"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 best 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.