She grew up with her. She became friends with him. She fell for that guy. She fought with that girl. She should never talk to them. Those two have never met. These are the basic ways to describe most relationships. First, strangers. Then, friends. T...
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Chapter 1:
A Savior in the Form of a Pianist
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6:30 PM
The pianist on the far end of the restaurant was probably the only thing keeping me sane. I allowed the music he played to drown out the incessant mumblings that came with obligated family dinners where I was surrounded by other pretentious families. His fingers just danced on each key with precision and softness. The musician himself seemed to be unaware of his surroundings. He didn't care how many times the marble floor was polished, or how many karats the chandeliers were. He was just there to play. Unlike the other forty people, who snickered at their crystal glasses frosted with gold for not being "crystal" (with an elongated -al sound) enough.
I, on the other hand, was there to help my father's facade that the community had about him. We were the perfectly-put family who were the happiest they could be even though they lived lives separate from each other. My dad didn't know the first thing about my life and I didn't know a thing about his new family; well, only the things our town newspaper put on its front page.
My mom and dad separated when I was 10 years old. I stayed mostly with my mother. However, he used to come over every weekend after work to have pizza and movie nights. Since I hated pizza, he'd bring me pasta or a sandwich. As dad got promoted in grandpop's company, he came over less and less. Recently he had gotten engaged and married to Janet making him move farther away from us. So, I never saw him anymore. But, to preserve the perfection that comes with Scott's image, we all had mandatory family dinners to fool the world into thinking how cohesive yet modern we were. Well, everyone except my mother who worked the nights. If I didn't bear a Scott at the end of my name, I'd probably be excused even if I was his daughter.
Since 'jeans' aren't what a Scott wears to a restaurant, I had to find my ninth grade formal silver sparkle dress. Even though I always squirmed in my seat wearing it, I couldn't be bothered to buy a new one. So as I sat there changing my position every two seconds, Leah, Janet's prodigal child, sat still with her legs crossed in her Vera Wang dress. She carefully cut each bite of her food and giggled so gently at all the right times in their conversations. I didn't even know what I meant by that. But, a part of me hated that I wanted to be like her just tobe in a dialogue with my dad.
