I take a sip of wine. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this question and it won’t be the last, but I’m still not sure how to answer it. Sometimes I clam up and change the subject. Sometimes I reply with a simple yes, but I know that makes it sound like Dad isdead, which he isn’t. Usually people sense my awkwardness and are happy to move straight on, but looking into Ralph’s eyes is like looking into a pool of crystal clear water. I don’t feel the need to brush it aside, to pretend I’m fine, and it doesn’t seem right to mislead him.
‘My parents are both, um,here,’ I fumble around for the right words. ‘I only have a relationship with my mum, though.’
It’s the first time I’ve even got close to talking about this in a long time. Because the truth is, I don’t have a relationship with my dad. Just thinking about him brings a familiar sting of hot tears to my eyes and I glance up at Ralph. He’s listening quietly, intently.
‘Dad and I were really close when I was little but, ah. . .’ I can’t finish my sentence. It’s just too painful. I collect myself, readjusting the napkin on my lap. ‘Sorry, I don’t feel like I can talk much more about it right now.’
Ralph nods. ‘I understand. I didn’t mean to make you feel sad.’
‘No you didn’t,’ I reply hastily. ‘This probably sounds really silly, but that’s more than I’ve said on the subject in forever. So, like, two sentences? Ha! Butit feels kind of freeing to be able to do even that. Don’t worry, you haven’t made me feel sad. Besides, who could be blue when they’re surrounded by cheese and a hot guy?’
‘I’m hot?’
Only I could go from an intimate moment to acting like an embarrassing dork in less than ten seconds. I turn back to smoothing out the table linen and mumble something about the temperature.
‘Lucky me,’ he says as a smile dances around his lips. ‘I don’t know if this helps, but I read something once that said, “Do not let the behaviour of others destroy your inner peace.” I think it’s a quote from the Dalai Lama. I repeat it to myself when I let myself get frustrated by something out of my control.’
Iblink a bit. I’ve never thought about all of this stuff as being out of my control before. There’s literally nothing I can do about something that’s already happened, is there?
‘Ralph, thank you,’ I say eventually. ‘Not just for all these carbs but for being such a wise owl. I’ve had a really good evening. I think you’ll get your hotel one day and I’d love to come and stay when you do.’
‘You’ll be at the top of my guest list,’ he smoulders.
And. . . I’m going to need a freezing cold shower when I get back to the hotel.
Mils, went on my best date yet last night! Would have texted you sooner but phone on lockdown at the spa we were staying in. So, RALPH. He rescued me from eating Violet (I was that hungry) and took me out for fondue. He had this ridiculously sexy brooding thing going on. Like, he was so mysterious and also weirdly open at the same time. Does that make sense? Just looking into his eyes made me want to open up to him. I felt hot and botheredandreally comfortable around him at the same time. WTF?! Even talked a bit about You Know Who! Date number four = Real Talk with Ralph. My new type on paper score: 5/7.
OMG your fourth date! You are on fire, Jazzy. Just think, only three more and you might even find The One.
