by E. K. Blair
“I’m sorry, babe,” he says quietly, and I notice his term of endearment. I try not to act flustered, but he has never said anything like that to me before. It’s things like this that he does that confuse me. The friendship that we have has been eased into pretty naturally; I have never questioned him about it, and I find myself liking it.
“Honestly, it’s nothing that I didn’t already know deep down, but it was the first time that it actually hit me that these were their true feelings toward me.”
“I don’t want you going over there.” His statement catches me off guard, and I look up at him. I can see it written all over his face that he’s nothing but serious.
“Ryan, I have to. They’re my parents.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want you going over there for them to treat you like shit.”
Letting out a sigh, I lean back and rest my head on his chest. I’m not sure why this upsets him so much, but I can’t not go see my parents at Christmas. “I have to go,” I softly whisper. “It’s Christmas, and I really should be there. I’m only going for dinner. That’s all.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
I pull away from him and turn to look at him straight on. “What?”
“I don’t want you going alone, Candace. I’ll go with you.”
I shake my head and say, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re going. So, we can argue about this, or you can just say ‘okay.’”
I sit there looking at him, surprised that he would even care so much about this. But, he’s right, I don’t see him backing down, so instead of fighting him on this, I turn and lean back into him. “Okay.”
“And I don’t want you spending Christmas alone either, so why don’t you come with me. I could use the distraction at the madhouse.”
“What?! No. Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will be fine, but I don’t like the thought of you sitting here alone, so you’re coming with me.”
“Ryan, it feels weird.”
“Why?”
“Because. It just does. I know you have a big family, and I just don’t want to intrude.”
He shifts to face me, and says, “It’s not an intrusion. My family isn’t like that.”
I look down and take a moment before saying, “Okay, but no gifts. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. It just always has. Please,” I say in a serious tone.
“Okay. No gifts. But just so you know, I have a shit-ton for the kids,” he says with a chuckle.
I smile and we sit back, kicking our feet up onto the coffee table. “So when did you start making all the rules?”
“When you started making me worry about you.”
I don’t respond to his statement; I don’t know how to respond. The protectiveness of his words confuses me, but they make me feel good. Instead, I just sit there next to him and stare at the undecorated tree by the front window and worry about Ryan meeting my parents.
I have been on edge all day thinking about how dinner will go tonight. I’m nervous because the last time I saw my parents, it didn’t go so well, and nothing has been discussed or resolved. I’m also nervous about Ryan meeting them. I know my mother will jump to conclusions and assume we are dating, and that will not go over well since I know she will be judging him and measuring him up to her unreachable standards.
When I see Ryan’s black Rubicon pull up in front of my house, I slip on my coat and head out. He gets out of the car to help me into my seat. When we pull away, he must have picked up on my nerves when he says, “Relax.”
Feeling the need to warn him, I say, “Ryan. You need to know that—”
But he doesn’t let me finish when he interrupts me and repeats, “Candace, relax.”
“They’re just very judgmental people.”
“There is nothing that they can say that I haven’t heard before,” he says, and I wonder what he means by that. Is he referring to his parents? I know he is close with his mother, so I assume maybe his father has something to do with his statement. Ryan has never mentioned his dad. I figure his parents are divorced and he just isn’t close with him, but I have never asked.
I start fidgeting and twisting my hands when he pulls into the gates of The Highlands. He reaches over and lays his hand on top of mine to calm me, but it doesn’t help. When he pulls into my parents’ circle drive and shuts off the car, I don’t get out. We both sit there for a moment when Ryan asks, “You ready?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out.
“Bunny,” my dad beams as we walk through the door. His candor is not what I expected, and he pulls me in for a big hug. “You look beautiful, dear.” He turns to Ryan and shakes his hand. “And you must be Ryan. Thanks for joining us. Come in.”
Turning back to me he says, “Your mother is finishing getting ready. She should be out shortly.”
We walk back into the kitchen and my father asks, “What can I get you two to drink?”
“A beer is good, Mr. Parker.”
“Please, call me Charles.”
My father hands Ryan a bottle of beer and pours me a glass of red wine.
“Why don’t we go to the library and visit while we wait for your mother?”
As we are walking through the house, Ryan keeps a supportive hand on my back, and I appreciate the gesture.
“So, Ryan, what is it that you do?” my father asks as we all sit down.
“I own a bar right off campus.”
“Oh, how did you get into that type of work?”
“Long story short, after I graduated college, I couldn’t seem to find a job with the economy, so I just sort of fell into this business deal. It’s been working out nicely though, so I can’t complain.”
“What did you study in college?”
“Finance.”
“Now that’s a respectable degree,” my mother says as she walks into the room, heels clicking against the wooden floor.
I cringe inside at her passive-aggressive statement. When she approaches, I stand to give her a quick embrace.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Good to see you, darling. And Ryan, welcome.”
Ryan stands to take her hand, and says, “Thank you for having me.”
“Of course. It isn’t every day that our daughter brings a man home.”
I roll my eyes, and Ryan sits down next to me and squeezes my knee. I know this is going to end in disaster already. My mother’s words are like poison, and I’m beginning to question why I even came.
“Ryan was just telling me about the bar he owns,” my dad tells my mother.
“A bar?”
Before I allow my mother to make some snarky comment, I jump in, “So, when are the two of you leaving for Colorado?” My parents own a cabin in Aspen and go there every year after Christmas.
They begin to talk about what they have planned for their trip this year, and I sit back and listen to them go on and on. It’s pretty much the same every year.
As I take the last sip of my wine, my father says, “Bunny, why don’t you show Ryan around. I need to talk with your mother about something. We will leave in about thirty minutes.”
“Okay, sure.”
I walk Ryan around the house and then outside to show him the view of the Sound.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say.
“About what?”
“They can be a lot. They’re pretty pretentious.”
“Candace, no one has perfect parents. Everyone’s flawed in some way.”
We walk back to the covered patio and sit down on one of the benches. I tie my scarf tighter around my neck, and Ryan wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“So, you grew up here in Shoreline?” he asks.
“Yeah. In this very house. The Kelley’s, who live across the street, have a daughter that’s the same age as me. We used to be bes
t friends when we were growing up.”
“And now?”
“And now all I really have is Jase, Mark . . . and you.”
“What about your roommate?”
“Kimber? We used to be really close, but not so much anymore.”
“So what happened to all your friends from high school?”
“They’ve moved on. Applying to grad schools, getting married, making a life for themselves. Most of the kids here wind up becoming people like my parents. More concerned about their image and what social circle they are in. It’s not me, so I never cared enough to stay in touch with anyone.”
I feel Ryan squeeze my shoulder and pull me in tighter, and I’m starting to feel uncertain about all this. Him. Having him here with my parents. Talking about myself. Him touching me. I pull away and stand up, needing a little space to try and calm my nerves.
“We should go back inside,” I say.
Walking back into the house, my father calls from the library, “Candace, could you come in here?”
“Yeah, just a second,” I holler back. I turn to Ryan and say, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, it’s okay.”
When I walk into the library, both of my parents are waiting for me, and my father tells me to shut the door behind me. I do so, anxiously wondering what this is all about.
As I walk further into the room, my dad says, “Well, I just got off the phone with a friend of mine who works in admissions at Columbia. He owed me a favor and was able to pull some strings to get you a conditional acceptance for the fall semester.”
“What?”
“This is wonderful news, isn’t it, darling?” my mother says.
“I’m sorry, but what is this all about?”
“Well, we know that you’ve been busy finishing up at U-Dub, so your father and I thought we would help you out by taking care of this.”
“Taking care of what?” My head is spinning, and I can’t believe what I am hearing. Are they serious right now?
“Honey, you look upset. You should be happy—”
Raising my voice I say, “Happy about what?! Happy that you don’t trust me to make decisions for myself? Happy that I know you don’t think I’m good enough? Happy that you feel I am so pathetic that you have to go behind my back to try and control me?”
“Candace, lower your voice please,” my father says sternly.
“No! I can’t believe you did this!”
“I would have hoped Thanksgiving would have given you something to think about, but clearly you are determined to make a fool out of yourself. And to top it all off, you bring home a boy that works in a bar. Honestly, I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
“He owns that bar, Mother,” I spat.
“It’s not you. This path you’re leading yourself down is not for you,” my mother says.
“It’s not for you. You’re too goddamn judgmental to ever live like I do. I’m happy. I wish you could just see that and accept that.” I look to my dad to try and grasp why he would do this. I always thought that he understood me, but he just stares at me with an unfaltering look. I slowly shake my head in disbelief and ask him, “Why?”
“Your mother is right, dear. We thought you would come to your senses, but clearly you are stuck in this fantasy of yours. You have a name to uphold.”
My eyes start to blur, and when I blink, the tears fall.
“I just don’t understand you. You should be thanking your father, not pouting.”
“You are unbelievable, Mother!” I continue to yell as I say, “I’m not a child! You can’t just step in and take away everything I have worked so hard for during these past four years! How can you call yourself a mother? You’re nothing! You say you’re embarrassed by me, well it goes both ways.” When I stop to take a breath, I see Ryan rushing in.
Holding out his hand, he says, “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Excuse me, but this is a private matter,” my mother says to him condescendingly.
Looking at Ryan and the anger in his eyes, I can’t seem to stop the tears that are falling. I’m shocked that he would care enough to come in here and stop this fight.
“Candace, if you walk out, it’s over. Don’t come back. We refuse to sit back and watch you ruin your life.” I look at my mother and can’t believe she even went there.
I shift my eyes to my father’s. “Daddy?”
“We’re done letting you play games, bunny. No more.”
I look at the both of them, and I feel myself falling apart. My own parents, threatening me and trying to control me. Looking at them is actually making my stomach turn, so I do the only thing I know to do. I grab Ryan’s hand and let him take me away.
His grip on me is tight as he walks us through the living room, grabbing our coats, and leading me outside to his jeep. He doesn’t say a word, but the look on his face tells me he’s pissed. He opens the car door for me, and I begin to feel lightheaded. I reach forward and brace my free hand on the side of the seat, trying to hold myself up and clear the haze in my vision when Ryan grabs me and pulls me into his arms. I cling to him tightly and start sobbing into his chest. I can barely grasp what just happened. But, I know I can’t go back. They made that clear.
After a few minutes, I’m able to calm myself down enough to stop the tears. My breathing is still erratic, and I’m so embarrassed that Ryan had to see all of that. I can’t even look him in the eyes, so I keep my head down when I finally loosen my grip on him and pull away. He kisses the top of my head before gripping my waist and helping me into the car.
The drive home is quiet. I’m still trying to process what happened back there. I never thought my parents would ever go that far. I don’t need their money or their lifestyle, and the fact that they thought it meant that much to me that they could threaten me with it proves that they don’t know me at all.
When we get back to my house, I am thoroughly drained. I curl up on the couch and kick my heels off and onto the floor. Ryan walks into the kitchen, and when he comes back out, he has a beer and a glass of wine. He hands me the glass, and I gulp half of it down quickly before setting it on the coffee table. Sitting down on the couch, he leans back on the side armrest, pulling me between his legs so that my back is resting on his chest. He wraps one arm around my waist while his other hand is threading through my hair. I can feel his steady breathing by the rise and fall of his chest.
This closeness that I feel with Ryan is a lot for me to process. Closing my eyes, I take a slow, deep breath and shift to my side, resting my cheek on his sternum. I listen to his heart as it beats rapidly.
“You okay?” His words are the first spoken since we left my parents house. I know I can’t talk around the huge lump in my throat, so I just shake my head. Ryan rests his chin on the top of my head, and when I begin to cry again, he tightens his hold on me.
I feel safe enough with him to finally have this release. I’ve spent years making excuses for my parents, just brushing off and accepting their behavior. But, this . . . this cuts deep. My whole life I’ve been trying to make them proud of me, but I just can’t be what they want me to be. I can’t even think about trying to bottle up this pain, so I just let it out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryan stayed over for a few hours before leaving me last night. We barely spoke at all as he held me, but we didn’t need to talk. I never feel as if I need to be anything I’m not when I am with him. I don’t even want to think about what last night would have been like if he hadn’t been there.
He told me I didn’t have to go with him to his mom’s house, that he would stay with me. But I really need the distraction. So, we are making the four-hour drive to Cannon Beach in Oregon to spend the next few days with his family. I’m nervous about meeting everyone. Ryan has a large family, something I have never been around. All I know is the dysfunction I grew up around with my mother and father.
“You’
re quiet over there,” Ryan says as he drives through the tall, thick pine trees of the mountains.
“Just a little nervous.”
“Don’t be.” He gives my knee a soft squeeze of reassurance.
On our long drive, I try not to worry too much about what they will think of me. Ryan does a good job of distracting me with conversation and listening to music. After a while, I decide to lean back and take a nap since I had a restless night of sleep.
When we pull up to the large, two-story, dark grey beach house with a driveway and street full of cars, I start wringing my hands and fingers together. He parks the jeep, steps out, and walks around to my side, opening my door.
Grabbing both of my hands, he says, “Don’t be so nervous. Just relax.”
I nod my head, but I worry they might think I’m weird or rude if I’m too quiet. I worry that I don’t look nice enough, or maybe that I look too nice. Ryan helps me out of the car, and when I start smoothing down the pencil skirt of my black cap-sleeved dress, he starts laughing.
“Why are you laughing at me?”
“Because I’ve never seen you so wound up before.”
He reaches in the jeep and grabs the bottle of Pahlmeyer Merlot that I bought for his mother. We start walking to the front door when I tug against his hand. Turning around, he cocks his head slightly and gives me a concerned look.
“Ryan . . . I don’t do well around a lot of people,” I hesitantly confess to him.
He places his hand on my shoulder and says, “My family will love you, but if you feel that uncomfortable, we can go. Just say the word.”
“No, I want to meet them, I’m just . . .” I feel like I am stumbling over my words when he says, “Hey, I’m right here. No worries, okay?”
Letting out a sigh, I say, “Okay.”
He takes my hand in his and starts leading me up the wet drive. When we walk in, I’m almost knocked down when two little boys dart through the foyer, chasing each other with plastic swords.
Ryan chuckles at the kids and says to me, “Come on,” as he takes me through the house. The walls are filled with family photographs. It’s a beautiful house, not extravagant like the one I grew up in.