"There you are, Gustave! I was wondering where you ran off to after dinner," Christine said, peeking around a doorframe. "What have you got there?"

"Something pere won't like in the least," Gustave said, grinning.

"Oh dear. Well let's have a look at it."

Gustave removed a corner of the covering from the object in question. Christine shook her head.

"He won't be best pleased, that's for sure. No to worry, darling - you know I'm in your corner if he starts puffing and blowing like a walrus."

"Thanks, maman!" Gustave kissed his mother's forehead before she left him to the task she had interrupted.

Gustave took a quick breath before approaching his father, who was seated in his favorite chair in the parlor, cat on his lap, porcelain nose in a book. Christine had taken her usual place in the chair across from his, feet up on her little velvetine footstool, tiny glasses perched on her nose, a look of innocence on her face.

Gustave made his approach, hiding the object behind his back as best he could. "Pere…"

"Yes, Gustave?" Erik slipped the book's ribbon bookmark between the pages he had been reading and turned to look up at him. He was wearing his ridiculously fussy Mandarin coat which seemed to swallow him whole within its ornate brocade. Gustave and Christine had mercilessly teased him that it was hardly leisurewear but he insisted on wearing it every day after dinner as a matter of fastidious habit.

"Do you know what today is?"

"You and your mother go to mass. Your mother takes a singing lesson with me during the day. Dinner as a family." He counted each of these activities off on his fingers. "It's Sunday."

"Well, yes, but, it's also a holiday…"

Erik stared blankly at him. "Another bloody holiday? Why are there so many?" He glanced over at Christine for help but she seemed to be focusing on her book with such determination, she didn't notice. "It's not the one I have to order fireworks for - that's next month. It's not the one where we drag a whole bloody tree into the house; that's at the end of the year…"

Gustave stifled a laugh. He and his mother found it endlessly amusing that Erik never seemed to remember or grasp the holidays that came up throughout the year.

"Well? Which one is it? Stop laughing and tell me already."

"It's Father's Day."

Erik scoffed and leaned back in his chair. "Gustave, don't you dare make a fuss. Not worth it. I don't tolerate such nonsense so don't bother with this…" He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and re-opened his book.
"I have a gift for you."

"Gustave…" Erik sighed. "I don't want any gift from you. I don't need anything. I have everything I have ever wanted and more. Please don't spend time, money, or energy on me."

"But I really, really think you'll like it."

"Just because you are almost 20 doesn't mean that you're too big for me to simply pluck you by the collar and toss you over the balcony."

"I've painted you a portrait - "

"Christine, open the window - I want a running start before I defenestrate our son."

" - of Ayesha!"

Erik's eyes flicked up to Gustave once more. Gustave knew at that moment that he had got him but good. His father absolutely hated the idea of any likeness of himself existing anywhere and refused to take a photo with Gustave and Christine. Although they loved him and desperately wanted a picture of themselves as a family, he refused. One time, they got lucky and were able to catch him with his back to the camera and that was the best they could do. He hated presents, he hated pictures, he hated anything that brought attention to him in any way, no matter how much Gustave and Christine wished to celebrate him and cherish him and love him.

But - he loved his cat Ayesha. He wouldn't be able to turn down a gift that featured her and Gustave knew he had outsmarted him - at least for now.

"Well…." Erik grumbled. "Perhaps that would be alright. Let's see it."

Gustave brought the painting forward and removed the cloth wrapping around it. There was Ayesha, front and center, in her usual position - on Erik's lap. Gustave had painted a portrait of his mother, father, himself, and their beloved cat, one he so desperately wanted to make as a way to demonstrate that they were a true family. In the portrait, Ayesha was perfectly perched in her master's lap. Erik was in the same chair that he was sitting in at the present moment but wearing his more formal morning coat and silk cravat, his favorite large ruby pin affixed to it. To the side, Christine was standing with her hand on his shoulder, the enormous, oblong irregular pearl that was her wedding ring prominently featured. Gustave stood to the other side and he wasn't ashamed to say that perhaps he had drawn his smile a little less crooked than it usually was but a little artistic license was expected.

Erik's eyes were wide, his mouth was a hard line. Christine peered over the top of her book. Gustave held his breath, waiting for the protestation to begin again.

"Ayesha!" Erik grabbed the sleeping animal and thrust her towards the portrait. "Look! It's you!"

Ayesha complained with a loud meow for being so rudely roused from her post-dinner nap.

"What do you mean your eyes are too crossed? That's exactly how they look!"

"Miah!"

"He even painted that one whisker that always grows in white."

"Miau!"

"Gustave, don't listen to her - she is the harshest critic and prefers paintings in the classical style while your technique - these impressionistic strokes corralled by firm, dark outlines - is too bold for her delicate sensibilities. Christine - look!" Erik took the painting from Gustave's hand and turned it towards her. "Have you seen this painting of Ayesha? Gustave's talent knows no bounds - his technique is really improving, don't you think?"

"My dear, it's beyond splendid!" Christine smiled sweetly as if it was the first time she had laid eyes on the painting. "Your artistic skill really is coming along, Gustave darling!" Gustave gave her a little conspiratorial wink.

"I must put it in my study so that Ayesha and I can look at it every day!" Erik stood up, Ayesha tucked under one arm, painting in the other hand. "I didn't know I needed this portrait of Ayesha so badly in my life. Thank you, Gustave. And happy Father's Day, Ayesha!"