“Oh, how did you get into that type of work?”
I briefly explain how I acquired the business after I graduated from UW, and he follows along, nodding his head.
“What did you study in college?” he asks before taking a sip of his scotch.
“Finance.”
“Now that’s a respectable degree,” I hear, and when I turn my head, I see a petite woman with shoulder-length, brown hair, wearing a dress similar to Candace’s, only in navy. But where Candace is more reserved, there isn’t a question about her mother’s social standing by the way she carries herself in a much too proud manner as she walks across the room, almost demanding attention.
Candace stands to give her mom a stiff hug.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Good to see you, darling,” she drawls before turning to me. “And Ryan, welcome.”
I step closer and take her hand, saying, “Thank you for having me.”
“Of course. It isn’t every day that our daughter brings a man home,” she says in a patronizing tone, and I look over to see Candace rolling her eyes as we sit down.
“Ryan was just telling me about the bar he owns,” her father announces.
“A bar?” she questions as if the words have a bad taste to them. She has no idea that the bar I own has afforded me an extremely comfortable lifestyle.
Before she can continue, Candace jumps in and changes the subject, asking about her parents’ upcoming trip to Aspen.
Candace and I sit back and listen to their plans before her father excuses himself and Candace takes me to show me around the house.
We walk outside to the backyard and look at the view of the Sound.
“I’m sorry about that,” Candace says softly as we take a seat on one of the benches.
“About what?”
She looks at me with apology. “They can be a lot. They’re pretty pretentious.”
“Candace, no one has perfect parents. Everyone’s flawed in some way.”
I slip my arm over her shoulders as she tightens the scarf around her neck.
“So, you grew up here in Shoreline?” I ask.
“Yeah. In this very house. The Kelleys, who live across the street, have a daughter that’s the same age as me. We used to be best friends when we were growing up.”
“And now?”
“And now all I really have is Jase, Mark . . . and you,” she tells me and knowing that she sees me as someone she can at least group with Jase and Mark gives me a little relief.
“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?” I ask, curious as to why she secludes herself in a manner that prevents her from having more people in her life.
“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’re in. It’s not me, so I never cared enough to stay in touch with anyone.”
I see how her parents could be upset that she doesn’t seem to follow suit with their expectations. That Candace would be driven enough to step out of that life to create a new one, a more comfortable one, for herself. She’s ambitious in a way that’s unique from her parents. Following a passion—dance—to build a life that she can find pleasure in.
“We should go back inside,” she tells me, and when we walk in, her father calls from the other room, “Candace, could you come in here?”
“Yeah, just a second.” She looks at me and says, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, it’s okay,” she assures before heading back to the library.
I take this time to stroll aimlessly through the house. Walking into the formal living room, I scan the framed photos that are displayed on the black grand piano. Family portraits through the years. Candace as a young girl, wearing a frilly white dress with white gloves, searching for Easter eggs on the greens of a golf course. A picture-perfect family, but from what little I have picked up from Jase, she was miserable. But out of all the photos, none of her dancing.
I’m curious to know what she would look like dancing. She’s so poised as it is, but to see how she would move intrigues me.
My attention shifts to the library when I hear Candace yelling. I don’t miss a beat when I start walking through the house to where she is, concerned about what they’re talking about and what has Candace raising her voice when she’s always so quiet. I can draw my own conclusions about what kind of relationship she has with her parents and wonder if they are the ones she needs to be protected from.
When I step to the closed double doors, I hear her father bark, “You have a name to uphold!”
“I just don’t understand you,” her mother snaps. “You should be thanking your father, not pouting,” and the sound of her condescending voice irks the hell out of me.
“You are unbelievable, Mother! I’m not a child!” Candace’s voice is strained as she yells, and I can’t bear the pain in her words. I barge in and see the annoyance on her mother’s face, so I lock my eyes on Candace, but she doesn’t notice as she continues shouting at her mom. “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.”