Be My One Regret

be my 1 regret / 19

EVERYONE HAS MIMOSAS WITH BRUNCH, RIGHT? .....says the girl looking for liquid courage.....

Waterfront was one of those snooty yacht clubs for the elite. The super rich. The catty. The heathen. The wretched wealthy that threw money away. Literally. Like it was nothing at all. Especially at places like Waterfront. One of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. And one that I knew well. Because of course, my dad had acquired it a decade ago. It became one of his favorite past times after my mother died. And between dining, sailing, and hob-knobbing with some of the city's best snobs, there was less time for me.

Which was why I had never stepped foot across the dark timbered and gold gilded threshold.

Until today. There was no excuse today. Today was brunch with dad. At 9am no less. And of course, I was fifteen minutes late.

The head waiter leads me thru the busy dining area to the farthest corner by the tallest windows overlooking the harbor. It's the best view. Of course. I slide into the crisp linen covered chair pulled out for me and smirk over at the salt and peppered head hiding behind a newspaper. "Hey dad. How's it going?"

"You're late." Not bothering me with a glance, he shakes the paper adjusting to it's next page. "I already ordered for us."

I ball my fists as my temper starts to simmer. "Yeah, sorry about that. I had a late night-"

The pages crinkle again, and still he doesn't look at me as he cuts me off. "With that art gallery gentleman?"

My heart stutters. And I narrow my eyes at the wall of black and white lines between us. "How do you know about Baz?"

"Everything is my business. Including you. Especially you. Your well being is a priority. Which by the way, Mr. Baltazar Bass passed the screenings I had run on him. Despite his career choice and lack of upbringing, he's got a clean record. And I can't say that I'm happy about you seeing the young man, but I understand that you have to live your life at some point."

Not even a little shocked that he had someone I knew checked up on, my chest tightens, bitter and resentful. Mostly that he doesn't skip once in his stoic explanation like it was completely within reason. And I cringe with disgust at how cold and clinical the care he believes he's giving me. It was love for me in his way. Always at arm's length. But now it really feels stiff, frigid, and detached. So much so that I want to reach over and yank the newspaper from his hands and make an obnoxious scene just to get his attention. Even if he scolded me, it would still be better than this.

No shit.

The sudden delivery of fresh baked croissants wave in front of me followed by fruit, eggs, and bacon. And I'm relieved for the reprieve of warm delicious delicacies to break from the chilly temps my dad was giving me. I look up at the waiter and smile. "Can you please bring me a mimosa? Maybe two?"

As the waiter nods and turns, my dad's face suddenly appears as he casts the newspaper aside. Stern and pensive. "Ophelia. Alcohol with your breakfast? Really?"

I want to roll my eyes. I so want to. But I don't. I haughtily slip the napkin from it's ring and unfold it on my lap. "Gee, dad, I didn't think you'd notice. Anything good in the paper today? Maybe another company in need of a take down?"

The pupils in his eyes flare. Along with his nostrils. "I don't appreciate your tone."

Sarcasm escapes my mouth before I can rethink. "Yeah, well, I don't appreciate being ignored so I guess we both have things to work thru until brunch is over." I smugly smile lifting a carafe. "More coffee?"