His Breaking Point

To the Rescue

As strained as the relationship with her mother was, the connection with her dad was probably best described as one of absence but love. The mostly cold indifference of her mother had not only driven Delila away, but it did also bring her father to be rather closed off and focused on his own work and projects. But that didn't mean he didn't love her. Every time she had needed him, he had been there for her, no questions asked. May that have been a school function, some recital, a graduation or boy troubles. And knowing that she could count on him like that, made his physical absence throughout her childhood everyday life bearable.

And even as they saw less and less of each other, as Delila grew into an adult herself and became more and more independent, their connection stayed the same. She was pretty sure that her dad didn't even know what her major had been in college or where she had worked for the past few years, but somehow that didn't matter. She always knew that should she really need him, he never was more than a phone call away, and that's what counted.

And one of those phone calls had been placed this morning. Typical dad, the whole conversation lasted about all of ten seconds:

"Babygirl, what's wrong?"

"Hi dad, I just wanted to talk to you about something... I met somebody.... and I think I might have already messed it up."

"Text me your address, I am on my way!"

No, that reaction didn't surprise her. That's just how he was. What threw her off a little was that he already knew she had a new address. Maybe he and mother were still talking after all. They probably had stumbled upon each other at one of those dreadful dinner parties her mother just loved to host. Knowing how important keeping up appearances was to that woman, she must have forced him to endure one or two since Delila had written her that letter.

But none of her business, if that's how they wanted their life to be, it was up to them. They both came from money, so it wasn't like one couldn't divorce the other if need be. Delila pushed all thoughts about her parent's marriage from her mind and focused on tiding the cottage and preparing the guest room for her father. Never knowing how long he would be staying, she preferred to be ready rather than not.

.....

Sometime later, she received a text from her dad, letting her know that he would indeed make it in time for lunch. Delila had sent him the address of an exquisite French restaurant downtown, knowing how much he loved that cuisine and wanting to treat him to a nice meal for rushing all the way just to see her. She would show him her new home over desert, a freshly made tarte Tatin already waiting on the counter in her kitchen.

She stepped in front of the mirror in the little entrée to check a last time if everything was where it was supposed to be (even waterproof mascara tended to extend into tribal paintings along her cheeks if she wasn't careful). Happy with her reflection, she grabbed her purse and phone, almost skipping down the stairs in anticipation of seeing her dad for the first time in well over half a year.

....

The sunny weather and the nice glass of rosé made her almost forget why she was meeting up with her dad in the first place: Will, the man who had occupied her mind and body for the last weeks. And who had made a point out of misunderstanding everything she had tried to tell him, intentionally or not.

The low rumble of a powerful engine getting closer made her look up from her dewy glass. And of course, parking right in front of the restaurant entrance and getting out of the car as if traffic regulations were not made for him, was her dad. Judging from his lose tie, the smart get-up, and the hint of dark shadows behind his sunglasses, he came straight from some sort of formal event and hadn't gotten much sleep if any at all.

Delila jumped from her chair and practically ran over to him, immediately finding herself in one of those rare but oh so reassuring warm and tight embraces only a father could offer. Kissing her on top of her head, he finally put her at arm's length to take a closer look at her.

"You look radiant, babygirl, as always." Carefully he put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up a little: "But I guess those pretty eyes of yours are reddened for a reason, so I am glad you called."

"Me too, daddy, me too. But let's start with some lunch, then I will tell you everything." On their way over to the table where Delila's glass had been left standing and waiting, she couldn't help but to tease him a little: "By the way dad, if I am not wrong, that car's German and not French, how in the world did you manage to survive that experience?"

A little smirk playing on his lips, her father helped her back into her chair and took a seat opposite of her: "Oh darling girl, don't get me started on that... the vintage selection the rental companies at the airport had to offer was far from satisfactory, but at least they had something older than my shoes, so I suppose that's something to be grateful for. And as a colleague of mine wrongly but funnily pointed out to me not too long ago: a man should dress Italian and drive German. Even though I didn't have it in me to explain to him the error of his ways back then, I guess at least he would be very proud of me today."

Delila smiled and slightly shook her head. She was sure that driving that car really had bothered her dad, and that made it all the funnier. Just then a politely bowing waiter interrupted their conversation: "Bonjour, madame... monsieur.... oh, monsieur Sterling, quel plaisir to have you dining with us today."

Delila raised an eyebrow at her dad who only shrugged his shoulders: "I happen to have had some business interactions taking place in this region over the years, and there aren't that many places where one can eat decently prepared escargots à la Bourguignonne around here." With that he went on to order precisely that and proceeded to take a closer look at the vine selection.

Delila smiled and couldn't help but already feeling a lot calmer now that her dad was here.

.......

Not too far away, in fact only on the other side of the little square, Alex was sitting down for lunch himself. But what he just had witnessed made him doubt that he could actually eat anything.

Not even a day after his father had left for his trip, Delila was already meeting up with yet another man. And judging by the looks of him, she seemed to have a clear type: good and rich looking silver foxes with a soft spot for vintage cars and curvy young redheads.

He had managed to take a picture of the pair hugging and kissing and he hadn't even hesitated for a second before sending it to his dad. Even though he hadn't liked his dad stepping in and "stealing" Delila from him, the old man didn't deserve to be played and lied to like a fool.