Family: Out of Business

Thwarted

"Morning, Daddy," I replied sweetly, trying to de-escalate the rising tension in the room. "Buongiorno, Zio EJ (Good morning, Uncle EJ)," I stated happily, acknowledging him from across the table.

"Buongiorno, mia nipote che non è una mocciosa (Good morning, my niece who is not a brat)," he replied cheekily. That's his way of calling me a brat without technically calling me a brat so he doesn't get in trouble with my father. He always says I'm not the insult he really means to call me. When my dad's not around, he just insults me to my face like usual, which I actually prefer to this pointless game of him acting like he's not calling me names. Stupid British non-funny attempt at a sense of humor.

"Did I interrupt something?" I asked, after everyone got real quiet again.

"Nothing important, mia figlia (my daughter). Go ahead and order your breakfast," my dad said cheerfully. "I'll sit with you while I have another cup of coffee." He waved one of the servants over to take my order and refill his cup. "I know your aunt and uncle have more pressing matters to attend to so they're dismissed." My father gave them a look that conveyed everything he wanted to say, without putting it into the words I was not meant to hear.

My aunt and uncle quickly and politely excused themselves from the table, taking their share of the awkwardness out of the room, but leaving a fair portion behind with me and my father.

"Is everything okay, Dad? I didn't mean to scare them off," I said, looking to him for an explanation.

"Everything's fine, Tesoro (Darling)," my dad answered, without looking up from his newspaper. "Eat your breakfast," he ordered firmly, as soon as my plate was set before me.

"Yes sir," I replied, sensing that was the only acceptable response. After a few minutes of quiet and three bites of scrambled eggs, I couldn't take the awkward silence anymore so I ventured a guess at the problem. "Are you still mad at me cuz I argued about going up to my room last night at dinner?"

My father slowly put down his newspaper and looked me in the eye.

"No, Claire, I'm not mad at you. I just have a lot on my mind right now, Sweetpea. I'm sorry I made you think that." He reached over and gently patted my hand. "Why don't you tell me what you have planned for today."

Seeing as it was Saturday, I had already accomplished one of the items on my to-do-list, sleeping in. Avoiding doing any homework was the second item on the list. Eating a ton of junk food was number three. Of course I have no intention of sharing any of the items on my list with my father.

"Uh, I don't know, Daddy. I was kinda hoping I could hang out with some of my friends today."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen, piccola ragazza (little girl)."

Before my father even had the chance to offer up his reasoning, I began to protest.

"But, whyyyy nottttt," I whined loudly, becoming increasingly pissed off at being told no.

Setting his coffee cup down with exaggerated effort, never taking his cold hard eyes off me, my father sternly said, "That is quite enough of the histrionics, Claire Francesca. If you'd bothered to listen, instead of rudely interrupting me, little one, I would have explained that I have a lot of business meetings today as does your uncle, so the cars and drivers will not be at your disposal. Capisci (Understand)?"

"Yes sir."

Rising from his seat, my father continued with his useless excuses, guised as explanations.

"And," standing behind me now with his heavy hands pressing down on my shoulders, he continued, "I happen to know a certain ragazzina (little girl) who could use the day to get her math homework completed, including the problems from Thursday that need to be redone. Not to mention, the assigned reading of Call of the Wild she needs to get caught up on and the history project on the country of Poland she needs to start. Am I correct?" he whispered in my ear.

"How did you..." I started to ask, before getting the look from Father. You know the one I'm talking about. The one that freezes you in your tracks. The one that makes you inhale sharply. The one that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as a cold shiver travels down your spine. Yeah, that look. My grandfather would've been the Nobel prize winner in the scaring the shit out of people without saying a word category, but my dad and uncle would have been top nominees as well. It must be something in the Dimerra blood, some rare genetic defect in the DNA of the y chromosome or something.

"It's not important how I know, signorina (young lady). The fact that I know is what you should be focused on. Now, I suggest you finish your breakfast and get up to your room to start on your schoolwork. Capiscimi (Understand me)?"

"Si signore (Yes sir)," I replied sadly, not the least bit happy with my father's plans for my day.

"Very good. I'll be checking in on you periodically throughout the day to monitor your progress, bambina (baby girl), so use your time wisely. Sono chiaro (Am I clear)?"

"Yes, Father," I replied begrudgingly, already plotting a way around his timeline in the recesses of my mind.