounds bad. I guess I was supposed to join for sisterhood and the great philanthropic work, but I didn’t. Yes, it makes me feel good to rake leaves for the elderly every fall and to run a canned food drive on campus. And, of course, I love all my sorority sisters—well, most of them—but the reason I pay incredibly high dues every semester is for the parties.
The college Greek community invents reasons to have parties, and those dues allow us VIP access. We attend a smallish college in Michigan in a city named Ypsilanti (pronounced
ip-si-lanti
). I not only go to college here, but I also live here year-round. Eastern Michigan University is widely ignored because it’s in the city next to Ann Arbor, where the almighty affluent and prestigious University of Michigan resides. To be fair, parts of Ypsilanti are kind of dumps, so I can see why some would ignore it, but I love it. Without a plethora of choices for evening entertainment, Greek life is that much more beneficial.
Everyone here is dressed for a wedding. And no wedding celebration would be complete without a lucky (fake) bride and groom. At last month’s sorority meeting, we had a long debate about who would be the bride. I, for one, wanted nothing to do with that position.
Who would want to hang out all night in an itchy, heavy wedding dress? No, thanks.
My simple above-the-knee black halter dress is ideal for me. Cara is dressed in something that could have just come off the runway. She’s wearing a one-shoulder asymmetrical mint green dress with feathers and sequins. If it ended any higher on her thighs, it would be considered indecent. On anyone else, this dress would come off as ridiculous, but on Cara, it’s crazy hot.
It was completely my luck to befriend the supermodel of EMU. She’s tall at five-ten, but she usually stands taller because she insists on wearing four-inch heels. Model thin, she has dark, round eyes, full lips, and chestnut hair that falls to the small of her back. She is the most beautiful person on campus, and luckily for me, she is even more so on the inside—making her my perfect partner in crime, my BFF.
I met Cara freshman year. We lived in the same dorm, and we became inseparable out of random luck and convenience. She has an older cousin who resembles me—well, sort of. We both have blonde hair and blue eyes. Besides those two attributes, our appearances aren’t all that similar. But in the world of fake IDs, it is close enough. Armed with her cousin’s ID and Cara with her older sister’s ID, she and I became barhopping regulars as freshmen. However, in all honesty, I don’t think the bouncers at the local twenty-one-and-over establishments really studied my license too closely because they were too busy ogling Cara’s flawless body. Cara and I have definitely been making the most of our college experience.
Eyes closed, I raise my hands in the air while waving my hips to the music when strong, warm hands wrap around my waist, pulling me close. A tall, hard body grinds behind me to the repetitive bass. I don’t have to turn around to know that it’s Nolan. I can smell his deliciousness—a combination of cologne, body wash, and a scent that is solely his. I always tease him and say that he smells like bottled hotness.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, nuzzling into my hair.
“Hey. You finished staring down the bride’s skirt?” I yell over the music with a smirk.
“Yeah, she disappeared into the bathroom, probably throwing up. Too much upside-down cheap-beer chugging will do that to a bride.”
We laugh.
Cara leans into us. “Hey, Livi, I’m heading to the bar. Want a drink?”
“Vodka and cranberry, please?”
“Nolan?”
“Heineken. Thanks, Cara. Put it on my tab, okay?”
“Sure thing.” She grins and saunters off.
Nolan always pays for our drinks. I used to try to stop him, but I got sick of fighting about it. Now, it’s the way it is. He comes from money. His dad is an exceptionally successful businessman, and Nolan is provided with endless funds to use, no questions asked. So, it’s not really a hang-up for me anymore. I put my foot down on other stuff, but drinks are not worth the argument.
Despite working my ass off at a local Mexican restaurant, I struggle to pay for my portion of the rent in the slightly ghetto apartment that I share with Cara. I’m not bashing the place. I love living on the second floor of our large white 1920s-character home. But to say that we have a bum who periodically snoozes in our side yard would not be an exaggeration. Once, we came home late after a party, and a very inebriated girl, who we did not know, was in our kitchen making macaroni and cheese. We let her finish, and then she passed out on our couch. She was gone when we woke up the next morning. One would think we would have started locking our door after that incident, but we didn’t.
Nolan twists me around, so I’m facing him. My arms go around his neck as we grind to some Usher.
“Hey, you want to go soon? We have a big day tomorrow,” he says, giving me his melt-my-heart smile.
“No way! This is our last hurrah! Cara would kill me if I left early. We can sleep on the plane. Plus, you know the end is my favorite part.”
I give him a cheesy grin, and he laughs.
“Okay, you’re right.”
I do love the end of all college parties. There’s nothing better than jumping around the dance floor with a bunch of intoxicated, happy people while singing the lyrics of classics, like “Pour Some Sugar on Me”—
I’m hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, yeah
—and “Sweet Caroline”—
Sweet Caroline…bum…bum…bum, good times never seemed so good.
I don’t know what it is about being drunk, but it makes all music recorded when I was in diapers or before very cool, like, seriously cool—like, get-drunk-and-scream-the-lyrics-at-the-top-of-my-lungs-while-jumping-up-and-down-with-hands-raised-in-the-air cool.
The night winds down, and I am completely happy. Nolan is standing to my right, and his strong hand is wrapped around my middle. Cara is on my left, and my arms are out to my sides, circling around their backs. We are a collective mass of bodies, swaying in a harmonious circle of sweaty, very drunk people while belting out the lyrics to “Piano Man.” This is my favorite part of the evening.
The air is unseasonably warm for an end of April evening. The tepid breeze blows my long blonde locks away from my back as we make our way the four blocks from the social to Abe’s Coney Island where the chili cheese fries can only be described as a plate of yummy goodness sent from heaven, especially when they are consumed at two o’clock after a night of drinking. A block into our journey, I hear a group of guys yelling compliments—or more like, slurring drunken catcalls—having something to do with a hot ass. I look back to see Cara’s reaction to the scene, and I’m surprised to find her a block away, still outside the bar entrance. She’s laughing with a guy, one of her ex-boyfriends, I think. I scan the area behind me, not seeing anyone else, but the wobbly idiots are still hooting and hollering.
I face front again when Nolan says, “You know they are yelling at you, right?” He has an uncanny ability to know my thoughts without me verbalizing them.
“I doubt it,” I say, forcing a laugh, as I roll my eyes.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
“What?” I answer in the best innocent tone I can muster up.
“You know what. Stop it. You know how beautiful you are.”
Playfully punching him in the side, I tease, “You are just saying that because you love me.”
“I do love you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are beautiful, Liv.”
He takes my hand in his, and we continue our way to the restaurant. I take my free hand and wrap it around Nolan’s forearm, leaning my head on his bicep, as we walk in silence. Nolan has always made me feel special. For some reason, when he says it, I believe him, but it never takes long for the doubts to creep back.
“Wait up, bitches,” Cara calls out. She jogs up beside me, hand in hand, with one of her exes.
“Hey, Tony,” I greet her counterpart for the evening.
He gives me a sly head nod. If I remember correctly, Cara’s fling with Tony only lasted a couple of weeks. I never liked him anyway. He’s too cocky.
I peer up quizzically at Cara, and she knows what I am asking. She responds with a slight shake of her head, which is all I need to know. Tony is not going to be hanging around after tonight.
Nolan interrupts our silent conversation. “Sorry, Cara. The chili cheese fries aren’t going to wait forever.”
I study my reflection in the mirror after finishing my makeup. I pulled off a decent appearance, considering the little sleep I’d gotten last night. We hung out at Abe’s, laughing until very late—or very early, depending on how you see it. It was a great conclusion to my junior year.
I hear Nolan’s voice in the next room.
Crap.
It must be time to go already. I come out of the bathroom a little frantic, checking my list to make sure I packed everything.
“Livi, you know they do have stores in Spain,” Cara says.
I look up from my list to see Nolan and Cara examining me from the kitchen, their lips slanted upward with sly expressions plastered on their faces. I know they’re inwardly laughing about my obsession with lists and my subsequent anxiety about forgetting items on said lists. Nolan and I are heading to Seville, Spain, for the summer as part of a foreign exchange student program. We’ll be studying Spanish at a local university there.
I ignore their snickering. “I know, but there is nothing wrong with making sure I have everything.”
With a mock heartbroken expression and pouty lips, Cara pleads, “Well, you know you could always cancel and stay here with me.” This line has become her mantra over the past few months.