Nick was musing. He mused about the phrase ‘Nick of time’–the first reason being that his name was in it. The second reason was because he had accrued enough real simoleons to cover the tuition he owed if he were to stay a student at Sim State, on the last day he had left to pay it. ‘Nick of time’ indeed.

Fight nights kept growing, both in crowd and fighter roster size, and now was collectively referred to as the Nest of Vipers on account of all the fighters taking on snake aliases. He’d even met high-rolling gamblers interested in betting on winners and bringing in more money. They had yet to implement a process but it looked, for lack of a better adjective–hella promising. It all was going in the direction Cain had predicted, ever since the first night. Nick still had a worry though, that if it grew too big and too fast, the law would get involved and shut it down. More than that, shut him down. Then where would he be? Jail, most likely.

“Nicholas?”

He stopped musing and noticed his mother was crossing his path. How random?

“Mom?”


She looked puzzled to see him but he was even more puzzled–what was she doing on campus? Why was she heading toward where he just came from?

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” she smiled and stepped forward to hug him but he evaded it and put on a frown. He was on guard–suddenly suspicious because she usually took his father’s side in arguments and that meant that she had agreed to let Elm take away the means for Nick’s higher education.


Her resulting expression of hurt at him avoiding her embrace stung him more than he would have thought but he pushed past it, “What are you doing here?”

She sighed and pulled out a piece of paper from her purse; a check. “It’s payment for your tuition. I was going over some of our financial records the other night and saw–well it doesn’t matter what I saw–I’m fixing this.”

She moved forward, presumed to go pay the university but Nick held out his arm to halt her and said quietly, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But–”

He took the check out of her hand and looked at it. Plumbobs, college was expensive. He found it ironic that one of his father’s campaign promises was to make college education more affordable when he tried using money to influence Nick’s choice about college–to either become a lawyer or not go at all.

Now, Nick could do what he wanted.

His mother gasped as he abruptly tore the check into shreds, leaving him with a fist full of paper bits.

“Nicholas!”

He threw them into a nearby trash bin along the walking path, “I appreciate what you tried to do Mom, but I can take care of myself.”


She seemed absolutely shocked and bewildered by her son’s behavior. He had torn up a check for no insignificant amount of money. She could only stare at him as though he were crazy and to both their surprise, tears began to leak into her eyes.

Of course, he wasn’t a complete monster–and made a move to comfort her immediately. Unlike him, she accepted a hug without question. He surmised that she was sad because she believed he was throwing away his future and he didn’t know how he could tell her that he wasn’t, without the fact of how he had managed to come up with the money.

“It’s okay,” he heard himself say and hugged her tighter as she cried into his shoulder, her purse dropping from her hand as it dangled hopelessly, “It will be all right, Mom.”


He didn’t expect her to get so worked up over this. Harmony Calhoun, the Steel-faced woman–that’s what the media called her as they took pictures of her standing by Elm’s side–not with a fake smile of a politician’s wife but a sullen, strict look that cooled everyone around her. She had been a public educator for many years, eventually securing a spot as the school’s principal, so had to develop that tough exterior. She was firm but she wasn’t unfeeling.

She shook her head, unconvinced of his words. It was unspoken but then he knew, he just knew that his father had done something to wear down her resolve. How she could stand being married to such an asshole for so many years was something he often wondered about.

“Let’s get something to eat?” Nick suggested, pulling away and looking her over. When did threads of silver start appearing in her hair? When did that crinkle around her golden eyes become so deep and prominent?

He hadn’t visited home in a long while, he didn’t like going back there and always found an excuse to stay away. It’d be different if his grandparents were still alive–but they had passed in recent years, and he didn’t like going back, knowing they weren’t there to greet him with smiles and hugs.

But then it struck him, that while his father didn’t care about Nick’s absence, other members of his family might miss him just as much as he missed Kimmy and Matthew Hart.

His mother nodded in agreement about getting food and wiped away any loose tears remaining, then reached down to collect her purse.

Nick led the way down the sidewalk, keeping his silence measured for he didn’t want to say anything more to upset her. In fact, he wouldn’t know what to say anymore—he probably stopped confiding in her about the time he was in high school when he kept getting grounded for stupid things by his father and she didn’t stand up for Nick–just went along with it to avoid more confrontation.

They entered Joe’s Diner. It was one of those university establishments that had been around for a generation at least. The door jingled when a customer entered, greeted by a soda counter and a row of double-seated booths against a bright red wall with silver paneling. Very retro with a sense of nostalgia though many now had never experienced it before coming to college. Since it was open past midnight, many students could be found there studying in the early dark hours, cramming for an exam while cramming a burger down their mouth.

Nick and his mother were seated, and Nick ordered two burgers. Hamburgers were Joe’s s specialty. His mother didn’t object. He didn’t like the silence, not with her–had he been away so long they had forgotten how to talk to each other?

“Mom, I gotta say, I’m digging your hairstyle today. Buns are where it’s at.“

She looked mildly perplexed at his statement, as if no one had complimented her on her hair in years or rather, she had worn it that way for years and wondered why it earned her a compliment now. Despite her puzzlement, she smiled and said, "Thank you, sweetheart.”

But then with a quick flip of his head, as if to present himself–it was made evident it was a compliment more to Nick himself as his long hair was bundled up in its usual hair tie.

He knew she didn’t prefer the look, but she smiled at his quip nonetheless and repeated a sentiment she had been saying since he was in high school, "Your hair is out of control, Nicholas.”

“It is not,” he disagreed and smoothed his hand over the top of his head to check, it was all pulled back tight, no strands popping out haphazardly. He had noticed though, as he grew it out, that he used more and more shampoo every time he showered. He bet that the next words out of her mouth were for him to go get a haircut. He could almost see the thought form in her head as her brow crinkled.

“You could do with a haircut,” she suggested and he mentally patted himself on the back for correctly guessing, but thankful he didn’t owe himself money for both simultaneously losing and winning the bet he made with himself.


He smirked with defiance, “Why? Women really like my long hair.”

“Oh really?” she arched a brow and he immediately regretted bringing up that subject because she followed up with, “And when are you going to bring any of these so-called ‘women who like your long hair’ over so I can meet any of them?

He let out a nervous laugh, waving away her question, “They aren’t the type one takes home to meet one’s parents but I promise they exist!”

His mother pressed her lips in disapproval, which he knew she would do. She was at the age where she would like to see her sons to be on the path toward steady relationships. With Kit being only fifteen years old–he wasn’t ready for commitment. Shane was about as emotionally intelligent as the robots he built, so there was hardly a chance for him to catch anyone’s fancy. That left Nick being the only son to land a significant other and while he had plenty of fish in the sea to choose from, he wasn’t all thrilled at the idea of getting into a serious relationship; college was the time for fun and he had the rest of his life to live–to find that ‘special someone’ if they even existed.

He jolted forward suddenly reminded of something that he was supposed to ask his mother about, “Hey, Mom–do you think you could ask Dad about something for me?”

She seemed surprised at the urgency of his request and asked, “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine but I wanted to show some of my art at the Harvest Gala. Dad could probably make that happen…”

Their burgers arrived then and he had to put a hold on that thought while they ate. The burger was damn good–juicy and had a charbroil taste, smothered in ketchup, mustard, and topped with tomato. It was an early dinner for him but he had a light lunch and was feeling hungry anyway. He hoped the food would make his mom feel better, it always made him feel better.

He glanced up and saw her eating eagerly as he was and nearly laughed. He’d never seen her eat like that before. She was usually careful about what she ate–he’d seen her with granola, salads, and other healthy foods that she chewed precisely after every bite. He realized, he probably hardly knew her real character, locked away behind that steel-faced persona she had maintained, even at home.

Why did she hide?

“You, uh…really like that burger, huh?” he swallowed a bite and said with amusement.

“Are you kidding? I love Joe’s burgers,” she said and took another happy, sloppy, bite.

“Since when do you eat here?”

“I too, went to Sim State, once upon a time–” she swiveled her head from side to side, looking at the walls with a nostalgic smile on her face, "and I’m amazed that this diner looks the same–it’s like stepping back in time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, your father and I came here often. We’d get dinner, drink a few beers, and talk about everything from philosophy to politics–and I hung on every word,” she smiled wistfully but it faded a moment later, “He was very charming back then.”



Nick restrained his eyes from rolling but ended up frowning slightly, “So, he’s not anymore?”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped, matching his frown until it wavered and dissolved into melancholy.

His expression lifted and turned to concern, “Something happened, didn’t it? Something with Dad?”

She didn’t answer right away, seeming to weigh her words as she focused somewhere else than Nick. Finally, she answered, “We had a fight–and he thought it was best if I didn’t accompany him to a fundraising function tonight.”

Nick had never seen his parents fight before, never even heard of it–thought it was pretty much impossible from the way they stood united all those years. To hear his mother admit that such a fight happened was as rare as seeing a unicorn. He honestly didn’t know what to say after such a truth.

“Sounds like…you could use a drink,” Nick waved over the waitress and promptly ordered two beers despite the shocked look on his mother’s face at that suggestion. He knew she drank, he’d seen the empty wine bottles as a kid–and the full ones stashed up in the cabinets out of his reach.

The beers were uncapped and set before them; Nick picked his up and held it out to her as if he were toasting. She hesitantly picked it up and did the same.

“To Joe’s,” he grinned and clinked his bottle against hers, which caused her to laugh, “May it exist another 30 years.”

“To Joe’s,” she repeated with a smile and took a swig at the same time he did. If he had somehow managed to time travel and told his eighteen-year-old self that one day he would be drinking beer with his mother, his teenage self would have called him crazy and a liar. But there he was, twenty-two years old and drinking beer with his mother.

“Oh wow, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a beer,” she said immediately after tasting it and looked at the back of the label.


“Probably since you went here,” Nick joked, recalling her words from earlier.

She rolled her eyes and took another drink.

As she drank, she became more and more forthcoming–talking about her college days, her job and all the snotty pre-teens she had to deal with, her annoyance at how the media portrayed her now that her husband was running for public office–and it amazed Nick to see his mother so candid about life for once.

They had been there so long, chatting and ordering beers that it was now evening.

“What did you and Dad fight about?” Nick finally let his curiosity get the best of him and asked. He was done with his third drink and had set the beer bottle on the tabletop. Funnily enough, he was barely feeling it, college had done wonders for his tolerance.

“Your tuition.”

It was a good thing Nick was done with his beer for if he would have had any in his mouth he would have spit it out in utter surprise. His mind was blown.

While it was rare to see a unicorn, it was rarer yet to know of a fight between his parents that pertained to their eldest son. He thought they had always been on the same page concerning him–his hair was too long, his eyebrow piercing looked unprofessional, art was not a valid career path, he would make a better lawyer with his smartass mouth, and he deserved to be grounded for tricking his uncle into reading Marilyn Manson lyrics at his Grams’ funeral. Okay, but assessing that situation now, he agreed that he definitely deserved to be grounded for it. His eighteen-year-old self would have called him a traitor, that is if he managed to go back in time somehow. He really liked musing on that hypothetical.

Now he felt a little bad for assuming his mother had allowed his father to take away that money for tuition without a fight–but to be fair she’d never give him reason to believe anything else.

“Speaking of…“ her voice turned a bit harder, “how did you manage to get the money to pay it?”

Nick cringed inwardly because he was dreading that question. He had thought of an answer though, “I sold all my art.”

Now it was her turn to look like her mind was blown, and honestly, if someone really had bought his art for that amount, it would have blown his mind too.

“If you sold all your art…then what are you showing at the Harvest Gala?” she asked slowly while her amazement turned into a puzzled frown. Damn, nothing got past her even when she was buzzed.

“I…” he started but picked up his bottle and shook it to hear nothing but drops left, trying to stall as he thought of how to reply, “I’m working on new paintings that I’ll have done by the time the Gala rolls around. I figured it would be good exposure. That’s why I need you to ask Dad.”

He’d finally gotten around to bringing that up again.

She put her finger to her lips thoughtfully, “How about you come home this weekend and ask him yourself?”


“Mom,” Nick groaned and placed his head into his hand, trying his best to give her pleading eyes, “You have to talk him into it, you know he won’t go for it otherwise. He likes to undermine me.”

“I’d say like father, like son in that respect,” she mumbled before taking another drink and it made Nick furious. He did not appreciate being likened to his father. He’d done so much to try and distance himself, and distinguish himself as the opposite of Elm Calhoun–even going so far as using her maiden name to hide the relation from anyone he introduced himself to.

She noticed his expression and explained, “You push his buttons every chance you get. You quit the Greek Society–and while taking away your tuition was a bit extreme–he pulled a bunch of strings to get you at the top of the waiting list for his legacy fraternity. You don’t show him any respect–”

Nick didn’t want to listen to this. The night was suddenly soured with this talk of his father. His father ruined everything, and now she was taking his side again. He jumped up and quickly paid the dining bill at the front, leaving his mother behind–too angry to offer to walk her back to her car.

He heard the quick clicking of her heels behind him, and then a shrill shout of “Nicholas Alexander Calhoun, stop walking away from me this instant!”


If anyone was out and about, they had to have heard it. He’d bet everyone inside Joe’s could hear it as well. He did stop but he didn’t face her.

“I didn’t quit the frat to just annoy him,” Nick sighed, trying to control his growing rage just remembering that last phone conversation with the man. He knew his mother was just behind him as there were no more clicking sounds. “I bet he didn’t tell you the reason.”

“Enlighten me,” he heard her demand in that same hard tone.

He turned around to face her with a scowl, “The frat’s president was drugging the drinks at parties, to take advanatge of women, and when I called him out on it, he gave no indication he was going to stop. He still does it, I’ve seen him do it out at the bars–”

Nick had to swallow another bout of rage, remembering how badly Illyana was affected and how scared he had been for her. It wasn’t right at all, “So I could not, in good conscience, stay in the Geek Society, especially after I explained this to Dad and he told me to accept it and get over it.”

Nick had to grit his teeth as he quoted his father, forcing that skeevy phrase out between his lips. He noticed his mother was matching his scowl, coming to the same realization.

Now, could she understand why Nick couldn’t respect his father? How could he when his father thought something like that was acceptable behavior? His mother didn’t say anything in response, but she looked angry…and now very tired as well as she mulled over his words.

“I’ll have words with him. I’ll tell him about your art and the Harvest Gala but in return for that favor, I want you to come home–we’re having an election party this weekend. It would be nice if we could all be together again.”

“Mom…please–”

“Kit misses you, I miss you. So, don’t come for him–do it for us. Please, sweetheart?”

A tight ball of some kind of anxiety formed in his chest as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. It wasn’t often his mother begged anything of him and he did owe her if she was to put in a word for him to show his art at the Gala. It was fair, but he didn’t look forward to it at all.

“Fine,” he sighed with an air of defeat, “I’ll come home this weekend.”