Chapter Text
Today was such a boring day for Nick that he was entertaining himself by playing solitaire on the computer—exactly the same as the previous thirty-four days, a routine that promised to bring a lot of trouble if it kept going like that. The fox carried in his head the tally of each unpaid bill that needed to be settled before the end of the month, and the results were not promising. It was a pattern that had been repeating itself lately at “W&W Tailoring,” the business he ran with his father.
The tailor shop had been inherited from a partnership between his father and his father’s father, who in turn had received it the same way from his father, who supposedly had received it from his father—repeating the chain so far back that nobody in the Wilde family knew exactly how it all began. Becoming a tailor had practically turned into a family tradition—one that Nick had almost thrown in the trash.
Young and stubborn, Nick let resentment shape him: “If the world only sees you as a con-artist fox, then the only thing left is to become the best con-artist fox,” he had told himself. That was how the game began: small card scams in metro platforms, selling trinkets like flea-repellent necklaces, and then more elaborate things—pretending to be a Zootopia tourist guide, scalping fake tickets, and even a couple of times posing as an inspector to charge unsuspecting businesses. More than once he had to trick a cop or two to avoid getting arrested, and that was where his cleverness shined.
It wasn’t surprising that his parents disagreed with the path he had chosen at that time, but what could you expect from the impulsive fox Nick was back then. He even ended up teaming with other mammals to pull off bigger and more complex schemes, which led him to practically live away from his parents for a while. He probably would’ve kept going that way if the events of the last three years hadn’t happened. First, he learned about his mother’s illness—she had been his father’s biggest emotional support and work partner, leaving him alone at the front of the tailor shop and delaying both his tasks and hers.
Then came what he considered the stupidest idea his scam partner had ever had—so stupid he doubted the weasel’s survival instincts. Mark, the marbled weasel, thought it was smart to sell a rug made of skunk fur to the most dangerous animal in all of Tundratown: Mr. Big. It didn’t take Nick long to end their partnership. They never crossed paths again—presumably because the weasel must have ended up in the river or something like that, since they literally never saw each other again.
It was a turning point for Nick, and he began to regret his actions. He returned home with his tail between his legs, apologizing. Things were tense at first, but after yelling, complaints, crying, and all sorts of emotions boiling from both his parents and himself, Nick returned to what the Wilde family considered their legacy: the tailor shop.
That year was rough. They didn’t earn much, at least not what he used to make in his old “occupation,” but enough to pay taxes and make it to the end of the month—keeping in mind that his mother’s medications took a big piece of the pie. Still, for Nick it was morally far better than what he was used to—no more watching his back in fear of some scammed animal wanting revenge, no more dodging the law. He was simply an honest mammal… for a fox.
Then everything got complicated. It began as a strange case of missing animals. Then came the infamous S-Day when every prey feared that any predator could suddenly go “Savage”. Little by little, the customers the Wilde family had worked so hard to earn stopped coming. Prey were afraid that the foxes attending them might go wild, and predators didn’t want to go outside and risk being confronted just for having claws and fangs. Those were very difficult months for them, slowly draining what little savings they had. Eventually the case of the savage animals was solved, but not soon enough—trust in predators had already collapsed. Their work vanished, and Nick’s own mother suffered the most; she reached a point where she went to sleep… and still has not woken up.
Nothing was ever the same after that, especially for his father, who couldn’t recover—nor could their finances. Although some customers had returned, the numbers were already deep in the red, making the situation unsustainable. His father began to show many signs of age. Stress, his wife’s illness and her subsequent coma, and the time he’d spent working alone until Nick came back—all of it took its toll. He moved slower, got tired quickly, spent more time in hospitals than at work, and although he still had the spirit and will to live like a lion, his body couldn’t keep up.
So Nick had to step forward and try to run the business. While his father still came to help, he had been relegated to simpler tasks, lighter hours, and enough free time to care for his wife. That left Nick in the present moment, thinking about how he could fix the situation without being forced to sell the business and start from scratch in a smaller place far from the city center. That would give them a few months of relief, but would become a bigger problem later when trying to get new customers. Currently, the shop was in a very good location in the central district.
At that moment, the sound of the doorbell snapped him out of his spiral of finding solutions that only brought more problems. Nick minimized the solitaire window and looked up at the entrance, clasping his hands on the counter.
“Welcome to W&W Tailoring… I’m Nick. How can I help you ladies?”
At the door stood a rabbit about twenty-five years old—slim, with common gray fur that contrasted with her lilac eyes, making them stand out on her face like gems in white clothing. Her outfit was simple: a light-blue T-shirt, navy jacket, and black jeans worn down from actual use—not the forced “worn fashion” look. Beside her was a gazelle around thirty-five, carrying an air of refinement. She wore a pale-purple cashmere sweater with subtle beige horizontal lines no more than a few millimeters thick, blue cotton chinos tailored to her long legs as if made just for her. Nick even spotted a glimpse of a watch on her wrist that he would swear was a Roarlex. It was obvious that although they came together, they came from completely different worlds: one with noticeably modest clothing, and the other with expensive tastes that screamed “money” to anyone who knew what they were looking at.
It seemed both had been running for some time—their breathing was fast and uneven. But the change was instant. As soon as she saw him, the rabbit shifted into an alert stance; she tried to steady her breathing and fixed her eyes on Nick like an owl tracking every tiny movement of its prey. Even her little nose began twitching far too fast. Nick recognized the signs instantly—another person wary of him simply for being a fox. He held back a sigh and forced himself to gather patience for what seemed to be two potentially difficult customers.
“Is there somewhere we can hide?”
The fox froze in surprise. He must have been so focused on the rabbit that he didn’t even notice when the gazelle crossed the short distance between the door and the counter to grab his hand; her sudden closeness startled him enough to make him let out a small squeak of fright.
“Uh…” Nick didn’t know how to react. Why were they asking him for a hiding place? He had no idea what in the world was going on with these females.
“Please,” said the gazelle, squeezing his paw harder, her eyes pleading for help. What caught the fox’s attention the most was that in those eyes there wasn’t a trace of suspicion or fear. It was strange—an oddity that was surprisingly welcome but strange nonetheless. Maybe that was what led him to answer the way he did.
“Second fitting room,” Nick replied, pointing toward one of the small doors on the side of the shop.
The gazelle smiled and ran back to her companion to drag her into the fitting room. The distinctive sound of the door closing brought him back to reality. Nick couldn’t understand what the hell was going on—why were two ladies running into a tailor shop to hide, and more importantly, from what? The gazelle looked like someone wealthy; she was dressed exceptionally well, the kind of clothes that screamed “high fashion” from every angle, while her companion had a look more typical of any passerby. He just hoped he wasn’t getting himself into trouble for trying to be a good mammal. Now that he thought about it, he should’ve asked what to expect, at least so he wouldn’t be surprised by whatever happened next—or at least have the courtesy of knowing how long they planned to hide. He knew the fitting rooms had small benches to help clients change, so they could sit, and they weren’t so tiny that a claustrophobic animal would be suffering… but they were definitely not hotel suites.
The entrance bell rang again. A beaver walked in, a bit taller than a meter, quite stocky and compact; he had dark-brown fur and snow-white perfectly aligned teeth. He wore a black two-button designer suit, a white shirt underneath, and a small anthracite-gray tie. Nick could see the belt buckle shining like the sun, matching his wristwatch whose hands looked like pure gold. He looked out of breath—which was understandable if he had been running with that short, round body. He frowned, and his frown deepened the moment he saw Nick at the counter.
“Good afternoon… Is the owner here?”
Nick thought that if the beaver wanted to play that game, then he would gladly play. He slowly closed the small book he had on the counter before addressing him.
“You’re looking right at him. Are you looking for something in particular? A suit, a vest… a branch to gnaw on?”
“Clever—funny fox. What a surprise.” The beaver’s sarcastic tone definitely needed improvement, in Nick’s opinion. “I’m just looking for a client and her companion. They strayed from their path, and it’s extremely important they return to their… itinerary.”
“Oh wow, what a terrible problem… well, no one’s gotten lost here. The only thing lost around here are the needles between the fabrics.”
Nick flashed a grin showing all his teeth, the full “I know something you don’t” smile, which caused the beaver to look him up and down—odd considering he was shorter than Nick. It seemed like he was trying to intimidate him with his stare.
“A fox in a tailor shop… how curious. Usually, you lot are better at emptying pockets than sewing them.”
“And yet, here I am, surrounded by fabrics and with my pockets full of needles and thread. One could say not everything is what it seems.”
“You can dress a fox like a sheep, but it’ll still be a fox. Let me be clear: I saw them come in. Maybe we can speak the language you people understand. If you tell me where they went, you might gain something from cooperating.”
“You should’ve mentioned that earlier. I love cooperating. Would you like to see our fabric samples?” Nick’s smile never once left his face, and he could feel the beaver’s patience thinning—or maybe his tie was just too tight and the vein on his forehead was about to burst.
“Sometimes cooperation is more effective on paper,” said the executive, pulling out his wallet and placing a ten-zollar bill on the counter.
“Well, now that you mention it, maybe… could be… I think—though I’m not entirely sure—that I did see two ladies come in. Although my memory might not be the best.” The beaver rolled his eyes and placed another ten next to the first. Nick took them. “Oh wow, how generous… Yes, I think I remember now. They came in asking for a quick exit and left through the emergency door. Said something about wasting the time of a grumpy beaver.”
The beaver let out a low growl, something like an irritated snort, before trying to walk toward the back of the store. But Nick stopped him.
“And where do you think you’re going, friend?” The beaver glared for a second. “The backroom is for authorized personnel only. Should I call the police for trespassing?”
“Damn foxes, always causing trouble,” the beaver huffed as he headed back to the entrance, slammed the door shut, and hurried toward the nearest corner outside.
Nick waited a few minutes. When it seemed like the beaver wasn’t coming back, he hopped down from his stool behind the counter and walked to the fitting room where the two prey animals were hiding. He stood in front of it and tapped lightly on the door. A faint squeak sounded from inside—apparently one of them, or both, had been listening in. Nick simply waited patiently until his ears perked forward at the click of the lock. Once it opened, he stepped back to give them space.
Once they were all back in the lobby, Nick handed the twenty zollars he’d taken from the beaver to the antelope.
“Seems the grumpy gentleman wants to buy you ladies a coffee.”
Only then did the fox notice the gazelle towered over him by almost half a meter, though she didn’t seem to mind. She simply smiled kindly and took the money; the rabbit, on the other hand, still had that suspicious look on her face.
“I’ll have to thank Conrad later for being so generous… he doesn’t usually do that,” said the gazelle.
“You’re kidding,” Nick replied, placing a paw dramatically on his chest in feigned surprise. “That guy looked like sweetness was pouring out of him.”
The gazelle let out a small laugh that sounded musical to Nick, but he figured it was best to cut things short and get himself out of trouble before something truly unpleasant blew up in his face.
“I imagine this Conrad is already lost in the back alley. Might be a good time to leave if you want to take advantage of it.”
“I think we should go.”
The rabbit clearly couldn’t stand Nick—the tone in her voice made it sound like getting away from him was the only way to avoid catching fleas or something. And at that precise moment, the bell rang again. All eyes went to the door, but this time it wasn’t a beaver—it was a fox of about fifty-eight years old, wearing a three-piece light olive-green tweed suit. Underneath was a white cotton poplin shirt with a spread collar, paired with a matte-gold silk tie that gave him a refined air. It matched a small chain attached to a pocket watch. On his head he wore a dark-gray flat cap, and in his left hand he held a well-worn polished wooden cane. Everything matched perfectly with his reddish fur, whose once-bright color had dulled with age, and the many gray hairs on his chin and tail. His posture leaned slightly to his left side, revealing why he needed the cane—clear signs of advanced age—but his face looked like that of a fox who hadn’t aged past forty. His light-green eyes carried a calm serenity, with deep smile lines marking the expression of an animal who smiled often. The newcomer had the kind of face that made you believe everything in life was going to be all right.
“Customers?” were the first words he blurted out upon seeing the other mammals inside the shop.
Nick wanted to be honest with his father, but he believed the two females were hoping to leave the place without any complications.
“Dad, the ladies were just passing by; they were lost and asked for directions.”
The smile that had started to form on his father’s face froze halfway, never reaching his eyes.
“Oh… well, I hope you were a good boy, Nick.”
The younger fox smiled and nodded at him. It broke his heart, because he knew how much his father loved this job, but it was better than giving him false hope about having new customers. Maybe it was his father’s expression, or maybe the antelope felt he owed Nick something, but he took a step closer to the counter with an easy smile and spoke.
“Actually, I think we could take a look at some of those pretty dresses you have on display,” he said, pointing at the mannequins in the windows facing the street.
“I don’t know if we should…” murmured the bunny.
“Please, Judy. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun,” insisted the gazelle.
The bunny — apparently named Judy — didn’t seem convinced about staying, but the gazelle took her paw between hers and made the best puppy-face imaginable, one that seemed impossible to resist. In fact, Nick found it both adorable and comical to see such a tall animal begging like a small child.
“All right!” Judy conceded. “We could look at one or two dresses.”
The gazelle’s smile was instant, but the most striking change was in his father’s expression. Where before there had only been a half-smile, now all his teeth were showing, his cheek lines deepened, and a bright gleam returned to his eyes. He immediately began giving Nick instructions.
What followed was a pleasant conversation between the gazelle and his father, along with hours and hours of dress fittings, wardrobe advice from his father, and anecdotes tied to each outfit they tried on—stories about why his wife had chosen a certain color, what had inspired him to create the intricate lacework of the open-back dress, or lengthy explanations about why it was essential to pick the perfect jacket to accompany any of the dresses that caught their interest.
The younger fox behaved like a silent assistant, carrying out his father’s orders and allowing him to shine in his element. There was a clear, unspoken understanding between them; neither needed to talk to know how to improve the experience for the two females. If a pin was needed to adjust a cut, Nick already had it extended the moment his father stepped into the perfect spot to fix it. If the dress called for a dark scarf to highlight the gazelle’s long neck, Nick was already offering two—one blue and one black. If the neckline was perfect for showing off jewelry, a fake diamond necklace and matching earrings would appear within his father’s reach so they could try them on.
The scene gave Elías the perfect opportunity to continue with his stories and comments, always centered on how the two ladies looked in front of the mirror.
Slowly, the bunny began to relax; the suspicious looks she had at the beginning softened, and she smiled more frequently, though it was clear she still felt out of place next to the gazelle’s natural elegance. It became painfully evident just by watching her reaction in the mirror—how she saw herself after his father handed her a long-sleeved black dress, which, with a simple adjustment to the armhole, made her bust stand out more, giving her a more sensual appearance. Her surprise was exactly the kind of reaction his mother always talked about—when someone who doesn’t consider themselves attractive or sensual suddenly sees a total shift in their self-perception with the right clothing.
The gazelle also clapped and praised her whenever she tried on something she thought was pretty, which made the bunny’s cheeks glow with embarrassment.
Everything seemed like it would continue for another two hours until an iCarrot started ringing. Judy’s face shifted from calm to something close to absolute terror; she went rigid, as if on the other side was the voice of a kidnapper or a serial killer. She stared at it in horror, letting it ring, as though expecting that if she looked long enough, the call would cease to exist. The moment felt like it lasted several seconds until the gazelle asked if she wasn’t going to answer. That snapped her back to consciousness; she slid her paw across the screen and brought the device to her ear.
“Yes, boss?” she answered, trembling.
Hearing her, Nick thought, “So the call is from her boss. Makes sense she’s terrified—anyone gets nervous when the boss calls.” He still got chills remembering the week he had jokingly treated his father as his boss after returning to the tailor shop—undoubtedly the most terrifying week of his life.
“Yes, sir, she’s with me.”
“Sir!? Is it some kind of special task force or something?” Nick wondered, noticing how focused the gazelle now was on her companion.
“Yes, sir, we just… got lost on the way, nothing serious… No, sir, that won’t be necessary, we’re already on our way back… Yes, sir… I… yes, sir… I understand… right now, sir.”
From the voice on the other end, it sounded like someone was shouting intensely, which meant whoever it was seemed extremely angry with Judy. Nick couldn’t understand what they were saying, but her behavior made it clear she was being scolded and possibly given some kind of ultimatum. Suddenly, the characteristic click of a call ending was heard, and Judy let out a long sigh.
“It seems our fun time has come to an end,” said the gazelle calmly, though it was obvious she was trying to ease the tension building in Judy and help her relax a little.
“Yes… we should go,” murmured the bunny.
“I understand. Thank you so much for showing us these beautiful dresses, Mr. Wilde,” the gazelle said, taking his father’s hand as she spoke.
“Please, miss, Elías is fine; calling me ‘mister’ makes me feel even older than I am,” his father replied with a smile.
“If you insist, Elías,” she said. “But I think we should compensate you for the time you lost, don’t you think, Judy?”
The bunny seemed ready to object, but the gazelle spoke again before she had a chance.
“Besides, these dresses look gorgeous,” she said, sliding the various dresses on the counter from one side to the other with her paws. She suddenly stopped to clap her hooves together, her face lighting up as if struck by an epiphany—an idea that was clearly on her mind from the beginning.
“I know! Why don’t we buy some? A few for you…” she said, turning to Judy, “and a few for me.”
Judy hesitated.
“I don’t think…”
“And I do,” the gazelle replied, sweet but firm. “Don’t you think we’ve taken up too much of these noble gentlemen’s time to leave them empty-handed?”
She spoke like someone who knew how to be kind but also impose her ideas—her voice carried a certain power, like someone used to holding positions of authority, or at least that’s what Nick thought.
“Why don’t you choose, Judy? If you don’t, I’ll be forced to choose the most beautiful ones myself… Three sounds like a good number, don’t you think?”
The bunny moved as if walking to her own sacrifice; it was obvious her friend had trapped her into doing what she wanted. Anyone could see it just by watching how Judy sifted through the dresses she had tried on and were now on the counter, as if analyzing and calculating which ones were the cheapest she could pick without leaving the choice to the gazelle. It was so painfully obvious that Nick wondered how these two girls, so different in their behavior, had even met in the first place.
In the end, she chose dresses that appeared simple: clean cuts, solid colors, plenty of movement, without intricate details, extravagance, or embellishments. At first glance, anyone would have said they were among the most modest… but Nick instantly recognized the quality of the fabrics. Each piece was made with top-tier materials. One, in a deep petroleum green, crafted from a blend of Australian merino wool and silk, lined with Japanese charmeuse and supported by an invisible structure of French silk organza; the second, an elegant shade of violet, a slip dress made of triple Italian pure-silk cady, with a French charmeuse bias-cut lining that gave it a fluid drape all the way down to the floor; the last was a black sheath dress with severe lines, featuring a bateau neckline and three-quarter sleeves. Its fine wool crepe was fully lined in Japanese habotai silk, ending just below the knees.
To someone unfamiliar with fabrics, they might seem sober, almost unremarkable and inexpensive, but Nick knew instantly that each of them could easily cost around three thousand zollars at minimum.
Maybe Judy noticed too, judging by how the gazelle’s smile hadn’t shrunk even the slightest bit. The fox was already thinking of how to arrange a discount or special offer, assuming the other one chose dresses of similar value, and if another three were selected, then the total could rise to eighteen thousand zollars. Maybe selling everything for sixteen thousand would be enough to secure the purchase—it would reduce their profit but bring in enough money to pay some bills and keep the business afloat until the gears began turning again. He could even haggle a little if the other female asked her friend to pick different ones. Using his silver tongue might be exactly what the moment required.
But his brain froze completely when he saw the antelope pick up the three most expensive dresses she had tried on… The lady knew how to dress—there was no way she didn’t know exactly what she was choosing. Who on earth had walked into their tailor shop, someone who could buy dresses worth tens of thousands of zollars without blinking?
The younger fox looked at his father, as if hoping he could tell him he was imagining things; but seeing Elías just as stunned only cemented the moment further.
“These six it is, then,” the gazelle said, offering the selection to Nick.
He stretched out his paws to take them and felt them trembling. He couldn’t process the information, so he simply took the dresses and moved behind the counter to calculate the total, his father following closely behind while both females remained in place. He activated the computer screen and searched for the sheet where he kept the updated prices, praying that by some miracle he would discover his estimate had been completely wrong. As he listed the items and added them up, he felt his orange fur grow steadily whiter. He needed a second to breathe once he finished; he felt that if he spoke before inhaling, his voice wouldn’t come out.
“It’s… twenty-seven thousand two hundred fifty zollars.”
There was no room left in his head for bargaining or discounts; he simply stared at the machine, expecting to find some strange mistake. He heard the bunny gasp somewhere far away; he was sure she would protest, but somehow the sound reached him as though it came from hundreds of meters away. The gazelle, however, shattered everything the fox understood when, with total naturalness, she extended a black credit card with golden details. The frivolity of the gesture struck him—the way this female had just spent what for many would be months of work, as if she were simply buying some “pawpsicles.”
Nick took the card with one paw while searching for the elusive reader with the other. When he finally found it, and before swiping the card, he felt the instinctive need to know who could afford to spend money like that. The card had no name, no number, not a single identifying detail, aside from some intricate designs and the logo of Zootopian Express Cervidae. The fox couldn’t understand what was happening. At what point had he fallen asleep and a princess from some lost country wandered into his shop?
He decided the only sensible thing to do was to work on autopilot. He entered the amount into the reader and swiped the card, staring fixedly at the processing indicator.
Beeep!
The sound wasn’t the usual one, and neither was the message:
“Unauthorized terminal – Operation denied.”
It was the first time he had ever seen that warning. Nick looked at the owner of the card; she seemed as surprised as he was, then looked back at the device. Maybe he had made a mistake, so he swiped it again. The result was identical—the same sound and message.
“Is this what a nightmare feels like?” Nick wondered.
Now everything seemed to make much more sense—surely, to them, this was a good joke. Make the scam-foxes believe they were about to earn a fortune, even show them an exclusive, probably fake card, just to make them look like fools. Surely they would now say they didn’t want anything and leave through the door, speaking badly of them in the street to whoever would listen, ruining their reputation. Or maybe they would call the police to accuse them of trying to clone cards; they could even claim the card was stolen and that the foxes were the thieves. Nick could already imagine the headlines. The gazelle had money, after all—what would stop her from producing fake evidence to incriminate them? God, he should—
“Well, that’s not something you see every day.”
Nick’s ears perked up and he focused on his father. Elías remained quite calm, still smiling and not seeming the least bit upset, as if the problem didn’t even exist. Nick thought his father’s patience, kindness, and good faith toward other animals were admirable strengths, but sometimes he couldn’t understand how he didn’t get angry at the world when it was so obvious they were being played with a cruel joke.
He followed Elías’s gaze toward the “clients,” if they could still be called that. The gazelle seemed to be a very good actress—she truly looked surprised, even accepting the card back from the fox with her eyes fixed on it, as if it had betrayed her.
“I… I don’t know what’s happening,” murmured the gazelle, and Nick braced for the excuse that would surely follow. “I don’t have my phone with me to make a transfer, I… I don’t know how we could fix this.”
In the end, the attempt at an exit was clumsy, and Nick had to stop himself from sighing out loud. It was a move straight out of a cheater’s manual, if such a thing existed. Worse yet was the sting of having believed it even for a moment. He was about to ask them to leave—trying to be as polite as possible so his father wouldn’t see it as disrespectful, but firm enough to make the females understand that he had seen through their trick and he didn’t find it amusing at all.
"Alright, miss, there's no problem. We could deliver them to you later if you give us an address."
Nick looked back at his father. He couldn’t be serious… There had to be a limit to how kind someone could be before the rest of the world started stepping all over them.
"Oh! That would be perfect!" the gazelle exclaimed, bringing her hands together; her face lit up so naturally that Nick once again doubted whether it had really been an act or not, but his instincts screamed that everything had unfolded with such perfection that it seemed impossible it wasn’t premeditated. “May I have paper and a pencil?”
His father was quicker than him and handed her what she asked for. She wrote an address in handwriting that was almost flawless, continuing to speak as she did.
"I'm usually at home in the mornings, although it’s much more likely you'll find me on weekends."
"Saturday mornings are usually pretty quiet," —Every morning is quiet… and every afternoon too, the young fox thought—. "Does nine work for you, Miss…?"
"Isabela… Isabela Veldt," the gazelle replied. Judy looked at her companion, puzzled; which only made Nick even more suspicious that the name had to be fake.
"Very well, Miss Isabela. We’ll be there Saturday at nine with your dresses and your friend’s."
"Wonderful, we’ll be waiting."
Isabela smiled as if his father’s words alone had fixed the entire world, then the two females said goodbye and left the shop. Once Nick could no longer see them, he let out a loud sigh. Now he had to minimize the damage with his father and prepare so the blow on Saturday wouldn’t hit him too hard.
"You know they’re not going to buy those dresses, right?" Nick’s voice showed no anger—only honesty.
"We don’t know that, Nick; they seemed very kind."
"Kind? Really? When were they kind? When the bunny stared at every move we made like we were planning to have her for dinner? Or when that ‘Ismelda’s’ card got declined?" —Moments like this made him wish Clara, his mother, were there; she was the only one who could bring his father back down to reality.
"What is it I always say?"
"That if a stitch slips out, you have to let it go and pretend it was part of the design?" Nick answered with a crooked smile, shrugging.
His father let out a soft laugh; at least the attempt at humor had worked.
"Good try, but no… Want to try again?" Nick sighed, knowing exactly what he was supposed to say.
"Firm stitches reach those who don’t stop sewing."
"Exactly," his father replied with warm pride, before glancing at the door through which the females had left. "And sometimes, son, those stitches are opportunities that slip away if you don’t work up the courage to finish sewing them."