Page 85 of Company Ink

My mother scoffs. "As if I could ever stop you from doing anything, Cassandra. You weren't necessarily the most obedient child. If I recall correctly, you said if you couldn't make the doll then you'd drop out of school and become a stripper."

I grimace, letting out an embarrassed laugh. "At least I was a good negotiator, right?"

"That you were, honey, that you were," she sighs, looking around the basement. "I can't believe we're actually leaving. So many memories." She picks up a picture frame. "Remember this day? You just graduated from Miss Lemon's Dance Academy, gosh, you must have been what? Six here?" She smiles, gazing at the picture. "You were so little and cute."

I grab the photo out of her hand. Little Cassie is in the center, wearing a pink tutu and holding up a DIY certificate, with my mother on the right and my instructor on the left.

"Dad's not in it," I observe quietly, placing it down and flipping through all the other photographs. "He's not in any of these."

"Your father worked a lot, honey," my mom says in a whisper. "He wanted to be there."

"Yeah," I sigh, gently placing the photos in the box. He could have been there if he tried hard enough. He just didn't care. Sadness seeps into my veins. I stand up, dusting my knees off just as my phone vibrates.

Adrian: Hey, how's it going? Just wanted to check-in

Cassie: It's fine, still at my parents. Just about to leave actually

Adrian: Oh, did you want a ride home? I'm in the area

I stare at my screen. What?

Cassie: Why are you in West Seattle?

Adrian: Running errands

Cassie: It's a residential neighborhood...

Adrian: Do you want a ride or not?

Oof.Someone doesn't like being caught in a lie. A ride does sound nice though, I've already had to Uber one way, might as well save some money.

Cassie: Okie, sure. How long will you be?

Adrian: Fifteen minutes. I'll text you when I'm out front

Cassie: kk, see you in a bit

I put my phone away and head upstairs with my mother. Every painting that was on the wall is now carefully packed away, most knickknacks thrown out, stacks of boxes taking over the living room.

My eyes dart briefly to the study where my dad is sitting.Talk to your dad. Your opportunities are fleeting. Unease and nervousness swirl around my mind. Should I? Will it actually help? My feet, with no direction from my brain, begin to take me towards the study. I knock timidly on the door, closing my eyes, my heart clenching.

"Dad?" I ask quietly. "Can I uh—talk to you for a second?"

My father is sitting behind his desk, flipping through a novel. He lowers his glasses and peers up at me. "Of course, Cassandra. What did you want to talk about?"

Fiddling with my fingers, I pace back and forth in front of his desk. How do I start? "Dad, I wanted to talk to you about how…umm…well, the thing is—" I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

"Cassandra?" My dad frowns, closing his book. "Is something wrong?"

I lick my lips as I stare at my father, a flood of emotions rushing through my body; hurt, anger, frustration....fear.

"I didn't like how you talked about me when Adrian was here a few weeks ago," I mumble. "You hurt my feelings."

My father swallows, shifting in his seat. "How did I hurt your feelings?"

My body tenses. "You um…said that I wasn't the type of woman someone like Adrian would be interested in and that…uh hurt," I stammer. "Why did you say that dad? Do you honestly believe that? I just…I don't understand your reasoning."

Dad takes a deep breath. "I didn't mean to put you down, Cassandra, I was just trying to ascertain Adrian's intentions. I just don't want you to get hurt."

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