Love's Learning Curve Read Free Page A

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