Clocks in Railway Stations

Switchin' It Up

Nick’s POV

My son has been going on about this new gaming system for weeks. 

I understand. When I was his age, everyone and their dog either had or wanted a GameBoy Advance. But it seems that every new system is double the price of the last, and I can’t keep up.

“But Dad, please”

“It’s not that expensive”

“I’ll pay you back, please”

“Dad....Dad?.....DAD!”

It’s driving me up the damn wall, and I don’t know how many ways I can say no to this kid. 

And, of course, today is no different.

He approaches me almost the minute I get home from work, before my jacket is even fully off my shoulders.

“Hi, Dad. Can I get a Switch, please?”

I’m losing my patience, not to mention my mind. I gently shove my boy out of the way, slipping my jacket fully off, and hanging it up before turning to him, sighing.

“Ash, sweetheart, I appreciate how much you want the latest gaming systems. Trust me, I do. But that is far too expensive. Now, if you were asking for your birthday or Christmas, maybe, I'd consider it. But I will not be spending $300 just because.”

I watch my son’s face fall, before he smirks. Oh, God. Whatever he’s going to say next is not going to be good for my blood pressure. 

“Well, if I stole your credit card, then you wouldn’t be spending $300, and I’d get a Switch”

I can’t believe this kid. Is he actually serious? I study his face, see his narrowed eyes the exact same shade of ice blue as my own, daring me to challenge him.

“Ashton. If you even think about charging my credit card, sitting comfortably will be a very distant memory for you. I said no, now not another word.”

“Whatever” my middle child mutters, turning away from me and stomping up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

What the hell has gotten into my kid that he thinks slamming doors in my house is acceptable? He and his ass are very lucky that I’ve had a long day at work, and I really don’t have the energy right now. I sigh, running my hands through my dark hair, before heading through to the kitchen to grab a Coke, greeting my other two kids on the way past. 

It’s Friday, so, as per our routine, I order takeout. It’s a weekend treat, and it’s usually pizza. Okay, I have three boys, and while the older two will eat manure if I put it in front of them, Jude is unusually picky. It’s always pizza. One pepperoni for the twins and a cheese for Jude and me. 

“Alright boys”, I say, coming through from the kitchen with my 3rd glass of pop, that I may or may not have added a touch of Jack to. “Domino’s, Pizza Hut or Papa John’s?”

All 3 are fairly local, and all 3 do delivery, which is fantastic because I do not feel like going anywhere tonight.

“Are you sure, Dad?” Ash asks, feigning concern. “Or is ordering a pizza not too expensive?” he adds, eyes glinting and his voice positively dripping with malice.