"When do you guys get back?"

"Late Sunday afternoon."

I roll onto my side and ask Ryan what his plans are for Thanksgiving.

"I'm going to go spend a few days with my family down in Cannon Beach in Oregon. My aunts and uncles always come to my mother's house with my cousins for a big dinner."

"Will you be there for the weekend?" I ask.

"Nah, I'll come back home that night. My mom and her sisters spend the day plotting for Black Friday, so I always come back home and just lay low."

"Sounds like you have a big family," Jase says.

"Yeah, man, five cousins and between them they have seven little kids. I love them, but shit they're loud," he says, laughing.

"Must be nice though. I'm an only child with no cousins. Small family," I say.

I wish I knew what it was like to have a family like that. I had always wished I had a brother or sister growing up. I always felt lonely. My father worked constantly and my mother was never around. Always too busy attending all of her charity functions to pay attention to me. I know now that I will never have that close family that I had always dreamed of.

I grab my last pair of shoes to put in my suitcase before driving to my parents for Thanksgiving. Kimber left Monday to go stay with her parents who live in Redmond, and Jase and Mark left Tuesday to fly to Mark's parent's house in Ohio. Everyone seemed excited for the break before they left while I have been dreading it.

I try to avoid my parents for the most part. Growing up with them wasn't easy. My mother is a social bee and is concerned more about herself and her family's image than happiness. She is a very stern and critical woman, and to please her is nearly impossible. Everything in her world has to be simply perfect so that others will envy her.

My father, being an orthopedic surgeon, was never around much. Both of my parents are influential and well-respected. But they were always so busy that I was left alone for the most part. When my mother was around, all we ever seemed to do was fight. We still do. It has always bothered her that I never participated much in her endeavors. She is involved in many charities, fundraisers, and other social events around town. I know she dreams of a daughter that would follow in her footsteps among her friends and be more concerned about my, as she puts it, 'social standing in the community.'

So now I am making the short twenty-minute drive to Shoreline to spend Thanksgiving with my parents. I plan to leave Saturday morning so that I can have a little down time before classes start back up on Monday.

As I enter through the gates of The Highlands, I make the slow winding drive that leads to the house I grew up in. Pulling up the drive to the two-story coastal house that is reminiscent of a Hampton beach house, I park, grab my suitcase, and walk up to the front door.

When I walk in, I can hear my mother talking on the phone, and I follow her voice to the kitchen to let her know I'm here. She stands there, leaning her hip against the center granite island, in her houndstooth pencil skirt, cashmere sweater, and black pumps. She acknowledges me with a slight nod before picking up her glass of wine and walking to the living room to continue her conversation.

I drag my suitcase to my bedroom, flop my purse onto the floor, and lie down on my bed. I turn my head to look through the French doors that look out over the Sound. I have always loved this view, even as a little girl. I used to spend hours sitting up here and staring out this very window wondering what my life would turn out like.

"Candace, dear," my mother calls from downstairs, and I am snapped out of my reverie.

Making my way downstairs, I meet her in the kitchen as she is refilling her glass of wine.

"Candace, there you are. How was your drive?"

"Not too bad," I say as I take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Did your friends already leave to go home?"

"Kimber did. Jase is actually spending Thanksgiving with his boyfriend's family."

"Candace, you know how I feel about that boy," she says in her judgmental tone.

Looking at her, not wanting to begin arguing with her ten minutes into my visit, I brush it off. "Yes, Mother."

"Well, then, your father got called into the hospital, so it's just us for the afternoon. I thought we could go over to Bellevue and do a little shopping."

"Yeah, that sounds great, Mom," I say as I stand up and walk to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. If there is one thing my mother is good at, it's shopping.

Standing in front of the three-way mirror in the fitting room, I slip on a beautiful lace and tweed Karen Millen shift dress. I smooth down the pencil skirt with my hands and admire the detailing.

"How does the dress fit, darling?" my mother asks from outside my fitting room.

"It's perfect." The one thing, possibly the only thing, my mother and I have in common is our love for fashion. I have always admired my mother's elegance and flair, and thankfully, it has always been something we have agreed upon.

My mother pulls back the heavy curtain to my dressing room, holding a pair of black platform pumps. Handing them to me, she says, "Here, try these on."

I slide on the shoes and turn to her to see her approval of my outfit.

"Stunning," she says and then turns to walk back out into the store.

I carry the outfit, along with a few tops and several pairs of pants, to the register and set everything on top of my mother's selections. As the sales clerk begins to ring up our items, my mother asks, "So, did you hear about Olivia's engagement?"

Keeping my eyes focused on our clothes, I respond, "No, I didn't hear."

"Yes, to William Lewis. He just partnered with his father's law firm. And she is heading up the new division for the Children's Foundation."

I am trying hard to keep myself in check. I know exactly what my mother is doing, but I am determined to let it go. I know my mother wishes I were more like the Olivias of the world.

"That's great," I say as I grab our bags and start heading toward the exit.

"Before we leave, let's go to Neiman's for a little while. Maybe we can indulge in a glass of wine at Mariposa as well."

"Sounds great, Mom." I could really use a glass to help with the nerves that she is beginning to pinch.

While shopping through the racks, my mother continues, "I spoke with Sheila the other day, and she told me that her daughter was accepted into Columbia's graduate program for Museum Anthropology."

"Mom," I say as I eye her over the rack of clothes.

Shrugging her shoulders as if she is clueless, she says, "What, dear?"

I tilt my head to the side and give her a knowing smirk.

"Fiiine," she surrenders.

We finish up, purchasing more clothing than necessary, and go find a seat at Mariposa. Aiming to keep the focus off of me, I ask her about how the planning is coming along for the annual Christmas party at the Seattle Golf and Country Club that she heads every year. She begins to ramble on and on about it for the next hour before we decide to drive home.

"Bunny!" my dad exclaims as I walk into the house. He has called me 'Bunny' for as long as I can remember. When he pulls me in for a hug, I inhale his familiar scent. Since I was a little girl, he has always worn the same clean-scented cologne. I oddly find comfort in that smell. Although my father and I are far from having a close relationship, we never fight like my mother and I. Even though my father won't go against what my mother says and will always make excuses for her, I think that on some level, he might actually understand me.