Spit up and the Suburbs

Unfortunately, Monday’s school run wouldn’t yield anything notable other than a juice box explosion in the car.

Tuesday, a rainy day that saw a longer-than-average line of parents with their faces in the phones from the command centers of their minivans and expensive SUVs, was much the same. The only interesting thing that happened while Alyssa was sitting in her Cadillac—idling in the line between Steph and a messy-bun, pricey-sunglasses, boutique-blouse-yielding mom in a brand new, souped-up, turquoise Bronco—was that her best friend and former college roommate Linny Thurman texted a throwback photo of the two of them together somewhere in Europe circa 2003. 

The biggest difference in their friendship nowadays—other than the fact that both women had aged a good (muffled) years since the snap was taken—was that Alyssa was settled in the suburbs with a husband and five kids, while Linny was still touring the world, working as a photographer for a popular travel blog, and living out adventures Alyssa could only fantasize about.

This text was sent from Thailand, where Linny had been living for the past few months, fresh off a year-long stint in Sydney, Australia. Alyssa texted back a few seemingly-appropriate emoji—one with heart eyes, and another with a tear—and thought wistfully about the last time she’d seen Linny, about two years ago. The two friends (plus her still-breastfeeding baby) had rendezvoused in Miami for a long weekend of beaching, pooling, and cocktails. It was the perfect relaxing getaway, only enhanced by the fact that no matter how much time went by, it seemed that Linny and Alyssa could pick up right where they left off. Theirs was an easy friendship where the women just understood one another—and unlike any relationship Alyssa had managed to strike up since they first met in college, shortly after rush, in the school cafeteria line. 

“We’re probably not getting into Pi Tri Kappa,” a female voice from behind informed Alyssa on that fateful day. 

She’d turned around to see a freckle-faced blonde with perfect teeth and slightly squinty eyes (think young Renee Zellweger, circa “Jerry Maguire”) looking at her matter-of-factly. “Oh, are you rushing there, too?” Alyssa asked hesitantly, grabbing a basket of fries as a side for her salad. 

“Yup,” the girl, who was dressed in all black, but was wearing blue sneakers (Alyssa would later joke she looked like a “bruise”) answered, helping herself to one of Alyssa’s fries, and flashing a fingers crossed sign. “I don’t think we’re going to get a bid unless you know someone ‘on the inside’,” she half-joked, shrugging and adding, “I don’t.” Then, “I’m Linny.”  

After a slightly put-off pause: “Alyssa.”

“Well, good luck,” Linny said, before making off with another fry, and leaving Alyssa staring at her open-mouthed. 

A few days later, the two girls were hugging in the Pi Tri Kappa suite, where Linny admitted through happy tears that she’d been wrong. 

As thrilled as they were that day, Alyssa and Linny, completely inseparable from then on, both deactivated from Pi Tri by senior year after figuring out that sorority life wasn’t exactly their thing. Indeed, the exclusionary attitudes of Aster, Bristol et al. had turned Linny off as well, although the fact that she was studying abroad all junior year and felt mostly disconnected from all that petty sorority stuff probably had a lot to do with her decision to part ways with Pi Tri. 

In any case, decades after meeting in the cafe line, her best friend always managed to swoop back into Alyssa’s life and made her feel less alone, and more seen. If only she were here now, and not thousands of miles away in Thailand. 

Maybe she would have talked Alyssa out of what she was about to do next.