Meeting Her Dad

Meeting Her Dad
“Your dad has a shotgun?” Brenden asked in alarm.
They were on their way to her dad’s house and were almost seventy kilometers from the city. There was nothing but long stretches of highway around them. They had originally entertained themselves with guessing games and impromptu karaoke sessions. Now, Brenden wanted her to prepare him by telling him things about her mother.
“He has five or six but he keeps them in a locked cabinet,” she calmly explained. “If he decides to shoot you with one, you will have at least a few minutes' head start to run for your life while he searches for the key. Now, if he has just finished cleaning his gun collection… that is a different story altogether.”
“Gun collection? Irene… why does he have so many? I should know if he is a hitman in his spare time.”
“He was in the military. He likes guns.”
“But he’s retired,” Brenden grumbled, clearly distressed. His eyes rested on the pavement in front of them. It was a cool day and it hadn’t rained in over a week. The clouds above them were white and non-threatening.
“Greg Nagel will never be retired, Brenden,” she reminded him.
“You did tell him about me, right? He knows I am coming?”
“Nope. I figured we would surprise him.”
“Are you serious?” He looked panicked and she laughed openly, not even bothering to hide her mirth.
Brenden scowled and tried to pinch her side and in his distracted state, he pulled the steering wheel and swerved the car towards the center of the road. Luckily, there was no one around them.
It didn’t stop her from chastising him, though. “Good god. Keep your eyes on the road. Killing me won’t make my dad favor you more.”
“He’d have to find me first.”
“You underestimate him. My father would go ‘Taken’.” She settled into her seat, trying to soothe her nerves. “Can you pull over at the next exit? I have to pee now.”
“We have about a hundred miles left. I trust your bladder to hold it.”
“God help me, Brenden, you better pull over.”
“Or what?” he challenged.
“Or I’ll pee all over your fancy leather interior.”
“That would be in character for you, Irene. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t tempt me, Brenden.”
Fortunately, for the sake of his leather seats, he pulled over. Irene used the bathroom, stocked up on snacks and bottled water, and they piled back into the car, ready to complete the remaining distance.
Their conversation continued with occasional bantering and information about her family. Her dad had been seeing a woman named Maria. She had been widowed and had been friends with Irene’s mother in their youth. Now, the two women hadn’t spoken in years, but the situation was still strange.
Maria was supposed to be over for dinner… because she was cooking said dinner.
Greg seemed pleased at being able to give Irene and Brenden a home-cooked meal for their first night there. Irene couldn’t help but feel thankful for Maria. Lord knows, a man could survive so long on the diet her father had.
As they entered the town, Irene began pointing out various landmarks from her past. “I used to go to elementary school there,” she said. “If you go down there, there is a little meadow where Dad and I camped when he was home.”
“Your mom didn’t go?” Brenden asked.
“She hated that survival stuff because her job was difficult already. Sometimes one of Dad’s colleagues would join. We also took Maria’s older daughter sometimes.”
“How old are her kids?”
“The oldest Ana is a few years older than me. And the youngest is fifteen, I think. I saw her once a couple of years ago. Ana lives in another country now, though. Doing her PhD.”
Brenden’s expression didn’t change as they neared her dad’s house. She gave straightforward directions, telling her to turn here and there, and soon they were pulling into the driveway. Her dad’s house was two-storied with impeccable paint and little extensions from her dad’s DIY projects after he retired.
It was not an ugly house, but it was old and constantly being updated by her very bored father. He was reliable with his job, never allowing a licensed contractor to do it in his stead, so the outcome was not optimal.
Irene opened the door and stepped out. It was drizzling and Brenden ran a hand through his hair and sighed, the only indication that he was nervous.
“I’ll get the bags,” he said, following her lead. Irene saw him eye Greg’s truck warily. “Does he drive that monster everywhere?”
“All the time. He takes his military personality very seriously.” She couldn’t help but smile.
In her childhood, her dad had gone around in military trucks that were conspicuous. Usually, he would only take his personal car in his off time. The military truck in the driveway was probably a favor from a junior who knew Greg wanted to intimidate Brenden.
From the looks of it, it was working.
Brenden muttered under his breath. He grabbed their bags from the back seat and an empty chips wrapper fluttered to the ground. He snatched the wrapper up, threw it back in the car and slammed the door shut.
The front door of the house opened before they reached the porch. First the interior, slowly, and then the screen. It groaned in protest as her dad pushed it all the way open. He held the door for Brenden, whose hands were full with the bags. Greg glanced at him briefly and then smiled widely at Irene.
“Hey, sweetheart. Glad you two made it here okay.”
Irene gave him a quick hug, then pulled back and turned to Brenden.
“Dad, this is Brenden. Brenden, Dad. Greg…”
Brenden set one bag on the porch and reached out to shake Greg’s hand. Their shake was firm, both attempting to impress the other. Her Dad was standing straight, his full height five feet ten, still a few inches shy of Brenden, but his stance was sure.
Brenden didn’t waver either. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”
“Call me Greg. You have a good trip?”

“It was great. Surprisingly, no drizzling until we reached here.”