Page 27 of Edging Obsession

Dad says, “No offense, Miles, but how are you going to help us?”

He stretches his legs and crosses them at the ankle. Hands clasped behind his head, he says, “No offense, Elliott, but I’m rich. I have plenty of resources.”

Mom, Dad, and I exchange glances, communicating through head gestures, and then I say, “That would be great, Mein Lieber.”

And then it clicks. I’ve said it several times and never gave it much thought until now. Until I just found out my parents are German. Did he learn German in school? Did he hear the term and like it?

Dad’s scrunched face adds to his confusion. “What is Mein Lieber?”

I pat his hand. “Daddy. It means my love.”

He takes a quick inhale and points to Miles. “You love, him?”

Miles doesn’t appreciate the way my dad says it. “Is that a problem, Elliott?”

“Yeah, you hardly know each other.” My dad sits forward. “Do you love Jules?”

Miles lets the question simmer, just to show my father it’s him who’s going to control the situation, and then he saysyes.

I try to diffuse the two lions in the ring by asking, “How long did it take you to fall in love with Mom?”

Mom’s laughing when she says, “Not long.”

Dad doesn’t like this situation. “Elise, our relationship is different.”

“How so? If anything, they’ve spent more time together.”

The idea of me loving Miles isn’t sitting well with Dad. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to think about his daughter loving another man. Then again, I’m not really his daughter. Oh, I can kick myself for thinking such a thing. They love me, blood or no blood, and my relationship is another thing my parents must accept. A heavy sigh releases from Dad. He shakes his head and says nothing.

Being Miles, he takes charge and diverts the conversation. “If you give me the woman’s name, I can track her.”

Dad throws up his hands. “We don’t even know if she gave her real name.”

Miles purses his lips, breathes through his nostrils, and says, “Just give it to me.”

Mom writes it down on a piece of paper, whispering a thank you, and the conversation is cleaned up like spilled milk. Done and forgotten. My parents stay for lunch. We talk about their next trip to Europe in a month.

We enjoy lunch together, talking about lighter subjects, such as the weather and travels. Mom shows me pictures on her phone of the places they’re going to explore. I’m so happy for them. It was terrifying to see how fragile my dad was when he had his heart attack. Once he gained strength, we all sat down, discussing the future, and I encouraged them to lighten their load. The selling of the coffee shop and land was their idea. It was the best decision they could have made.

After they leave, Miles stands puffing on a cigarette by the fireplace. From the back, I slide my arms to his front, spreading my hands over his muscular chest, and rest my head on his back. He runs his hand over mine. The crackling fire is relaxing.

I ask, “Do you speak German?”

Miles’ body stiffens for a split second. “Yes.”

Surprised, I step in front of him. His brown eyes darken, taking a drag of the cigarette. He flicks it into the fireplace and blows the smoke to the side.

“When did you learn?”

Miles’ finger brushes the inside of my wrist where the scar is, and he leads me to the couch, sitting down with me straddling his thighs. He runs his fingers through my hair, cradles my face in his large hands, locking into a stare.

“I’m German.”

I smack his chest, laughing, and tell him to stop joking. When his face and eyes remain unchanged, I place my hands on top of his, adding another laugh.

“Well, yeah, a lot of people are German.”

“No, IamGerman. Born and raised in Germany.”

---