Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong solely to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended

Chapter 2

After Bella announced that she wanted me to meet her dad, I did what any dumbass would do—I contacted my own father for advice.

"Edward? Why in the world are you calling at one o'clock in the afternoon? Shouldn't you be in class?"

Shit. Is the man stannin' me? How does he know my schedule?

"Um, yeah, but I have an emergency."

"What kind of emergency? Is Bella okay?"

So, here's the thing you need to understand, ever since I introduced my girl to my rents, she has literally become their favorite child.

It's almost as if I never existed.

"Bella's fine, Dad. It's me, your actual son, who has a problem. You know, Edward Cullen. You might remember me from such moments as when I came out of your wife's muff— "

"What the fuck, Edward! That's your mother you're speaking about!"

"Sorry. . .vagina. Is that better?" I respond with a scoff. "Anyway, as I was saying, I'm having a crisis. Bella wants me to meet her dad."

The sound of his loud guffaws reverberates through the receiver.

"You. . .you," he sputters between laughs, ''are toast."

Ha. Ha. Ha. My pops got the big jokes. "Don't you think I know that? Why in the hell do you think I called?"

"Well, the first thing you need to worry about is that vulgar mouth of yours. It's a fucking disgrace."

Hello? Pot, meet kettle.

I roll my eyes. "Cut me some slack. I'm not an idiot. It's not like I'm going to drop the f-bomb on him during our first conversation. I would wait until at least our third or fourth meeting before I do that."

I snort.

God, I kill myself.

"Hilarious, Edward. What are you planning on wearing? You can't go dressed like you normally do."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I ask as I look at my current fit, which consists of a pair of jeans and my favorite hoodie.

"You dress like some low-life punk. Your pants hang off your ass, and you don't own a single shirt with a collar. The last thing you need is for him to think you're a drug dealer. Oh, and for God's sake, don't wear those horrible green shoes."

But those kicks are drippin'.

"Then what in the hell do you suggest I wear? I don't want to wear anything douchey."

"Douchey? What does that mean?"

"You know, something a douchebag would wear. Like a sweater. . .khakis. . ."

"That's exactly what I have on today," he deadpans. "Let me give you a piece of advice your Grandpa Cullen gave to me when I was your age. You want the assy; you gotta dress classy."

Hmm. Grandpa C was one smart mofo.

"Damn." I rake my fingers through my hair. "I don't even own a button-down."

"You've got a job. Get your ass to Kmart or wherever the fuck you kids like to shop and buy yourself one."

"Kmart? When's the last time you went shopping, Pops? 1983?"

"Quit being glib. You know your mother takes care of that shit, Edward."

AN:

Carlisle is one of my favorites in the story.

Thank you for all the messages and kind words. I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to everyone yet. We were out of town all day for a college visit My baby will be a senior next year. :(

Until tomorrow,

HE