My music blasts in my car as I pull into my parents driveway. I turn it down so it’s not too loud for my Dad. He doesn’t like too much noise—he doesn’t like many things. I love the guy, but I gotta say, I still have yet to ask Mom how she’s managed him all these years. He’s more than a tough cookie.

You should’ve seen him the first time he met my fiancé, Elian. Never have I ever seen him so serious in my whole life. Dad had to be glaring at him for that whole visit, hands fisted. Mom was busy trying to keep polite conversation going. Of course, she noticed and sent him off to grab a bottle of whine. But he was back at it the moment he sat down. If I remember correctly, he didn’t say one word to Elian. Well, he did. But they weren’t so cheery. When he walked in and shook Dads hand, dad said “So _this_ is him?—Elvis?” Now that may not seem so bad, but my Dad never gets names wrong. And I spoke of Elian all the time—still do.

The second time he spoke to my fiancé, that same day (and this was two years ago, mind you), he asked “So, you think you’re good enough for my daughter?” To which my dear (boyfriend at the time and completely unaware of my Dads little “schemes,” if you will), answered “Well, yes sir, I think so.”

My dad took his fork and carved six lines into his napkin, in addition to the ten or twenty others. This also might seem completely harmless, but what that had really meant was he was keeping score. And not the good type of points. You could call them “points of disapproval.” Elian had no clue. I still have not told him, to this day.

How would I describe my Dad? How about: the stoic, overly sarcastic, protective version of Santa Claus. He just fits the image. Tattoos line his arms, and a long beard (in which he wears proudly) covers his face. He looks like a scary lumber man. To put it more simply, take a piece a peppermint, and sprinkle salt all over it. That’s him.

My lovely fiancé is the exact opposite. He’s so sweet, but also has the heart of a child. What does that mean, you may be wondering? I’ll just leave that for you to find out.

Anywho, that brings me to why I’m over my parents house right now. Elian wanted to spend the day with them. At first, I thought it was a horrible idea. They’ve probably showered him with all sorts of questions. But he _insisted_ it was a grand idea. So I suppose we’ll just have to see. His car broke down a few days ago, so I’m here to pick him up. I would’ve stayed with him, but I was super caught up in work.

Just as I’m stopping my car, a figure comes sprinting out my door and down the stairs to the porch. He wears a look of pure horror.

_God, what has he done now_?

Elian speeds right past my window. Before I know it, he’s sitting in the passenger’s seat. He frantically reaches for the buckle. Then he quickly locks all the doors.

“Elian Jo Raymond, what the hell—?”

“We need to go.” He shoots out. “Now.”

His face is wild, filled with the most undefinable fear I’ve ever witnessed. As I stare into the eyes of my love, every ounce of affection slowly melts into suspicion. Whatever he’s done, it’s bad. And, yes, I know he has done something, because usually when he’s running away from something, it’s a person. Which means he’s also irritated someone—likely my dad—and is looking for a quick escape.

Speak of the devil.

At the sound of my parents front door slamming shut, I turn just in time to watch my Dad stomp across the yard. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Elian. And—

_HOLY COW, WHERE IS HIS BEARD_?

I whip around and grab Elian by the collar of his shirt. “_What did you do_?”

“It was an accident—!”

“Where’s his _beard_!?” I point to my dad as he yells at Elian to get out of the car.

“Everything was going great! H-he even _smiled. _Laughed, too_. _But then we went outside to throw axes, and I threw one” —he screams when my dad bangs on his side of the door— “he went to go get it, and I had no clue. I threw a second axe, and it missed him….”

“Okay, but that doesn’t exactly explain—”

“But not before slicing off a good chunk of his beard.” He winces as he finishes off.

I stare, wide eyed, my mouth hung open in pure disbelief. “You axed his beard off?”

He nods, then shakes his head. “I mean yes, and no. It was a mistake.”

“Oh, you’re done for. You know how much he loves his beard—it’s like a second child to him.”

“I’ll be just fine if we go right now.” He speaks between tightly clamped teeth.

I scoff and chuckle. “Ohh no. We’re not going anywhere.” I unlock the car.

He screams again, and locks it back up. “Audrey, please!”

Nope.

I flick my finger lazily over the unlock button again. “Oops!” I say, as though I had simply slipped.

“No, Audrey!”

My dad opens the door too fast for him to lock it again. In a flash, Elian is ripped from his seat. “Help! Audrey I _need help_, please! He’s gunna _kill_ me!”

“Don’t mess with my dad next time, Babe!” I call after them, as they disappear behind the house.

My Mom, from what I can see, is having a field day. She has her camera out and everything—even is wearing her special, crimson robe. This moment will go down in history. I imagine her bringing it up quite often. She’s been begging Dad to cut his beard for years, and now he’ll have no choice but to chop the rest off. Most of the time they argued, it was usually about how stubborn he was about the long scruff on his face.

“_You need to take that _thing_ off, Francis_!” My mother would howl. “_Its gotten out of hand. Your beard takes up more of the bed than _you!”

We make eye contact, and Mom waves for me to come inside. I step out of my car. “C’mon, I’ve just made cookies. Ooh, and we’ll have to take out the good whine too. Tonight is a celebration!”

I laugh and jog up the stairs into the house. “What do you think Dad’ll do, Ma?”

Once she closes the door, she waves the question off. “Probably just take him to The Lake or something.”

_The Lake_. That was what my dad called the punishment he threatened me with. Little did I know, one day he actually meant it. Those other threatens were just warnings. He took me to this old lake and threw me in the ice cold water. Wouldn’t let me come out until I stated “I will not scare an old lady to the point of shitting herself, ever again,” at least a hundred times. And he wasn’t keeping track of how many times I’d say it, so if I lost count, it started all over again. He only ever did that once, though—I’d been more than despicable that day. I cought a bad cold and never was so horrible ever again. Oh, and not to worry. He’d never have done that if I weren’t a strong swimmer. I was completely fine.

Elian will most likely be horrified, though.

“Dad’s gunna hate him forever now.” I state.

Mom laughs. “Not forever—just for a long time.”