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“Perfect!” Dad says and then holds his arms out again. “Get over here, Fee-Fee!”
Lule gasps and claps her hands and I know that’s coming back to bite me in the ass.
“Yes, Fee-Fee! Go hug your father!” Lule says.
I shoot her a look that could kill and she looks like I’ve just told her there’s a Val Kilmer look-alike contest next door.
My dad hugs me in his loose hug-pat-on-the-back way he does, as if he’s afraid he might break me. Then my mother kisses both of my cheeks and whispers something about how I need a blow-out. Then we’re off. And I can’t think of a bar that will serve me enough beer to get through this extra time I have with them.
* * *
As it turns out, they’ve canceled all of our reservations for the evening because Mom was able to get them into a different, more exclusive spa in Taos tomorrow afternoon. So now I’m scrambling to find somewhere on the east side that isn’t going to give them more ammo in their fight to get me back to med school.
We end up on the landscaped rooftop deck of Noble Rot, where we can overlook the river, the bridges, and the city from our perch high above Burnside Road. Mom fusses over the size of their hydrangeas while Dad discusses the unique spin on a Negroni he’s ordered.
Me? I slipped the waiter an extra twenty so he’d slip an extra shot into my palomas.
“So, this is Portland at the end of summer?” Dad says, after tipping the waiter to keep the drinks coming.
“The seasons are a little different here, actually,” I say, sipping the salty rim of my drink and putting on my sunglasses.
My parents insisted they’d gotten too much sun on the airplane, so they’re sitting with their backs to the sun—and the view of the Portland skyline across the river—and I’m staring into it.
“You mean, rain, rainy, rainier, and August?” Dad says, chuckling at his own joke.
Mom snorts, her sunglasses covering her eyes, but I don’t need to see them to read her disdain. She and Dad seem to have a silent conversation and I steel myself. I don’t know what they’re going to say, but I know it’s going to be a big one.
“So, you know Edie’s wedding is coming up,” Mom says, leaning into the table as if to edge into this conversation.
“Yes. I believe I was invited?”
Mom tilts her head and pinches her lips as if she’s bitten into something sour. “Faye Ellen, I could stand for a little less sarcasm. It doesn’t do anything for your figure.” She points in the general direction of my curvy body and I feel my chest flush with embarrassment.
I hate that even though I love the way I look in my red linen shorts and white eyelet off-the-shoulder top, my mom can flatten me back to the high school version of myself that counted points and ran stairs when my jeans got snug. And the worst part of it all is that I let them pull me back into the old version of myself.
“I have often found that the best offense is a good defense. How do you plan to broach this break from your education?” Dad asks, trying to be diplomatic.
Mom holds her drink and pauses, waiting for me to answer before she sips.
“I suppose I’ll tell people I quit?”
“Faye Ellen,” Mom scolds, and then skips the straw, sucking back the rest of her drink.
“What? Would you rather I lie?”
“Well, perhaps it would be prudent to explain that it’s a temporary hiatus. Like a gap year? Just to protect your interests until you flesh out your next steps,” Dad says, mediating between the two of us.
“So you want me to lie.” I tilt back the rest of my drink, making eye contact with our waiter.
“Now, Faye Ellen,” Dad says. “You quit in such a haste. You can’t tell us that there’s not at least a little bit of doubt in your mind? You really don’t think you’ll regret it? That you’ll reapply in the spring and pick up where you left off?”
“That’s not how med school works, Dad.”
They look at each other and lean in. This oughta be good.
“Actually, we spoke with Miles Gerrigan, you know your father’s former business partner? We all attended his son’s bris.”
“You know, it’s so odd that I don’t remember that. You’d think a two-year-old would remember her first foreskin removal party.”
