“You too,” she says with fake enthusiasm, and I grin.
I meet my dad at The Bottle Shop, a steakhouse around the corner from where he lives. While he’s not in Beverly Hills, it’s still a very well-off area. I get there after him, as usual, not because I’m late but because my father is always early. I don’t know if it’s to prove a point or if just doesn’t have anything better to do in his old age than sit on his mountain of money and criticize the world from his throne.
As I approach the table, he already has an appetizer ordered and his usual drink, which doesn’t surprise me. In my head, I runthrough all the things I think he might say based on what he usually says when I see him.
I was wondering when you’d show up.
Must be nice not having to be on time.
They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but I’m not so sure.
But as I take a seat in front of him, he doesn’t say any of those things. There’s also a drink for me on the table, and the appetizer is rustic ricotta dip with hot honey. It looks and smells amazing, but I know my dad is an oyster man. This is something I would order, and the whole thing just feels suspicious.
“Son, it’s good to see you,” he tells me.
“You too,” I say, though it almost comes out like a question.
“You must be hungry. Eat. I wasn’t sure about the dip: soft cheese with spicy honey. It’s pretty damn good if I’m being honest,” he says. For a moment he just stares at me, and I know he isn’t going to go on until I take a bite, so I do. He’s right, it’s really good!
I nod as I chew, and he smiles. “Yeah? What’d I tell ya?”
“What’s this all about?” I ask. “Or did you just want to get together to expand your palate?”
Then my dad laughs.Mydad.Laughs.I’m starting to wonder if the man has gone mad. If dementia has finally caught up to him.
“I wanted to talk to you about Mila, actually,” he says. For a moment, I’m not really sure how to respond.
“What about her?” I ask, using the cheese knife to spread some ricotta and a roasted cherry tomato onto a sesame toasted cracker. Very few times in my life has my father had a decent conversation with me, let alone smiled. When he did, there was always an angle. I’m going to have my guard up, both in front of me and in front of Mila.
“She’s really something,” he says, and my eyes flash up to him. “You know, son. When I saw the pictures of you with this girl, I was skeptical.”
“I’m sure you were,” I tell him.
“I wasn’t too keen on you fooling around for the world to see and judge you,” he says.
“You mean for the world to judge you?” I ask.
My dad bites his lip with a slow nod. “I suppose I have that coming,” he says. “But you haven’t let me finish.”
“I would have preferred not to let you start,” I say.
But my dad just smiles.
“Will you just relax and listen to me?” he asks. “I’m trying to tell you that I was skeptical. Until I saw the two of you together,” he goes on, and I look up at him. “Obviously, I was suspicious. You never date. Hell, I assumed you’d never get married. I’m sure it’s some kind of complex because you grew up without a mother.”
I nearly drop my drink on the table. “It’s not a complex, Dad. Mom died when I was seven. A simple operation gone wrong if you don’t remember. But that has nothing to do with me not being married. Yet.”
“Sure it does,” he goes on. “But either way, I think a girl like Mila is exactly what you need. She’s smart, sexy, and sassy as hell.”
“Where exactly are you going with this, Dad?” I ask, getting a bit impatient. Because with my dad, there is always a motive to his conversations.
“I’m trying to tell you that I like her, Dominic. And that I think she might be good for you,” he says.
“Well, good. I agree. Now, is that all?” I ask.
“Nope. I also want to add that if you’re planning to marry her–” he stops and pulls a box out of his pocket. He opens it and sets it on the table between us. “You have my blessing.”
I blink as I stare down at the open box.
