A Cambion's Cumming of Age

Connor Jones was finishing up his third round of breakfast cereal when his mother came into the kitchen. She was always up before him, since it was Connor's policy never to wake up any earlier than necessary. Today that meant rising after 7:30 to make an 8:15 bus to high school. Carol, as a loving mother, could cheerfully put this down to puberty just like the amount he was eating, and his slightly unkempt appearance. She could tolerate all of that. What Connor had been nagged about, with increasing frequency, were things like his bringing girls over, skipping classes at school, and arguing back to his mother. The last had become something of a cycle between them in recent months.

"Glad to see you're up," she said, as she carried through a basket of laundry, "I thought I'd have to wake you up again. Twenty minutes to get out the door!"

"It's okay," Connor said, putting down his spoon for a moment, "Joan can give me a lift. I called her last night."

"Did you now?" said Carol, "I bet it was after you're supposed to be asleep. You can't just go using the phone at all hours of the night, especially not to call girls."

"Come on..." complained her son, "It's not like that." He meant to say that his call had only been about school projects to present tomorrow, and the lift. Frankly, and he'd never tell his mom about it, he and Joan were quite chaste. He was what you'd call a late bloomer, and at eighteen was still short and skinny, and his hormones hadn't hit the raging intensity that characterized most of his classmates.

"Like what?" asked Carol, but she knew it was an easy way to halt the conversation. Connor had suddenly focused his attention on his cereal. "Just because you have college sorted doesn't mean you should slack off on studies now, anyway."

"I'm getting a lift in to discuss studies!" insisted Connor, "It's that Chem presentation today, we're doing it together."

Carol found it hard to believe a teenage couple would ever actually discuss schoolwork over necking, but she had other lines of attack ready.

"And speaking of lifts - I'm busy tomorrow, so you'll have to meet your father at the airport."

Both of them knew this wasn't true. Carol simply couldn't stand to see Connor's father. Not that Connor got to see him often, either. He'd been a hands-off, long-distance sort of father since Connor was born - contributing generously without ever needing to be chased, but rarely showing his face. In fact, this would be the first time Connor would see him in... five years? That was right, it had been his thirteenth birthday. His father had shown up with a car full of presents and a surprise magician, told Connor he was a wonderful son, then disappeared before the evening.

Connor wondered why his father couldn't get a cab - he was going to stay in a hotel after all, not at the Jones's suburban house. Yet Carol had already shown she wouldn't be moved on the issue - his father had to be greeted in person at the airport, but conveniently not by her.

"Sure," he said, and anything else was interupted by a car horn from outside. Connor grabbed his satchel, and bolted for the front door, while Carol looked at the half-full bowl of cereal and sighed softly to herself.