Fading (21 page)

"Candace, dear," my mother calls from downstairs, and I am snapped out of my reverie.

Making my way downstairs, I meet her in the kitchen as she is refilling her glass of wine.

"Candace, there you are. How was your drive?"

"Not too bad," I say as I take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Did your friends already leave to go home?"

"Kimber did. Jase is actually spending Thanksgiving with his boyfriend's family."

"Candace, you know how I feel about that boy," she says in her judgmental tone.

Looking at her, not wanting to begin arguing with her ten minutes into my visit, I brush it off. "Yes, Mother."

"Well, then, your father got called into the hospital, so it's just us for the afternoon. I thought we could go over to Bellevue and do a little shopping."

"Yeah, that sounds great, Mom," I say as I stand up and walk to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. If there is one thing my mother is good at, it's shopping.

Standing in front of the three-way mirror in the fitting room, I slip on a beautiful lace and tweed Karen Millen shift dress. I smooth down the pencil skirt with my hands and admire the detailing.

"How does the dress fit, darling?" my mother asks from outside my fitting room.

"It's perfect." The one thing, possibly the only thing, my mother and I have in common is our love for fashion. I have always admired my mother's elegance and flair, and thankfully, it has always been something we have agreed upon.

My mother pulls back the heavy curtain to my dressing room, holding a pair of black platform pumps. Handing them to me, she says, "Here, try these on."

I slide on the shoes and turn to her to see her approval of my outfit.

"Stunning," she says and then turns to walk back out into the store.

I carry the outfit, along with a few tops and several pairs of pants, to the register and set everything on top of my mother's selections. As the sales clerk begins to ring up our items, my mother asks, "So, did you hear about Olivia's engagement?"

Keeping my eyes focused on our clothes, I respond, "No, I didn't hear."

"Yes, to William Lewis. He just partnered with his father's law firm. And she is heading up the new division for the Children's Foundation."

I am trying hard to keep myself in check. I know exactly what my mother is doing, but I am determined to let it go. I know my mother wishes I were more like the Olivias of the world.

"That's great," I say as I grab our bags and start heading toward the exit.

"Before we leave, let's go to Neiman's for a little while. Maybe we can indulge in a glass of wine at Mariposa as well."

"Sounds great, Mom." I could really use a glass to help with the nerves that she is beginning to pinch.

While shopping through the racks, my mother continues, "I spoke with Sheila the other day, and she told me that her daughter was accepted into Columbia's graduate program for Museum Anthropology."

"Mom," I say as I eye her over the rack of clothes.

Shrugging her shoulders as if she is clueless, she says, "What, dear?"

I tilt my head to the side and give her a knowing smirk.

"Fiiine," she surrenders.

We finish up, purchasing more clothing than necessary, and go find a seat at Mariposa. Aiming to keep the focus off of me, I ask her about how the planning is coming along for the annual Christmas party at the Seattle Golf and Country Club that she heads every year. She begins to ramble on and on about it for the next hour before we decide to drive home.

"Bunny!" my dad exclaims as I walk into the house. He has called me 'Bunny' for as long as I can remember. When he pulls me in for a hug, I inhale his familiar scent. Since I was a little girl, he has always worn the same clean-scented cologne. I oddly find comfort in that smell. Although my father and I are far from having a close relationship, we never fight like my mother and I. Even though my father won't go against what my mother says and will always make excuses for her, I think that on some level, he might actually understand me.

"Hi, Dad," I say with my arms wrapped around him.

When he pulls away, he takes the bags from my hands, carries them into the kitchen, and sets them on the center island. He turns to kiss my mother on her cheek and says, "So, I see you ladies had fun spending my money today."

My mother laughs at him, and retorts, "Lots of fun, honey."

"Well, I am sorry that I had to work so late. We had a few emergency cases come in, but I have all of tomorrow off to spend with you," he says as he walks up to me and kisses me on my forehead. "Come on. Let's go have a drink before heading out to dinner." He takes my hand and leads me to the living room.

We all sit down, and I instantly become invisible as my parents begin to talk about anything and everything concerning them. I sip on my wine and tune them out as I pull out my cell and text Jase.

How's your trip so far?

I only have to wait a minute before he responds.

Good. Mark's family is oddly great!

LOL! What's that like? : )

Take it you're not having a good time.

It actually hasn't been too bad. Went shopping with mom, all the while bragging about how great her friend's children are doing. As if I'm slumming it at UW.

Sorry. Just a couple more days.

I really miss you. I'm so happy for you though!

Thanks. I miss you too. Text if you need me.

"Well Bunny, are you ready to go get something to eat?" my dad asks me.

Looking up at him, I grin and say, "Yeah, let me go freshen up really fast."

I quickly shoot Jase one last text before heading up to my room.

I will. Love you!

Love you too.

Dinner last night was surprisingly pleasant, although my parents continued to talk all throughout dinner as though I wasn't even sitting there. I have learned, with them, that sometimes it is better to be invisible than not.

I am finishing getting ready for our four o'clock reservation at the club. I have been keeping to myself most of the day with a run first thing this morning and then studying in my room. No one has said anything about my avoidance, but that's nothing new.

Wearing the dress dress that I got yesterday while shopping with my mother, I slide on the black pumps and put in a pair of pearl earrings. I take one last look in the mirror before grabbing my wool coat and going downstairs.

My parents are sitting in the library having a drink when I walk in.

"Don't you look lovely."

"Thanks, Dad," I say as I stand in the doorway. "It's almost time to go. You ready?"

"Yes," my father says. He stands up and takes my mother's hand before helping her up as well.

When my mother walks towards me, she doesn't say a word, and I wonder what's got her strung so tight. I shake it off and follow my parents out to the drive.

"Oh, hey. Do you mind if we take separate cars? I was thinking about visiting Katy after we leave the club. I haven't seen her since summer."

"Of course, darling," my father says as he opens the car door for my mother.

"Great." I walk over to my car and hop in. Katy and I grew up together and we try to see each other when we are both home from college on breaks.

When I pull up to the prestigious Seattle Golf and Country Club, I am greeted by one of the valets. He opens my door and helps me out of the car where I am rejoined with my parents. Walking in, I plaster on a smile as people begin to say hello to my parents and myself. The faces never change, only the occasions.

When we are seated at our table looking out over the immaculate greens, our waiter approaches, and I quickly order a glass of wine. Looking down at the menu card that is placed on the center of my place setting, I let out a sigh of relief that this year they are actually serving turkey instead of the dreadful duck they had last year. But of course, it's not your traditional turkey, not that I even know what that is since I have spent every holiday dinner here in this very room. They are serving a porcini-soy stuffed turkey with shallot-truffle gravy. Nothing can ever be simple.

When the waiter returns with our drinks, my father orders some hors d'oeuvres before our main course. My father lifts his glass and makes a quick toast before we clink and take our sips.

"So, Bunny, how is this school year going for you?"

"It's been really busy, but I am managing to maintain my four point GPA, which should make you proud."

I hear my mother softly chuckle as my dad says, "You know how important grades are to me, and it shows that you care. Of course I'm proud."

"Thanks, Dad."

My mother clears her throat, and I eye her when she says to my father, "She's a dance major, honey. How hard can it be to have a four point?"

Clearly she had one too many cocktails in the library back home, because she is being more bold than usual. I tell myself to let it go so that this doesn't wind up in an argument.

My father doesn't say anything when she continues, "Sorry if that came out rude, but have you given any thought as to what you will do after graduation this spring? Have you applied to any graduate schools yet?"

"Graduate schools?" I ask as I shift my look to my dad and shake my head feeling like this choice of conversation was premeditated.

"Yes, well, your mother and I were concerned about your next step."

"You know I have always planned on dancing. That has never changed."

In a much softer voice, my mother says, "We were assuming that you would be taking a more serious outlook on your future. I mean, we have allowed you these past four years, hoping you would grow out of this little ballerina dream of yours." She says this as if I'm a child with foolish dreams, like when a little girl says she wants to be a fairy princess when she grows up.

I take my time to respond when my father speaks up. "Your mother's right, dear. It's time we start making some serious decisions. Although I have been fine with letting you direct these past four years, it's time to get on track and get focused."

I look at these two people sitting in front of me. My parents. The two people that should know me the best, love me, support me, and encourage me. But they don't know me at all. My stomach twists at the realization that they have never known me. Deep down, I've known this all along, but I guess I've been fooling myself to believe that I was wrong about them. How can they be so oblivious to who I am?