Prepare yourself for cuteness overload! You have been warned . . .
I hope you guys enjoy!
Part One:
Percy
Sally Jackson looked out over Central Park to stare at the setting sun in the distance behind the New York buildings. She sat on the park bench for a bit, which was warm under her because she'd sat for so long, lost in thought, until she realized the sun really was setting. Sally stood up and tucked the book she'd been reading under her arm.
"Percy, it's time to go home now!" she called.
Little Percy was toddling around the playground, sometimes tripping on the bark dust that coated the area and falling to his chubby knees, but always quickly pushing himself back up again. He must have got his stubbornness from herself, Sally decided with a grudging twinge of pride. No doubt he'd be as difficult to handle as a teenager as she was, too.
Now, Percy's chubby little face, with its soft tuft of black hair and big green eyes that always made Sally give him a cookie or read him a storybook when he asked, turned to her, and his face scrunched up in obvious resentment.
"Mama, no!" he cried. "Don't wanna go home!" He began stomping his feet around the playground and making angry blubbering noises.
Sally always marveled at how well Percy could talk at only two years old.
She gathered all her willpower and took a deep breath—and avoided looking at his big green eyes—before speaking again. "But, sweetie, we have to go home so we can eat dinner. I made spaghetti and meatballs, you know how much you like spaghetti and meatballs!" Sally called persuasively.
Percy looked a little uncertain, but he still stomped his feet, clenched his little fists at his sides, and shook his head "no."
Sally casually leaned against the park bench. Her light spring sweater was unbuttoned at the top, so she began doing the buttons; it was chillier now that it was getting dark. She briefly wondered if Percy was warm enough in his thick, wool, brown-and-white checkered coat that made him look like a mini Sherlock Holmes.
"Oh, that's too bad, honey. I guess I'll just have to eat all the spaghetti—and the cherry pie I made for dessert—by myself."
Percy's lower lip trembled. "Chewwy pie?" he repeated.
"Mm-hmm," Sally nodded. She knew cherry pie with whipped cream was one of Percy's favorite desserts.
"Wif whipped cweam?" Percy asked, right on cue.
"Yep." Sally finished buttoning her sweater and let her fingers linger on the top button. "I made it this morning when you were napping."
Percy's will was crumbling. He let out a whimper. "But, Mama, wanna play!" he protested.
"We can come back another time to play, Percy," Sally told him kindly. "Now, come on, we've got to go home. I'll read you a story before I tuck you into bed."
At the mention of "bed," Percy yawned and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "What stowy?" he asked suspiciously.
"Anything you choose. We could read your favorite, Little Red Riding Hood," Sally offered. She didn't know how she'd ever convinced herself to read Percy an original Brothers Grimm tale, but now Percy loved it and it was his favorite, and every time Sally read the part at the end about the huntsman slaying the wolf, Percy sprang to his feet and swung his arms around like he was wielding an ax.
"Okay, Mama," Percy finally relented. "But we come back. . . ." He sent a final, mournful look at the play set behind him.
"Of course, sweetie. And there are other playgrounds in the park; maybe sometime we could try out those, too," Sally offered.
"No, just this one," Percy said firmly, and waddled over to her.
She picked him up and set him on the back of her bike leaning against a nearby tree. Percy placed his feet firmly on the studs in the back tire, as Sally had always strictly told him to do, and she pulled the buckle she'd installed on the bike seat tightly around Percy's chest, under his arms. Percy took hold of the metal bar under the seat with both hands.
"Okay, you ready and set, Percy?" Sally asked, trying to impersonate a commander asking his soldier for a report.
Percy nodded. "Set, Mama," he said, and gave a tiny salute.
Sally climbed on her bike and began to pedal away, coming off the curb of the sidewalk and onto the street, toward her apartment in Manhattan. The park was only a few blocks away from home, so Sally always biked. Though some people didn't always approve of little Percy riding with her—
Just then a car horn honked angrily at her. Sally whipped her head sideways to see a red pickup truck. The man inside was waving and pointing at Percy on the back, like, Are you crazy, lady? You trying to get that little boy killed?
Sally shot him an angry glare. She was young, fit, and Percy was holding tight. Why couldn't he bike with her? It was good exercise, and she didn't have the money for a car at the moment. She'd even ran a test, in the garage under her apartment, before letting Percy ride on the roads: Even if he let go of the bar under her seat, or his feet slipped off the pedals, the buckle would catch him, totally unharmed. And Sally always made sure it was secure around him, and that Percy couldn't unbuckle it himself.
She coasted quickly ahead of the pickup and soon arrived in front of her apartment. She unbuckled Percy and stashed her bike in the garage. Quickly climbing the steps, and helping Percy on the high ones, Sally reached her apartment door and pulled out her key and unlocked it.
Inside, the delicious smell of hot spaghetti sauce and cooking meatballs instantly hit them. Sally had set out the pot to cool in the kitchen before she and Percy had left for the park, and set a pan of meatballs on the stove over a low burner. She looked down and smiled as Percy sniffed the air.
"I hungy, Mama."
"I know, sweetie, just let me set the table. Do you want to do the forks?" Sally asked.
Percy nodded and Sally led him to the kitchen, where she opened a cabinet drawer and gave him a pair of forks and careful instructions on how to set the table. "Don't drop them on the floor, make sure not to poke yourself in the eye, don't—"
Percy was already toddling off.
Sally sighed. If he was already like this at a young age, how would she manage him as a teen?
"It's all right, Percy, I'll always love you; you're the best thing that's happened in my life," Sally whispered, after Percy had exited the room and left the kitchen door swinging on its hinges.
She set to fixing up two plates (one a dinner plate, the other a tiny, adorable bread plate Percy always used, even though he was a big eater for his age) of spaghetti and meat sauce and slices of buttered bread for her and Percy. She also made a salad for herself; she was ravenous after the bike ride.
She left the kitchen, pushing through the swing door using her hip, all the while being careful to balance the dishes in her hands and arms. She was somewhat surprised when she made it to the tiny folding table set up in the living room—which sufficed as a dinging table for now—that she hadn't dropped anything. She set the dishes in their places on the red tablecloth.
Percy was sitting at the end of the table in his highchair, which he'd somehow managed to climb in by himself, and was probably getting too big for, wielding his fork like a tiny trident in hand, a napkin tucked in his shirt and looking so cute Sally wanted to squeeze him (but he hated it when she did that, except at night when he threw a tantrum if she didn't give him his goodnight hug and kiss).
"Here you go, sweetie," Sally said, sliding his plate in front of him.
Percy lost all manners within that moment, and had spaghetti sauce splattered all over his face before Sally was even able to sit down in her chair.
"Is it good, honey?" she asked.
He jerked his head up and down in a quick, little-boy nod, flinging noodles all around. He mumbled something, but between the food and his lisp, Sally couldn't make it out. She guessed he'd said something like: "Yes, Mama!"
Satisfied that Percy was enjoying his meal (he could be painfully picky about his food sometimes), Sally picked up her fork and twirled spaghetti around the spindles and up the handle, then took a bite. She could honestly say she was pleased. She was usually pretty good about making spaghetti, and was learning how to cook new things all the time, but she could remember her fair number of times she'd messed up on a recipe or charred a roast . . .
She looked up and smiled to see Percy now stuffing his face with his piece of buttered bread. When he noticed her watching him, he set down his bread and cried, "Look, Mama!" in a voice obviously eager to impress his mother. He picked up his fork and spent a minute furiously trying to twist a few noodles around it. When he finally managed to capture a few limp pieces, he grinned and shoved the fork upside down in his mouth, then slurped up the noodles, flecking sauce on his nose so it looked like he had red freckles.
Sally laughed, some of the sauce hitting her cheek.
After they had finished eating, she suddenly realized what a complete mess Percy was and went to stand by his chair.
"Oh, baby, don't touch anything. Why don't we just put you in the bath," she offered.
"Yay! Bath!" Percy clapped his hands together, spraying spaghetti sauce even farther.
Sally smiled. Of course, she knew why Percy loved water so much, though the other women her age with babies cast strange looks at Percy and mystified why their own children disliked being bathed . . . If only they knew . . .
She grabbed Percy gently under his chubby armpits and hauled him out of his seat, carried him across the room and down the short hallway, then kicked the bathroom door open with her foot. She plopped Percy in the bathtub, not even bothering to strip off his clothes, and turned on the faucet. Hot water blasted into the tub, and Percy giggled and put his hands under the stream. Tomato sauce drained off his clothes and skin and into the water, turning it red like blood. . . . Sally shivered.
She looked to her left into the mirror on the wall. Her face looked tired, purple smudged under her eyes, and her hair was messy and windblown from the bike ride home; she hadn't been able to brush it yet.
But she had a sparkle in her eyes that came from being around Percy, that caused people to always comment about how happy she looked. Just being able to care for him, now, practically made her face glow.
Sally reached under the cabinet to get a washcloth. There was only one left, reminding her that she needed to do the laundry. She sighed, wondering when she'd have time to wash the clothes and towels. Between working hours at the candy shop Sweet on America, near their apartment, and taking care of Percy, she was left exhausted by the end of the day and hardly ever had time to herself.
She turned back to the tub and frowned when she didn't see Percy's head poking up over the rim. She hurried over to peer over the edge and gasped when she saw him lying facedown in the two-inch water, completely still. Frantically, she reached in and grabbed him by the shoulders, wildly splashing water everywhere. She'd heard terrible stories about small children drowning in bathtubs . . .
Her shirt was soaked, her heart pounding.
She sat Percy up and he grinned at her. "Mama! Like da water!" he exclaimed, sloshing his hands in the tub.
Sally sighed in relief. "Percy, don't put your face in the water again, you understand? It's not safe," she said urgently.
His smile instantly vanished and his bottom lip began to tremble. "Not safe?" he repeated. Sally had it drilled into him that "not safe" meant a hot stove, a slippery floor, or crossing the street when the light was red.
She nodded earnestly. "Definitely unsafe." Then she poked his nose to get his humor back. Percy laughed.
Sally frowned. His nose was dry. He'd just been lying facedown in the water. She shrugged. Maybe his nose had dried off.
She ran a hand through his hair and found that it was strangely dry, too. She soaked the washcloth in the pink-tinted water and started rubbing down his chubby arms, trying to scrub away the sinking feeling that was settling in her stomach.
She took the washcloth away. Percy's arms remained bone-dry. Her stomach hit rockbottom. Quickly, she began scrubbing his back and splashing water on him, but Percy just sat in the tub, smiling, his skin refusing to get wet.
Sally took a deep breath and stuck a finger underwater to touch Percy's foot. She jerked her hand back with a slight yelp. His foot was dry, and pulsated a weird, airy feel around it.
"What, Mama?" Percy asked, acknowledging her uneasy behavior.
Sally gulped, and sent a quick, menacing glare toward the ceiling, mentally cursing her son's father for giving Percy these abilities.
"Percy, honey." She tried to sound calm. "Don't you like the water? Why don't you get it all over you? It's nice and warm. Go on, get your hair nice and wet . . ." she urged.
Percy frowned. He stuck a finger in the water and swirled it around. "Warm?" he questioned.
"Mm-hmm. Let yourself get wet, Percy. Nice water." She tried to sound soothing.
Percy pulled up his finger and stared at it. Dry. Sally sighed. This could be a real problem if she didn't find a solution soon. How was she supposed the bathe her son? Take him swimming in the summer? Would drinking water be a problem, as well?
"Water is good," she tried again, weakly. "Let Mama get you wet . . ."
She splashed him a little, but Percy's skin refused to so much as moisten.
"Come on, Percy," Sally tried, getting frustrated. "I thought you liked baths."
"No!" he suddenly shrieked. "Don't want a bath!"
So that was it. He could get wet if he wanted to.
"Yes, you do," Sally continued firmly. "You know why? Because I say so. And if you let me clean you up with this nice warm water and soap, I'll give you a cookie and read to you before bed . . ."
"Cookie!" Percy said excitedly, clapping his hands and laughing. Immediately, his hair dampened and his skin became shiny with water. Sally sighed in relief, then stripped off his soggy mess of clothes, picked up the washcloth, and quickly scrubbed him down, before he decided to change his mind.
"Want fishies!" Percy said, pointing to the cabinet under the sink where his plastic fish toys were.
"Okay," Sally agreed.
"Want cookie!" Percy demanded.
"As soon as you're done your bath," Sally promised.
She went to get a fish from the cabinet and grabbed a red one, when Percy shrieked, "No! Bwue!"
Great, now he was being picky about colors? What was she supposed to expect next?
Sally got him the blue fish and set it in the bath water, making it swim in circles around him. Percy laughed.
"You like blue, Percy?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She helped him get out of the tub and dried him off with a big fluffy towel. Percy looked thoughtful.
Suddenly he asked, "Like bwue, Mama? Like bwue?"
"Yes, I like blue," she nodded.
"Why?"
His big green eyes that were way too adorable were staring earnestly at her.
Because blue is the color of your father, she thought, and recalled blue oceans, days on the beach with the clear blue sky above, blue, cotton candy–flavored ice cream cones, the air laughter-filled.
But mostly, his blue-green eyes, with the long, dark eyelashes that always looked at her kindly and full of love, that held somewhat of a mischievous sparkle.
Percy's eyes.
Instead of answering her son, Sally smiled—it felt a little painful, and she hoped it didn't show—and said, "Let's get you that cookie now. Would you like milk with it?"
"Ye-ah!" Percy answered excitedly, making the word sound like two syllables.
Sally's smile grew wider, the pain fading, replaced with love and adoration for her son. For even on the painful days, when she was missing a certain someone with black hair and blue-green eyes, the color of the sea, whose resemblance to their son was uncanny, Percy was always able to keep the sparkle alight in her eyes.
Next up is Annabeth! Review for the love of a two-year-old Percy . . .