Page 67 of Everything We Thought Was True
“Kind of. Well, not exactly. I’m... hungover.” She looked at him with sheepish eyes, pleading with him not to be angry.
Well, this is something new.Frank had never known Lena to drink. But she was in college, after all, and he supposed college kids drank.
She looked horrible. Her hair was a ratty mess, mascara running down her face, and her cheeks had tear stains on them.Man, that must have been some night.
“What happened?” He had an idea, but he wanted to hear it.
“Ugh. I drank wine coolers, and then some idiot made vodka drinks, and I had some of those too. They don’t mix. At all. I felt so sick, and nothing would make it go away. Nothing except vomiting. And you know how much I hate to vomit.” Lena looked at him as if trying to figure something out. “At least Ithinkyou know how much I hate to vomit. Mom knows. I can’t really do it. Never have been able to. Well, I guess I physically can. But it’s rare, and I have to be really sick. Which I am.” She stopped and took a deep breath as if she were trying to gain strength. She moaned. “Mom is going to kill me...” She looked at him pitifully.
“Let’s get you up off the floor, cleaned up, and changed. You can’t go home like this. You’re a mess. Are you feeling better now, at least? Please don’t tell me you slept here, leaning against the toilet, all night long.”
He went over and slowly helped her up. She gave him a small smile. As pathetic as she looked and as much as he should have been mad at her, he smiled back. She was his little girl. Yet she was so fiercely independent. So smart. Butshe was still capable of making a mess—one he’d walked into and now had to help her with. He could do that.
“I didn’t want to throw up in bed. That’s gross and dangerous,” Lena said, always the reasonable one even when she was dealing with her own inappropriate drunken behavior.
“Do you feel well enough to take a shower? I can start bringing your bags to the car.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.” She looked around as if surveying what it would take to get into the shower.
“Come on. Get going. You’ll feel better once you’ve cleaned up.”
She nodded again and this time looked more confident. “You’re right.” She grabbed a towel and hung it on the hook outside the shower door. She turned back to him. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate you not being mad about this. I already feel like shit, and trust me, I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. Never again. I’ll be more careful about what I drink and how much.”
“I know.” Frank was sure she would never do this again. One thing he knew Lena could do was learn. “And I won’t tell your mother. She doesn’t have to know. Unless you want to tell her, of course. I know you pretty much tell her everything.” He snickered.
“I may tell her at some point. No, I will. But not right now. I don’t want her to worry while I’m home for the holiday break.”
“Sounds good to me. It’ll be our secret.”
She looked at him, her eyebrows knitted, and he couldn’t read her expression. He wasn’t sure if she was happy that he was going to keep her brief night of debauchery in confidence or if there was something else on her mind. She turned around and headed to the shower, and he stepped out into the living room to give her some privacy and closed the door behind him.
A little while later, they packed the car up with her things and were on their way, sitting side by side on the front seat. Lena leanedher head against the window, subdued. Definitely not her energetic self.
That’s what she gets for drinking herself sick. He turned on the CD player, and the entrancing music of the aria “Un bel dí, vedremo,” from the operaMadama Butterfly, filled the car.
Frank hummed along for a few bars before turning to Lena. “You know my mother had an issue with alcohol for a while, right?”
“Yes, I know.” Lena shifted her body toward him, taking her head off the window. “How bad was it? Was she an alcoholic?”
“I think so. My father was certainly worried and made sure she got help and stopped drinking. He was so good about it. But that was his way, as you know. She was a forceful person, so it wasn’t easy. She resisted at first but eventually agreed to get help.”
“A strong personality, Dad?” She snickered. “That’s an understatement. Your mom was a force to be reckoned with. She scared me often.” Lena winced.
Frank laughed. “Yeah, she could be scary. But she meant well. She loved her family and could come across as... well, let’s just say that no one wanted to cross her.”
Lena gave him a small smile and gazed off into the distance as they headed up the Bronx River Parkway. She looked deep in thought. Lena favored Frank’s father and felt intimidated by his mother, never really connecting with her the way she did with Enzo. That didn’t surprise him. Eva was a complex woman. She could be overbearing, and Frank often felt like she was inspecting him through a microscope. Yet Lena often reminded him of his mother. Not that she had an iron fist like Eva, but she was so feisty and strong-willed. Maybe that would serve her well in life. He hoped so.
“You hungry? Feeling well enough to eat?” he asked, knowing they would pass one of his favorite diners on the way home.
“Not sure if I can eat yet.”
“C’mon, you got to eat. Trust me—you’ll feel better. Let’s stop at the Highway Diner.”
She broke into a big smile. “Oh, I love that place. Okay, maybe I’ll get something small instead of my typical triple decker sandwich.”
They got settled into a booth at the diner and ordered their lunches. Lena looked through the songs on the jukebox and stopped at one. She peered at him. “Mom loves that song.”
“Which one?”
