In the Shade of Groves [COMPLETE]

Chapter 20

The only thing I can hear over the crunching of cereal is my mother's shrill voice rushing my dad out the door. Since the school year ended, life in the Dennis residence has returned to normal. My dad still works fourteen hour days and my mother's social calendar has been restocked. I'm sure if anyone downtown was asked about Ross Evans they'd reply, "who?". A shockingly useful skill for the people of Grove is convenient amnesia. Of course only when they want to forget something. Ask the same people about my outburst at the pageant a few months ago and they'd recount every detail as if it happened yesterday.

Today, my mother's big hurry is for the annual summer luncheon. Unlike the fundraiser, this lunch is only for adults over the age of 21. Everyone dresses in their best summer attire. Women wear flowy summer dresses and the men wear khaki pants with light summer jackets. It will be held on the lawn behind townhall. Local caterers will pass around hors d'oeuvres and flutes of peach Bellini and raspberry schnapps. I think my mother is relieved this event is only for adults. This way she doesn't have to ask me to come and I don't have to say no. If this wasn't an annual event I would have thought Carol planned it this way. She has yet to forgive me for my outburst and "little stunt" as she calls it.

My mother rushes down the stairs fixing an earring and catches sight of me. She walks over smiling but I can tell she's uncomfortable. My dad adjusts his jacket and joins her downstairs.

"Off to the luncheon?" I ask them. I go back and forth between talking to them and not. I can never forgive them for what they have done and especially not to Minnie, but they are my parents. My original plan was to never speak to them again, until I woke up in the middle of the night and found my mother sitting in the kitchen with the lights off crying. I sat on the stairs and listened to it for a while. The next night, the same thing. The following night, the same. For a week I listened to her cries and did nothing. I realized the hatred that I felt for her must be nothing in comparison to the hatred she feels for herself. I wouldn't be able to handle it if something happened to her because I made her feel even more guilty. Though the relationship with my parents is broken, I don't want them to suffer because of me.

"Yes. I have been looking forward to this luncheon for months. The amount of planning that goes into an event like this is," she exaggeratively sighs, "daunting. I do wish that Carol would open it up to young adults though." She rests a hand on my shoulder.

"It's probably better she doesn't. I'm sure more than one underage child would like to get their hands on a Bellini." I continue to munch my cereal. I added Frosted Flakes on the grocery list a couple weeks ago to my mother's slight horror. I saw her double-take the list but she never said anything about it. Nor has she made any comments about my appearance as of late.

"I can't think of any child that would embarrass their parents that way," she comments seriously. My dad and I exchange a look and nod in agreement with her. "Before we go, your father and I wanted to talk to you."

"Who else died?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I cringe and mentally slap myself.

My parents' faces go pale and they shift uncomfortably where they stand. "It's not like that. Your father and I wanted to give you something. A graduation present. This year has been difficult and your father and I realize we haven't made it any easier. Though we don't approve of your choice in college, we've decided we are willing to overlook it for your sake."

After my mother shredded my acceptance letter from Chicago, I called the admissions director and explained, in cliff notes, my situation. I thought it was going to be a lot more difficult to reobtain the acceptance letter but it was mailed within a few weeks. My mother saw it before I did but this time she didn't shred it. I told her she could shred the letter a hundred times and I would get it resent a hundred and one.