It's a rainy day in Chicago, and I'm sitting at my desk at the headquarters for Thread Trends magazine, the leading fashion magazine in the United States. After my dreams of being an actual fashion designer crumbled, this was the next best thing. And it wasn't so bad; my secondary degree in journalism had, at least, gotten me somewhere adjacent.

I'm in charge of the column, "Outlook", which features the work of up and coming fashion designers. Right now, I'm writing about Sky Rosenthal, whose brand 'Country Roads' is gaining popularity. God only knows why. There is lots of plaid, leather, and denim. Although they are used in unique ways, the materials are so pedestrian. Of course, I don't actually say that in the column.

Soon, I'm scrolling through Rosenthal's website for material. A catalog of styles, some quotes from critics, ah, here we are. 'Inspirations'. Finally, something I can use.

I wanted a return to the classics, an old-but-new alternative to the flashy sequins, bold colors, and dramatic designs that are popular today. My goal was to turn unappreciated materials-like plaid flannels and faded bluejeans-into a statement. I suppose I was inspired by growing up on my family's ranch in Montana, where we bred quarter horses...

I sighed heavily. Horses. I just couldn't get away from them, could I? Not even in Chicago. Of course there's Arlington Park, but nobody really pays attention to it. So up into this moment, I'd been living a relatively horse-free life, aside from conversations with my family.

Rosenthal gushed on about her parents' ranch, leaving me very little to work with. This was a fashion magazine, not Horse and Rider, for goodness' sake.

I did the best with what there was and emailed the rough draft to the editor. Sighing heavily, I glanced at the time on my computer. Break time, thank goodness. As usual, got delivery, and made my way to the break room, where I was immediately met by Mara Oleson.

"Caroline! I need you to do me a favor tomorrow!" she exclaims.

"Hello to you too, Mara," I said. "And that favor would be...?"

"My friend decided she's rather go out tomorrow afternoon with a guy she hooked up with last night, than keep our plans of going to the big Kentucky Derby party at Donovan's."

I groaned. The first Saturday in May. How could I have forgotten?

"You were planning on watching it anyway, right? Since your sister will be riding in it?"

I vaguely recalled Ashleigh chattering on about riding a horse called...what was it again? Oh, yes, Starfall. And during my last conversation with Mom, she had gushed about how exciting it was that Ashleigh was riding the favorite. Rory, too, had shot me an email asking if I wanted to fly out and join him and our parents at Churchill Downs for the Derby.

I staunchly refused. It was just getting harder and harder to pretend I cared about horse racing, or horses in general.

"Thanks, but I'm really not interested," I said, sitting at a table and starting on a container of hot and sour soup.

"Really? Your whole family's into racing and you aren't even a little bit?"

"No," I said shortly, and grabbed the latest issue of our rival magazine, showing that the conversation was over.

My whole life is going to be like this, isn't it? I thought. It always had been. I was the only one in my family who had never been 'into' horses and horse racing. While my siblings had spent their childhoods playing jockey or collecting toy horses, I'd been dressing up my dolls or reading every fashion catalog I could get my hands on. Every single race, even the Triple Crown races, had been a chore to get through, while I could spend hours watching fashion shows.

And the bad thing was, nobody seemed to comprehend that some people really don't care about horses. The only thing I'd enjoyed about going to some of the bigger races was an excuse to dress up. And of course, when I got more excited about the fashions women were wearing, I got looked at like I had grown two heads.

When I'd decided to pursue fashion instead of working on the farm my parents bought after years at Townsend Acres, well, I'd rather forget about that argument. "We want to keep the family farm going, Caroline. Ashleigh has her own career and Rory can't manage on his own when your mother and I are gone," my father said five years ago.

"You could still learn the ropes and pursue fashion," my mother pleaded.

But of course I can't forget. I'd endured my parents' and my siblings' disappointment for years. I should have been used to it by now. But I wasn't. And it still hurt so damned much.