“No, I went there on my own. Mark suggested I go there to listen to records,” Cadence explained.
Mark shot Dylan a look that said, “What the hell? You didn’t tell her?”
Dylan mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t Mark go with you?” Portia asked.
Cadence laughed. “We weren’t really at that point in our relationship yet where we could go places together.” She paused. “Okay. Everything’s ready. You guys are okay with chicken alfredo, right? Mark was supposed to call you and ask.”
“It’s fine,” Portia replied dismissively. “Now what do you mean about not being at that stage in your relationship?”
Mark spoke up. “I thought maybe—”
“He was my teacher,” Cadence said absently. “Dylan told you.” She stood at the stove carefully pouring the chicken mixture over the noodles.
Portia looked shocked. She turned to Dylan then Mark.
“Your teacher? Like professor?”
Cadence froze, realization dawning. Dylan never told Portia. He was supposed to tell her, to save Cadence from feeling ashamed. Like she did just now. She stared at the four plates lined up on the counter. She had placed a tiny parsley sprig on the edge of each plate for decoration, and now she thought it was silly—like she was trying too hard to be older than her eighteen years.
“We met Cadence’s senior year,” Mark explained.
“Oh. What did you major in?” Portia asked, looking at Cadence.
Questions, questions. The girl was full of them.
“High school,” Mark clarified. “We met in high school.”
Silence.
“I forgot to put the music on,” Cadence mumbled. “I’ll be right back.”
She excused herself from the kitchen and hurried to the bedroom. She didn’t shut the door. She approached the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and looked at herself. It wasn’t Portia’s fault, she thought. She was clearly reacting the way anyone else would. That didn’t alleviate the excruciating embarrassment Cadence felt, but she understood.
She studied her hair—the way she pinned it back, off her neck in a messy bun. She wanted to look older and realized she hated it. She pulled the pins out and dropped them to the floor, letting her hair tumble about her shoulders in soft waves.
She pulled a tissue from a box on her nightstand and wiped her lips. Just an hour before she liked the color—a bright red that reminded her of a 1950’s housewife. At the time she thought she wouldn’t mind being Mark’s housewife. Now she saw a garish, unflattering color.
She knew they were talking about her. She could make out the harsh whispers in the other room. She knew she’d have to reemerge eventually, invent a reason why she took her hair down. She needed to decide on a CD, too. After all, she said she was going to play some music. She’d do all of those things, but for the moment she needed to stand in front of the mirror and own her embarrassment. Where no one but her reflection could see.
She took a deep breath, then marched down the hall in a cheery gait.
“Sorry about that,” she said to the group at the table. “Those pins were hurting my hair.” She patted her head and smiled. “Any music suggestions?”
“Your choice,” Dylan replied.
Cadence scanned the table. Portia was busy pouring herself a glass of wine. A second glass of wine, actually. And avoiding Cadence’s eyes. Apparently Cadence wasn’t the only one who felt embarrassed. Mark sat biting his nails—a nervous habit. Obviously he felt it, too. Dylan shoveled food in his mouth because it didn’t occur to him to wait to eat until she returned. His plate was nearly empty. No embarrassment on his end. She rolled her eyes and walked to the stereo. She searched the CD collection until she came across a Linkin Park album.
Cadence, think about how that’ll make you look, her conscience warned.
I’ve earned it! she shot back.
Yes, you have, but you know it’ll make you look immature.
Cadence tore her eyes away from the album and continued searching until she came across a Tori Amos CD.
Better? she asked.
Much.
Fine, but I’m not starting it from the beginning, she replied.
Cadence placed the CD in the player and cued up “Cornflake Girl.”
Fuck all y’all.
She hovered over the player for a moment listening to the sounds of her new anthem fill the room. She was no cornflake girl. She was stronger than that, so she decided to take control of the situation. She stood tall, turned on her heel, and joined everyone at the table.
“Wine?” Portia offered.
“Oh, no thank you,” Cadence said pleasantly. “I’m not old enough.”
Dylan snorted.
Mark sighed patiently. He’d noticed all the subtle signs. Hair down. Lips wiped clean. Tori Amos. Please. Did she think he was an idiot?
“So, what’s your job?” Cadence asked Portia. She twirled her cold linguini around her fork.
“I’m a nurse,” Portia replied, guzzling her wine. She was nearly finished her second glass. “What are you studying?”
“Business,” Cadence said. “I wanna own my own business when I’m finished with school.”