My eyes flicker up to his. “It’s hard. We have different feelings toward him,” I say, reaching for my wine again immediately. Leo watches me as I hold the glass to my lips for a moment, contemplating whether to elaborate. I don’t.
“Why? I don’t understand it. Why did you fall out?” Leo presses.
I breathe out loudly, then squeeze my lips together, looking across the restaurant. Fuck it. He may as well know.
“He’s not the big, amazing, perfect demigod you think he is,” I say.
“He wasn’t perfect,” says Leo, pointing his fork toward me. “I’ll give you that.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I’m surprised to hear him say those words. “How so?” I say.
“You first,” he replies.
I sit back in my chair and fold my arms, and Leo watches me with some degree of suspicion. “Did he cheat on your mum? Or like... I don’t know,” he says slowly.
“Nothing like that,” I say, before I take a deep breath and decide to just say it. “My dad chose the restaurant over Mum. And me, really. He got so caught up in it, ignoring my mum, belittling her advice and suggestions. He always knew best and would not listen. It started hemorrhaging money, and he was never home, fighting for the restaurant’s survival rather than our family’s. In the end, he secretly sold our family home to keep the restaurant afloat. It was the last straw for Mum, who left the marriage with nothing because she didn’t have the heart to force him to sell it.”
“I didn’t know that,” Leo says, holding my gaze.
“And it’s hard to forgive because I watched Mum fall apart and struggle to put herself back together,” I say. “While Dad’s life just carried on as if we were never there.”
Leo looks as though he wants to say something but glances down at his plate.
“I felt abandoned,” I say, ramming it home.
Leo nods. “I can see how you would feel that. Did he send money at least?”
“Yes. Of course,” I say quickly. “But that was just about all he did.”
“He didn’t call?”
“Sometimes. Less and less,” I say, shrugging.
Leo looks across the restaurant and his eyes narrow a little as he shakes his head. “It makes no sense,” he says. “He always talked about you.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my heart squeeze as I reach for my wine. I’m not ready to hear that. I’m certainly not ready to believe it. I clear my throat.
“When I saw the books a few weeks ago, I just thought, Jesus Christ, Dad! Nothing got better. I mean, what the hell? That’s what you chose over us? Over me?” I throw both my hands up.
Leo shakes his head. “It didn’t get better,” he says.
“Your turn now. Why? Why did nothing change there? Those old chairs? The paintwork? What had he been doing? You had four bookings on a Friday night!”
Leo blinks, pausing momentarily.
I shrug apologetically. “I’ve seen everything.”
“Heneverlistened to anyone else,” he says ruefully.
“Right.”
“I really tried,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
I nod, lifting my shoulders, encouraging him to go on. Leo moves in, taking an oyster and tilting it so it slides down his throat. Then he licks the edge of his lips and puts his elbows on the table, bringing both hands up to his temples.
“There’s a place in Florence. L’Ortone. It’s fucking modern, but still, like... cool. Bistro-style,” he says. His voice starts to fill with excitement, his hands gesticulating as he speaks. “It’s right next to a market, and the food... it’s so great.”
“Lemon foam and Parmesan tuiles?” I say teasingly.
