“I need to find her or at least one of my other best friends,” Rebecca says. “I wish we could have our ph-phones.” Her voice is shaking and tears are streaming down her cheeks. She’s using her fingers to wipe them away, but they won’t stop.
We see other girls running into the Union so we follow along behind them. There’s a super-long line of crying girls waiting for the bathroom. Instead of taking a place in line, she wants to keep looking for Elise. But we only have twenty minutes before the first Philanthropy party starts and there are hundreds of people in the Grove. There’s no way we’ll find her in time.
“Why don’t you talk to Sarah?” I say, in my most tender voice.
“Okay. I guess I can.”
Taking Rebecca by the hand, I lead her back to Sarah, who takes one look at her and immediately wraps an arm around her shoulder. Then she moves her away from the group, off to a private spot near a magnolia tree.
Not wanting to appear as though I’m eavesdropping, I stand off to the side. While scanning the edges of the Grove, I notice other crying girls with their Gamma Chis. Should I be crying? I’ve been cut by several sororities, but for some reason I feel strong. I’m not sure what that’s about, but I’ll revel in my strength for as long as I have it.
Several minutes pass and I’m thinking of rejoining our group when Sarah and Rebecca walk back toward me. “Clean up your makeup,” I hear Sarah say. “You still have five great Houses left. Let’s go in and open your heart up to possibility. Okay?”
Rebecca nods in agreement, but it seems she’d rather just go home.
“Cali, will you please walk with Rebecca to the Union so she can splash her face? I need to get back to our group.”
“Sure. I’d love to.”
As Rebecca and I are walking toward the bathroom I can’t help wishing I could join Sarah’s sorority. She’s exactly the kind of person I want for a lifelong friend. But after witnessing all these tears today I’m reminded of how real the possibility is that I might not be joining a sorority at all.
THIRTY-SIX
WILDA
It’s two o’clock in the morning when we park my car in front of Lilith’s condo after the final round of Sisterhood parties. Lilith not only laid down the law about me staying here during Rush, but she insisted both of our other Rush Advisors, Sallie and Gwen, stay, too. Why in the world any of us agreed is the question.
Our initial thinking made sense. Since Lilith’s invitation would save the sorority scads of dollars on hotel rooms, all three of us said yes. Albeit reluctantly, at least on my part, but what was I going to say? Rush Advisors are required to be in Oxford an entire week, so that’s a considerable amount of money saved. I’d rather see Alpha Delt put it toward something more meaningful, like the impoverished people of Oxford. Or the Care Walk for Breast Cancer. Or how about a raise for the staff?
On the short drive home from the House, all we’ve been talking about is falling into bed. But when we stumble into the kitchen, Lilith, whom we all believed would be fast asleep by now, is sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter—fully dressed—flipping through the latest copy ofGarden & Gun.
On the far side of the island, I spot a bottle of red wine and three Waterford wineglasses. Right next to that, elegantly displayed on a large McCartytray, is a spread of cheeses, olive tapenades, grapes, three kinds of crackers, and turkey sliders. The first night we were here, Lilith catered in a tenderloin supper. Every night since she’s had a unique spread of tapas waiting on us. But all this glorious food and wine doesn’t change the fact that her daughter, Annie Laurie Whitmore—a triple legacy—was cut from Alpha Delta Beta two hours ago. And we have to pretend like all is well. Every time I think about it I dry heave.
“Hey. How did it go?” Lilith says, cheery and full of energy. She slides off her chair and moves over to her six-foot, Sub-Zero wine cooler. Sallie shoots me a glance from the corner of her eye while Gwen checks her phone, as if there’s anything new to see at twoA.M.
“Exhausting,” Sallie says. “This is my last year on the Board.”
“Sallie, you can’t quit. Alpha Delt needs you.” Lilith has removed a wine bottle that’s already been corked. She pours a full glass, then slides it across the marble counter to Sallie. It’s that nails-on-a-chalkboard sound. And so is her voice. “Sounds like you could use a large one.”
“That’s nice of you, Lilith, but we’re all dead tired.” Sallie looks at Gwen and me for backup. The two of us bounce our heads off in agreement. The awkwardness we’re all feeling is worthy of an epic nervous breakdown. Just shoot me.
With a flick of her eyebrows, Lilith shows Sallie the label. “Not too tired for this, are you?” It’s Newton Unfiltered Chardonnay. Sallie’s been talking about it all week. But given that it’s seventy dollars a bottle, she rarely drinks it. Imagine that. Here it is in Lilith’s kitchen.
“What?” Sallie says. “You boughtNewton?”
“I thought it was your favorite,” Lilith replies.
“It is; but it’s my celebration wine.”
“It’s time to celebrate, girlfriend. Rush is almost over.”
Sallie takes a sip, closes her eyes.“Mmmm.”Then she starts that contagious, coveted laugh of hers, and I don’t know about Gwen, but it gives me momentary relief.
Now Lilith’s reaching for the bottle of red. She holds it in front of Gwen and me. “It’s your Prisoner.”
Prisoner is new to me. At least since I’ve been here at Lilith’s condo. She pours a glass and before she can pour another Gwen pushes her hand out.“None for me, thanks. I can hardly hold my head up.” After picking a grape off the cluster, she says, “Thank you for all this, Lilith, but honestly I’m too tired to breathe, much less drink. I’m hitting the sack.”
I so admire the young generation. They know how to be direct.
