Page 20 of Falling for my Family's Rival

“Okay,” I say. “I’m sorry that my father didn’t listen to your explanation. I do have to admit that it feels odd. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“Look, I’m pretty new here,” he says. “I can tell you that there are some supply chain issues currently. That could be affecting the things we are able to supply at the moment. I’m sure that my boss would be willing to cut you a discount if you insist.”

“No need for that,” I say. “Let’s just see if you can get everything here by this afternoon.”

After signing for the delivery, I leave the guy to get it all unloaded. I head to my father’s office to see if he has calmed down yet. He can be pretty hard to deal with, but I like to think that he can be reasonable when he calms down.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. “I sorted out the produce.”

“Thanks,” he grunts. He doesn’t look up at me. Instead he keeps his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

I sit down in the seat across from him, and wait. And wait. And wait. He isn’t doing anything except staring at his computer screen. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t type. He doesn’t look up. He just stares straight ahead. What is going on with him?

“Dad?” I ask again, trying to get his attention. When he still doesn’t look at me, I reach out and smack the top of the table. “Dad!”

He looks at me then, annoyance clear on his face. “What are you doing here?” he snaps.

“I just got the produce order sorted out,” I repeat.

He blinks at me like I have confused him. “Did I ask you to do that?” he asks coldly.

I’m confused because he was fully there when I sent him to the office. I know that he has all his mental faculties. My mom insists that he goes to the doctor every year to be evaluated. She’s constantly worried about dementia in either one of them because both her parents passed due to the condition.

That doesn’t help me much at the moment, though. Something is going on with him that is making it hard for him to focus, concentrate, and remember. There are plenty of reasons that he might not be able to do any of those things. But it doesn’t help me figure out how to deal with him right now.

“Yep,” I say. “The rest of the order will be ready this afternoon, so we’ll have everything for tonight. No worries.”

“How do you think they did it?” my dad asks.

“How did who do what?” I ask, confused.

“Those fools over at Little Italy,” my father says. “How do you think they ruined our produce order?”

Oh boy. “I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t know either?” he asks.

“No, Dad. I don’t think that they did anything,” I say.

My father suddenly snaps. His eyes fiery, he yells at me, “How can you be so blind?”

I lean over and push the office door closed. I know that the whole staff already heard him screaming, but I don’t need them to hear him screaming at me, too. Studying my father from across the desk, I have to wonder what strangers see when they look at him. For me, I see the man I grew up idolizing, who built this restaurant into what it is. The same man who pushed my dreams of opening my own Greek restaurant aside so that I could be by his side here at Venetian Dreams. At the time I was flattered, but over the years, I’ve gotten bitter about the whole thing.

If I was a stranger, though, I would see a man spiraling out of control. A man who was losing his grip on reality. I don’t know how to get that man out of the hole he is digging for himself.

“Dad, I just don’t think they care that much,” I say. “Why do you see them as rivals?”

“Because they are out to get us!” my dad yells.

I swallow back sadness. How could this really be what he thinks? “Dad, is there a way that we can maybe work through this? Is there something I can do?”

My father’s face brightens at my words. “I knew that you would see my side of things eventually,” he says. “I will come up with a plan.”

He missed my point entirely, and suddenly I just want to get away from him. “Sure, Dad,” I say. “Just let me know what I can do. Um, I’m going to go find Mom.”

After leaving my father’s office, I head down the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the dining room. I spot my mom across the way, and make a beeline for her. Surely someone on the waitstaff has dialed her into what is happening. She should have a solution for me.

“Mom, hey,” I say.

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