A Matter of Perspective

Chapter 8 - Mark

"You don't look like a piñata, I was kidding," Mark heard Joe say in a low, almost pleading voice, behind the door that was half open on the other side of the tree house, "I told you I was kidding, we pinky promised you wouldn't get mad."

Mark stopped digging through his bag on the table, cocking his ear toward his daughter's bedroom that she was sharing with Joe.

"I know, but I just..." he heard Dianne mumble back.

"You just what? Think I actually think you look like a piñata?" Joe replied softly. "You know I don't. It was just a joke. You look gorgeous. You always look gorgeous."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have said it if you hadn't thought it at least a little," Dianne whispered, and Mark felt his heart break at the slight wobble he heard in her voice.

Without even realizing it, Mark craned is neck trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening in their room - instead of voices, all he heard was soft whispers and some shuffling around. Curious as to what was happening, he took a step backward in an effort to sneak a peek, almost yelling out in shock as he felt his wife's hand on his shoulder from behind.

"Jesus Christ, Rina, give a guy a warning," he hissed, still trying to see what was happening in his Dianne's room.

"What are you doing?" Rina asked accusingly, turning him around with both arms. "Are you spying on our daughter?"

"Shh," he whispered, bringing his fingers up to his lips and turning his head back toward the room. "I think they're fighting."

Rina's eyebrows raised instantly, "Really?"

Mark nodded and took a sneaky step forward, nearly falling over as their door abruptly swung open and Joe and Dianne walked out, arms wrapped around each other. He watched as Dianne smiled up at Joe, not even noticing he and Rina awkwardly frozen in place.

"Oh, hey Dad. Ready to go?" she asked, barely taking her eyes off of Joe.

"Um...sure. Are you...are you alright, Dot?" Mark asked, confused by the complete 180 in his daughter's mood.

Dianne smiled at him, "Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?"

"Let's go, we can talk over dinner," Rina interrupted hastily, noticing the time. Mark grabbed his wallet out of his bag and followed the crew out the door, wondering what on Earth he had just witnessed.

---

Dinner conversation had flowed naturally, Mark being a man of few words, had been content to sit back and listen, only chiming in when necessary, spending the rest of the time enjoying the delicious food and surroundings of Chewton Glen.

He had to admit though, his mind had wandered a bit - he was still curious how Dianne's mood had changed from being visibly upset to happy as a clam in a matter of two minutes. He and Rina had a front row seat to Dianne's mood swings over the years - as their only daughter, they at first hadn't been used to the emotions that came with teenage girls - but they had been forced to acclimate quickly - she really hadn't given them a choice, he thought to himself with a smile. Dianne pushed the limits back in those days - and although she had matured and grown out of her teenaged moodiness, she was still his little girl. And he knew deep down, despite the hormonal rollercoaster that evened itself out years ago,  she was still prone to a few tears every now and again. That was just Dianne - she always seemed to feel everything deeply.

He had been waiting, ever since arriving in England, to witness one of these "moments" - where Dianne would inevitably feel sad about something, and he'd be there to comfort her, as he usually did. Instead though, he had watched Dianne be happy - happier than he had ever seen her - and while it was somewhat of a relief, he couldn't help but feel a bit sad that she had clearly found someone else to comfort her in the way he always had.