Grooving to Life's Beat

Family Portrait: Meet Mom and Dad

I hurried through the bustling streets of New York, my fluid white dress fluttering around my legs like a flag in the wind. The silky dress, a delicate chiffon number, was probably too fancy for any regular dinner, but with my parents, nothing was ever ordinary. They always dressed impeccably, and I had to match their standards.

As I weaved through the throngs of people, my mind raced with a mix of anxiety and determination. The Four Seasons was just around the corner, and I could already picture my parents' disapproving faces as they checked their watches and tapped their fingers on the pristine tablecloth because, surprise, surprise, I was late. On top of that, I had Marshall's rap battle to get to afterward, and I had no idea how I was going to pull that off.

When I finally reached the hotel, I quickly made my way through the expansive corridor toward the restaurant, my white Dior dress flowing behind me like a delicate cloud drifting through the sky. The Opyum sandals with metallic YSL initial heels? A terrible choice for a sprint, but hey, fashion over function, right?

As I entered the Pool Room, the fragrance of citrus and meadow flowers hit me, making the place even more enchanting. Centered around a white marble pool with ornamental trees at the corners, the restaurant's interior was stunning; the high ceilings were accentuated by grand chandeliers, and the walls were lined with exquisite artwork. The tables, draped in crisp white linens, were set with fine china and sparkling crystal glasses, the whole ambiance looking like a scene from a lavish dream.

"Good evening, Miss," a stiff maitre d' greeted me with a nod. "How may I help you?" he asked in an oily, low voice.

"Could you please point me to the table reserved for Spencer?" I asked, glancing over his shoulder at the impressive room.

"Sure, Madam." He checked a large notebook, his eyes crawling over the names. Wearing a black uniform that was neatly ironed and tucked in, he moved as slowly as a child learning to read. Time was ticking, and his pace was agonizingly slow. Scanning the room, I spotted my mother's golden hair glowing under the light and acted on impulse.

"There!" I exclaimed and jogged past him. The white marble, immaculately clean, was slippery beneath my feet, like walking on ice.

"Madame, please wait!" The maitre d' visibly jumped, spinning towards me, probably questioning my manners. Too late. By the time he finished his sentence, I was already at the table, placing my Lady Dior on the purse chair. No hugs or kisses from my parents—that's the price for being late.

"Mom, Dad, sorry I'm late," I straightened my posture, trying to exude the same grace and poise my mother had drilled into me since childhood. "Traffic was a nightmare." I continued, sliding into my seat and trying to avoid their gazes.

Mom raised an eyebrow and took a sip from her dry martini, her perfectly manicured fingers delicately holding the glass. Then she looked toward me and spoke plainly. "We took a cab and had no issues."

Great. Busted.

"Well, you're here now," my Dad saved the situation, his tone clipped. His presence was always imposing, with his neatly trimmed gray hair and sharp brown eyes that seemed to miss nothing. "Let's order," he added, signaling the waiter with a slight nod.

As the waiter approached, I couldn't help but feel the tension thickening. My parents, always so put-together, made me feel like a chaotic mess in comparison. Dad's sharp features and stern demeanor were softened only slightly by the hint of fatigue that lined his eyes. His face, usually so composed, carried the weight of countless responsibilities, both professional and familial. Mom, on the other hand, even at fifty, still outshone with her beauty. At five foot seven, willowy, and with a face cut right from the pages of a magazine, she always knew how to exploit the weaknesses of others, especially with Dad—so when she wanted something, she always knew how to get it. Mom hated that I was staying in New York—and that was my biggest fear.