All In (2 page)

“But…” she starts to protest when a
noise from the front porch startles her. She wipes the tears from
her cheeks and straightens her outfit when she hears Grandpa’s
voice just outside. She doesn’t want to cause him any unnecessary
worry. I know the feeling.

Grandpa shuffles in the front door,
Irene close behind him. “Hey, there’s my boy.”

“Hey, Grandpa. How was your walk?” I
try to sound chipper, but it comes out forced.

“It was fine except Irene kept
hovering over me the whole time. Can someone please remind her it’s
my mind that’s going, and not my body?” He takes off his cardigan
and hangs it on the hook by the front door before giving me a
wink.

“Now, now, Mr. Frank, I was not
hovering and you know it. I was just trying my best to keep up with
your speed walking,” Irene teases. I can’t help but smile despite
my current predicament. It makes me happy to see Grandpa having a
‘good’ day, and for the days that aren’t so good he has Irene,
which gives me and Mom peace of mind.

Grandpa walks into the kitchen and
ruffles my hair like he’s done since I was a kid but stops short
when he sees my mom.

“Jody? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, Dad, really, it’s nothing.” She
waves her hand dismissively but it’s obvious to everyone that’s not
the truth.

He looks at me for an answer and even
though I don’t want to burden him, I can’t keep this from him
either.

“It’s Yale, Grandpa. I didn’t get the
financial aid I needed.”

He takes a deep breath
that’s loud and raspy. “Well, I sure hope you’re not gonna let a
little thing like
that
keep you away from your dream? That’s not the Lane McCarthy I
know.” He scoots past me with a grin and gives my mom a pat on her
shoulder.

He’s right. I don’t give up that
easily. I didn’t give up when I wanted to make the varsity lacrosse
team as a freshman or when I wanted to be class president or
Valedictorian. I right my shoulders and steel myself. I worked hard
and made it happen then, and this is no different.

It’s a setback sure, and definitely a
challenge, but not an impossible obstacle I can’t overcome. I feel
hope and determination build as I devise a new plan. I’ll have to
pick up more hours at work to save enough money and then get a job
at school too, but it’s Yale. My dream. Grandpa’s right, I’m not
going to let a little thing like money get in my way.

I can do this.

I lift my mom off the floor in a giant
hug and spin her around. “Put me down.” She swats at my shoulder,
laughing. “You’re going to break your back.”

I set her back down on the ground and
plant a kiss on her cheek. She looks relieved to see my resolve,
and so does Grandpa Frank.

“I better get to work,” I say, meaning
both literally and figuratively, before giving Grandpa a firm
squeeze on his arm, a silent thank you.

“That’s my boy,” he says with a gleam
in his eye. “That’s my boy.”

Ashley

“Mom? Dad?” I call from the top of the
stairs.

I glance out the large bay windows to
check if they’re on the deck having cocktails with brunch and
watching the sailboats pass through the harbor, a favorite pastime
of theirs on the island, but the deck is empty except for a pair of
seagulls perched on the railing of the balcony,
squawking.

“Andrew?” I yell downstairs where the
theatre and our bedrooms are and again I’m met with no response.
“Is anyone home?”I shout and hear nothing but silence.
Finally.

I toe off my sandals and bury my feet
into the soft fibers of the living room rug. After spending nearly
six hours cooped up in the car with my parents, a moment by myself
is exactly what I need. I’m not sure I could have taken one more
minute of listening to my father talk politics or the overbearing
smell of my mother’s heady perfume.

I toss open the French patio doors,
causing the birds to take flight, and let the sunshine and fresh
sea breeze into the room. I take a deep breath of the salty air
then push the coffee table to the side of the room, plug in my iPod
and scroll to my favorite dance mix. I stretch my tight muscles and
let the music wake me fully from the short nap I just
took.

An infectiously fun pop song starts to
pump through the surround sound and a slow smile spreads across my
face. My parents would absolutely detest it; if it’s not Bach, it’s
not music according to them. I swear my parents were never
teenagers.

I spread my arms out wide, tip my head
back, and let the sun warm my face as I spin around to the snappy
chorus until I’m dizzy and thankful no one can see how foolish I
must look.

A sudden movement outside the window
stops me from dancing. My shoulders drop in relief when I realize
it’s not my parents, but some guy running down the beach,
presumably taking a short cut through our yard.

“Whew,” I say to myself before
beginning to dance again, this time with more technique, but still
for the fun of it. I am on summer vacation after all.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
my father asks over the volume of the music, startling me out of my
own little world. “Will you please turn that noise off?”

I stumble backwards with
my hand over my heart before grabbing my iPod from the docking
station, abruptly ending the music he clearly finds so
reprehensible.

“I’m sorry, Daddy… I didn’t know
anyone was home,” I say, embarrassed to have been caught dancing so
unrestrained, a far cry from the practiced ballets my parents are
accustomed to seeing me dance. “I was just having some fun,” I
offer.

“Well that is quite clear.” He rolls
his eyes then looks at my mother, who stands next to him in
agreement.

“We could hear the music all the way
out in the driveway.” She places her hands on her hips causing her
layered Tiffany bangle bracelets to jingle.

“Please be more respectful of our
neighbors if you insist on listening to that…music,” my father
says. He places a bottle of wine into the wine rack and shoots me a
disapproving glance.

“I will, I’m sorry.” I stare at my
bare feet, wishing I’d just gone to the beach, when my mother
clears her throat to get my attention then tips her head to the
side and gestures to the coffee table with her eyes. “The Petersons
will be here any minute.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Mother.” I bend
down and attempt to pull the table back into its previous location,
but accidentally catch the edge of the rug, causing the ornate
silver dish full of sea shells on top, to tip
precariously.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, Ashley. I’ll just
do it.” My father lifts the table up and places it back in front of
the couch precisely where it was originally.

My mother eyes me up and down and it
makes me feel uncomfortable to be scrutinized so close up. “Please,
dear, hurry downstairs and freshen up. All that flailing around is
ruining your blowout. You’ll look absolutely atrocious tonight if
your hair starts to frizz like you just walked in off the
beach.”

I run the palm of my hand over my hair
to make sure it’s still bone straight. It is. But it’s best to
indulge her, or I’ll never hear the end of it.

“I’ll go freshen up right
now.”

“Oh my goodness, dear, I almost
forgot. Your father and I just ran into Gregory while we were
checking on the boat.”

“Such a nice young man,” my father
chimes into the conversation as he prepares mimosas for their
brunch.

“So charming,” my mother agrees. “He
was positively delighted to hear you and Andrew had finally
arrived.”

Great. Gregory Chase. My
ex.

“That’s nice,” I offer while thinking
the exact opposite.

“He was so happy to hear you would be
joining him and your brother in New Haven this fall that I
suggested you two should get together to discuss being a new
student. I’m positive he can offer you insight on how to navigate
the social landscape from the very first day.” She acts like I’m
not privy to that information, from say, my brother who will be a
senior this year, unlike Gregory, who will only be a sophomore, but
she digresses. “And maybe you two can rekindle your romance from
last summer?” she says in a sing-songy tone.

And there it is. Her real
agenda.

That. Is. Never. Going. To.
Happen.

“Your mother’s right, it is never too
early to start networking,” my dad interjects. Because of course
school isn’t solely about learning, it’s also a networking
opportunity and according to my mother a place to fill your social
calendar. I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Whoever thought to
attend Yale just to learn? To better their future? Silly
me.

“I’ll be sure to talk to him at the
club tonight,” I say with a smile, trying to placate
them.

“Oh no, sweetie, I meant at the club
this afternoon for lunch,” my mother clarifies. “Hurry, hurry. I
told him you would be there in less than an hour.”

“Mother.”

“What, dear?” she says wide eyed and
completely unaware of how little I want to have lunch with Greg.
“You two make the cutest couple.”

“Made, Mother. We made a cute couple,
but we broke up. Remember?”

“Now, Ashley, that was the gentlemanly
thing for him to do. He needed to keep his focus at school instead
of trying to divide his attentions and risk letting you down,” my
father says like that’s the real reason Gregory and I broke up.
“So, let’s not fault him for that, shall we.”

Right. I’d like to tell
them the gentlemanly thing to do would’ve been for Gregory to treat
me more like a girlfriend and less like a prop. Or for him to stop
trying to constantly pressure me to sleep with him all summer long.
Or that the truth was
I
broke up with him. I shake my head. What’s the
point in attempting to explain the vast many reasons Gregory and I
would never work out? The list would be far too long, and I’m not
sure my parents would believe Gregory Chase possible of doing wrong
in the first place.

“Fine,” I sigh, the dutiful daughter
as always. How bad could it be? It’s just lunch.

…

I pull around the circular driveway of
the Boat House Country Club and let a handsome valet in his early
twenties open my car door and help me out before handing me my
valet ticket. I tuck the ticket into my purse then step out of the
summer heat and into the air conditioned lobby of the clubhouse
where I’m immediately greeted by Mr. Billings, the club
manager.

“Why, Miss Whitmore, you look
absolutely lovely today. Welcome back,” he says bending slightly at
the waist, a full body nod.

“Mr. Billings, how are you?” I ask,
admiring the nautically themed room decorated for the summer
kickoff party later tonight. “Everything looks
beautiful.”

“Thank you, miss, it should be a
wonderful evening. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“I’m sure I will,” I say, even though
the party itself is more suited for my parents, professionals at
working a room after all the years of campaigning for my father’s
Senate career.

My brother and I typically stay for an
hour or two, catch up with our friends and their parents then take
off, only to meet back up on the beach for a more age appropriate
party. The kind with red solo cups.

“Mr. Chase is in the dining room
waiting for you.” Mr. Billings gestures to a pretty blonde standing
behind a podium at the entrance of the club restaurant. “Madison
will be happy to show you right in. Enjoy.”

The girl, who looks about my age,
ushers me into the dining room where Gregory sits at a table
overlooking the ninth hole. Despite our past, even I’m capable of
admitting he’s a very good looking guy and by the smile on the
hostess’ face, she agrees.

His medium blonde hair is gelled
perfectly into place, and his light brown eyes look like they’re up
to no good. Which they typically are, so I’m still not sure how he
has my parents so snowed over. None the less, behind his good looks
is an air of superiority that has always turned me off, even when I
let my sixteen year old self get swept up in the idea of him. The
reality was not quite so swoon worthy.

“Beautiful,” Gregory coos in greeting
as I approach the table. He stands to pull my chair out for me, and
I’m reminded why my father thinks he’s such a gentleman.

“Hi Greg,” I say, brushing off his pet
name. He calls girls ‘gorgeous’ or ‘sexy’ all the time, which I’m
sure he thinks is charming, but I disagree.

“The waiter will be right with you.”
The hostess bats her eyelashes not so subtly at him, and I have to
keep myself from rolling my eyes at how obvious she is.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with
a rakish grin, causing the girl to blush before she walks away,
adding an extra swing in her hips that Gregory can’t help but
watch.

“I texted Andrew to meet us, but he’s
playing the back nine before the party,” I explain casually,
opening my menu and hoping it’s clear to Greg this is not a date by
any stretch of the imagination.