Page 15 of When Love Changes Everything

"What hotel are you staying in?" I ask, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—else.

"I’m staying with you," he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You can't possibly expect me to pay for a hotel when you have a suitable second bedroom in your condo."

I swallow, bracing myself. "Dad… my condo had a flood," I admit, already feeling the sting of the demeaning remarks I know are coming.

"I knew it!" he exclaims. "I knew you couldn't be trusted to make such a big investment on your own. For heaven's sake, Annalisa, wasn't your mother there to hold your hand and keep you from making a mistake?"

"A water pipe burst, Dad. No one could have predicted that—" I pause, exhaling sharply. "You know what? Forget it."

"So where are you staying?" he asks, not missing a beat. "With your mother?"

"No, Mom’s still in California visiting her sisters."

"Where are you staying, Annalisa?" His tone drips with disapproval, and I can feel his judgment looming.

"I'm staying in a friend's guesthouse," I reply, keeping my voice steady. "Just until Mom gets back. Then I’ll move in with her until the repairs are finished at my place."

"Why can’t you move in now?" he presses. It’s the same question I’ve been silently asking myself all week. But the truth? I want to stay near my current neighbor, though I’d never admit that to anyone. I take a deep breath, carefully choosing my words. "I’d rather wait for Mom to get back. The house is locked, the alarm’s on. I don't want to have to call a locksmith to break in."

"That’s hogwash, Annalisa," he snaps, his tone sharp and dismissive. "Ridiculous, and just plain stupid."

His words cut deep, as they always do, but I bite my tongue.

When the phone rings, I almost welcome the interruption from my father's relentless jabs. "Hello," I answer, feeling a smallwave of relief wash over me when I see Mateo’s name on the screen.

“Hola,hermosa,” he says, his rich accent sliding over my frayed nerves like a soothing balm. “Your car is ready.”

I try to shake off the lingering tension from my father’s words. “I’ll go pick it up as soon as we get there,” I say, rubbing my temple.

“It’s already back at the house,” he replies, a smile in his voice, the warmth of it somehow easing the beginnings of my migraine. “You’re all set.”

"Thank you," I say, my heart brimming with gratitude. "I’ll be there in about twenty minutes."

I end the call and glance at my father. “After we pick up the car, I’ll help you check into a hotel,” I say, keeping my tone even.

“First, you’re taking me to lunch,” he commands, his voice firm and unyielding, as if to remind me—once again—that while he's here, he’s in charge of my time.

***

I take Dad to a small Chinese restaurant in Cold Spring, the kind of cozy, no-frills place where the food is always delicious. We sit in silence, the clink of chopsticks on porcelain the onlysound between us. I watch as he eats not only what’s on his plate but also what’s on mine, casually scooping up my rice and half-finished spring roll without a second thought. I don’t mind, though—I don't have much of an appetite.

I let him eat in peace, my eyes drifting over the warm atmosphere of the restaurant. As he finishes my food, he grumbles about the service, then the price, then the weather, barely pausing for breath. I sit quietly, listening to him complain, each gripe a reminder of how much things haven't changed between us—how much he’s always tried to control even the smallest details of my life.

“When is the meeting with the attorney to finalize the trust documents?” Dad asks, leaning back in his chair as he breaks open his fortune cookie, his expression casual but the question carrying a sense of importance. "Because this isn’t a vacation for me, Annalisa. I have places to be, people to see. The longer I’m stuck in this speck on the map, the more it feels like a waste of my time."

"In other words," I murmur, my voice quiet, "spending time with your only child is a waste of time? Is that what you’re saying, Dad?"

"Don’t put words in my mouth!" he snaps, his tone sharp. He unfolds the tiny piece of paper from his fortune cookie. His eyes skim over the words, and then, with a dismissive grunt, he reads aloud, “The greatest treasures in life are those we take for granted.”

The words hang in the air, a subtle but piercing jab. He crumples the fortune, tossing it carelessly onto his empty plate as if it means nothing. But it stings, and I can’t help but wonder if, for just a moment, he recognizes the truth in them—or if he’s still too blind to see it.

***

As we pull into the driveway, I steal a quick glance at my father. He’s surveying the house with a curious, almost approving look that puts me on edge. “Who lives here?” he asks, clearly impressed.

“My friend Lily and her husband, Noah,” I reply, keeping my tone casual, hoping he’ll leave it at that.

“It’s a nice place,” he remarks, his gaze sweeping over the property. “Why didn’t you marry this Noah?”

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