JACKSON
After April leaves, I stand in the entryway with heavy shoulders and know my promise might not hold its weight tomorrow. I can hear Athena stomping around in her room, footsteps pounding the floorboards, and sigh to myself. I didn't necessarily think this transition would be easy, but I hadn't expected it to be this hard, either.
I'd love to be the sole caretaker of my daughter, but given how demanding my job is, it's just not possible. A nanny is imperative to our household running smoothly, but Athena's behavior always scares them away before they can stick. April's already lasted longer than a handful of them who left after the first meeting when Athena wasn't so scarily sweet. That's not to say she hasn't put on the angelic act before; April isn't special in that respect, though I have an inkling she's special in plenty more areas.
I've raised Athena on my own since her mother died the day she was born. It happened due to complications during childbirth - that's a day I don't let myself think about. Of course, that also means avoiding the thought of my brand new, beautiful baby, but it's a price I have to be willing to pay. I won't go back and see the look on the doctor's face as he told me Myla didn't make it. She lost too much blood and they couldn't to stop it in time. Her heart gave out. Her body was too weak. She died bringing new life into the world, and I'm not sure if there's a way for me to accept that. And because I can't accept it, it stays out of my mind entirely. Life is a lot less painful that way.
So, because I'm a working father with one income, there's no way I can work around Athena's schedule, too. We need help and I readily admit that. But although I'm open to the idea of having a nanny and I have been since Athena was two, she isn't. She's pushed away everyone who has ever tried to help us; the longest lasting just over a month. I take breaks in between these occurrences, finding ways to care for her on my own, but work always suffers. And my work can't suffer. I have nightmares about losing my job and everything we have and ending up on the streets, though I know how unrealistic that is. Having a child has forced my worries to become irrational simply because I'd do anything to keep Athena safe and warm.
I love her with all I have, but that't not to say she doesn't test me daily. And right now is a perfect example of one of those tests. "Thena," I say, standing outside her bedroom door after slowly making my way up the stairs. "It's Daddy."
"I know who it is," she says from inside, voice muffled.
"Will you let me in, please?" I try the door handle and it doesn't budge. "You know we don't lock doors in this house."
"Well, I already locked it."
I take a deep inhale and close my eyes to center myself, willing my temper not to rise. She has the right to be upset, but we need to talk about it. She can't just shut me out, though that's always easier. I know where she got the tendency to do so - that's all me. "Well, can you unlock it?"
"I can, but I won't," she responds.
I lower my eyebrows and rest my forehead against the wood paneling, defeat beginning to surge through my veins. "Athena Violet, I'm only gonna ask one more time."
"One more time, then what?" she taunts. "You can't get in."
"I'll break it down."
"No, you won't."
"I'm going to call the police and they'll break it down."
"Nuh-uh."
"Thena, please," I say, realizing that I'm on the brink of begging. This is the point we commonly reach, though I'm not proud to say so. "Just open the door."
"No."
"If you open the door, I'll give you five dollars," I say, shaking my head at myself. It's low, I know. But I have no other option - I'm grasping for straws.
"I want ten."
"Sure, ten," I say, then hear the lock click and footsteps scurry away.
I push open the door to find she'd made a fort, blankets strewn between her desk and chair to create a small place she can hide underneath. I know she's under there only because one small, socked foot is sticking out, soon joined by an open palm. "Money," she prompts, wiggling her fingers. I exhale loudly and kneel to place the bill in her hand, then she snatches it and retreats, saying, "Okay. Bye, daddy."
"Thena, no," I say, sitting on the edge of her bed a few feet away. "We need to talk about what happened today." She's silent and I wonder if she's even listening. "Did you hear me?"
"No."
"Athena," I say, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. "What you did to April today was unkind. I know you can behave better than that."
"No, I can't."
"Yes, you can," I insist. "From now on, you're going to treat her fairly and with respect. She's your nanny, she's here to take care of you just like I am. You have no reason to be mean to her."
"Except that I don't like her," she follows up. "That's a reason."
"That's no reason to be mean to anyone," I say, a little stunned. "Where is all this coming from?"
"Me," she says. "I don't like April and I don't want a nanny. I only want you to take care of me, no one else."
"I'm sorry, baby, but that's just not possible," I say. "I have to work. You know I wish I could be home with you all the time. But I have to do my job so we can keep living in this house, eating good food, paying-"
"I don't care about all that!" she says, still hiding in the fort. I can imagine her face, though; stubborn and indignant. "Other kids at school get picked up by their moms and dads. Only the idiots get picked up by nannies."
"Hey," I say sternly. "We don't say that word."
"I was calling it to myself, so I can say it," she says.
"No, you can't, and you're not an idiot," I say. "Don't say it again. Don't use it at all. This isn't up for discussion, Thena. Tomorrow will be better with April. I know you can make it good."
"I don't want to, though," she says. "I don't want her."
"That's too bad," I say.
"You're too bad," she counters. "Go out of my room now. I don't want to talk anymore."
I stand up, eyeing the fort. "Did you get your homework done, at least?"
"I don't know."
"Alright," I say, hanging my head as I walk out. "Well, I'm making dinner. What sounds good?"
"Nothing."
"Athena-"
"Just put my CD on!" she whines. "I don't want dinner. I just want you to put my CD on."
Without words, I walk to the radio that sits on her low bookshelf and pop open the holster to place the CD inside. It's labeled 'Classical Favorites' in loopy script, her mother's script. Athena doesn't know it was created by Myla, but all the songs were picked by her. She used to rest headphones over her baby bump before Athena was born and play this music - it's been a soothing tactic for my daughter since she was in the womb. But bringing up the fact that these were her mother's favorite songs would only rip open a wound that's been long since scarred over. It wouldn't be fair.
"The CD, daddy!" she shrieks.
"It's in," I say, closing the lid and listening to only the first few notes before turning on my heel to exit the room. The songs are too difficult for me to hear - they bring me back to a time I don't like remembering. "Dinner in a half hour."
"I'm staying in here."
I don't bother responding any further, I just leave the room with a hollow sense of emptiness in my chest that threatens to permeate throughout my entire body. I take the stairs slowly, skimming a hand down the railing, and find myself in the kitchen with a blank palette of ideas. Nothing sounds good, but I force myself to make salmon and red potatoes, hoping the smell will attract Athena downstairs. It doesn't work, though; I end up eating alone at the dining room table even though I set a plate out for her. It goes untouched and I put a sheet of Saran wrap over it and put it in the fridge once I'm finished, realizing for the first time in a while how lonely the house feels. It's not usually something I'm conscious of, but tonight it's like an empty vessel. Athena and I are a thousand miles apart and it dawns on me that I don't have anyone to talk to.
When I change into more comfortable clothes, I see that the light in Athena's room is still on with subtle notes still playing. The CD is long. Without stopping at my daughter's bedroom, I go back downstairs and turn on the TV to try to find something of interest. I flip through the channels until I land on a mindless drama that doesn't take much brainpower. As I stare at the screen, I don't put any thought into the show but instead the red-haired nanny I last saw a couple hours ago. There was something about her that I can't quite put my finger on; something familiar, something I'm drawn to, but I have no idea what it is. I almost feel like we've already met, like I've seen her somewhere, like she has the propensity to become a big part of Athena's life. That's probably wishful thinking - I just want my daughter to have a nanny who she likes and who likes her - and April seems like a good fit. I don't want her to go anywhere, so I plan on giving her all the encouragement to stay. It also helps that she's quite pretty, but I won't let myself think like that. That's inappropriate and I would never make her uncomfortable. Officially, I'm her employer. That's a boundary I can't and won't breach.
Later, I'm in deep writing a report for work when I hear soft footsteps come down the stairs and around the corner, then I see Athena standing in the living room rubbing her eyes. She's wearing a thermal set of pajamas, pink and decorated with tiny clouds, with her favorite dilapidated stuffed bunny in one hand. "Daddy…?" she rasps, squinting against the light.
"Thena," I say, sitting up straight. "What is it?"
"Daddy," she says, shuffling closer. "My CD turned off. It got done."
"Alright," I say, standing. "Let's go upstairs and turn it back on."
"Wait," she says, reaching her arms out for me. "Can I stay down here and fall asleep with you?" she asks, blinking those big brown eyes. "I wanna sit with you."
I glance at the clock and see it's past midnight. "No, sweetie," I say. "Come on. It's really late. Let's go back upstairs."
I take her hand and lead her towards the stairs, but she walks slowly with the bunny clutched close to her chest. "Carry me, daddy?" she peeps.
"You're too big for that, Thena, come on," I say, nodding her along. "Let's go up to bed."
She follows close behind and gets in bed while I fiddle with the radio, restarting the CD easily. The familiar notes fill the room and I have the urge to leave as soon as I can, so I head towards the door only seconds later. "Daddy," she murmurs from under the covers. "Will you lay down with me 'til I fall asleep?"
"Not tonight, honey," I say, lingering with one foot in the hallway as the first song progresses and slips inside my consciousness. "I have work to do."
"How about come up after your work is done?"
"Not tonight," I repeat. "You just go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
She blinks once, then rolls over so the back of her curly-haired head is facing me instead. I keep my eyes on her for a second longer, feeling a deep sadness in my gut that I'm not sure how to get rid of. I sigh softly, knowing there's nothing I can do, and turn her overhead light off. I have to get back to the work I'd left behind.
…
Getting Athena ready for school in the morning is a huge task; we're lucky if we both make it on time to school and work. Though she puts on the same uniform every day, she'd rather busy herself doing much of anything else other than getting dressed and preparing for the day. I'm the one who ends up packing her backpack, making her lunch, laying out her clothes, doing her hair, and getting breakfast on the table. After all of that, I have to rush like a maniac to put myself together. I've tried what feels like a thousand times to get her to pull some weight as she's gotten older, but she still demands to be waited on.
"Ow, Daddy, you're hurting me! Stop!"
"If you want half-done hair, I'll gladly stop," I snap, hair ties held between my teeth. "I'm almost done." She reaches up to hold her head and I move her hand away. "Leave it alone," I say.
I fashion her hair into two thick braids with pink beads on the ends and she scowls after they're done. "I don't like pink beads," she insists.
"Since when?" I ask.
"Since they're ugly," she growls, moving to yank them out.
"You take out those beads and I'll have to start all over," I say. She keeps eye contact with me, a hand on the end of each braid, then pulls. The beads clatter to the floor and I stare at her, rage boiling deep inside me. "Damn it, Athena," I say. "What did I just tell you?"
"And I told you I don't like pink beads!" she argues.
I rifle through the bin of hair supplies until I come out with two purples ones that I hastily tie to the end of her braids in place of the pink. Her hair isn't so neat anymore, but it'll have to do. "Alright," I say, ignoring the argument for the sake of time. "Get your shoes. We're gonna be late."
"We're late all the time. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter," I say. "We're gonna try not to be late so much anymore."
"Why?"
"It's not a good habit," I say.
Eventually, I get her out the door and into the car. By the time we pull up to Chicago City Day School, the first bell has already rung but she's not technically late yet. "I don't wanna go in," Athena says suddenly.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. "You love learning at school."
"I don't even learn 'cause I already know all the stuff my teacher says," she claims. "I don't like it."
"Well, maybe we can look into getting you in some advanced classes," I say. "But until then, out of the car. You're going."
She crosses her arms. "No."
"Athena, why?" I plead.
She gives me a steely look. "I'll only go if you come pick me up. Not April."
Seeing this avenue as my only way out, I decide to do something I know I'll regret later. "I will," I say. "Alright? Now, please, you have to get in there."
Satisfied with herself and blissfully unaware of my fib, Athena gathers her backpack, unbuckles herself, and hops out of the car. "Bye-bye, daddy!" she calls, standing on the curb where a crossing guard is waiting. "See you after school!"
Sitting at my desk a few hours later, I can't stop thinking about what's to come for April when Athena sees I'm not there. I set her up for failure, that is much is clear, but there's no way to fix it after I've already made the mistake. All I can do is make a promise to myself not to lie to Athena again. It was only to get myself out of a fight; in making my situation easier, I made April's ten times harder.
I don't get any phone calls from the school once it lets out, which is a bit of a relief. At least my daughter didn't pull the same stunt she did yesterday. I can't help but count that as a win as I gather my things and get ready to head home later in the evening, being that it's near 7 and time for me to relieve April of what was probably a horrible afternoon.
When I walk through the front door, there's a pleasant smell coming from the kitchen and the house is quiet. "Hello?" I call out.
"In here," April replies, and the casual, domestic response makes something strange flutter in my stomach. But all I can do is pinch my eyes shut, shake my head, and ignore it. It's beyond stupid.
I set my things down and hang up my coat, following her voice. When I get into the kitchen, I see she's sauteing sausage in a pan and boiling pasta on the stove; the scent makes my stomach growl. "Hey," I say, a bit breathless as I lean on the center island. "Where's Thena? How was your guys' day?"
She looks at me over her shoulder wearing an expression I can't quite push through. There's a smile on her face, but it's thin and doesn't convince me for a second. "Fine," she answers. "I think Athena is reading behind the couch."
"Behind the couch, huh," I say, walking into the living room where the couch sits in front of a bay window. There's space between it and the wall, a perfect place for my small child to fit. "Thena," I say. "I'm home." I hear the sound of paper rustling and when I look behind the couch she doesn't look up at me. She's doing something with her hands, though I can't very well see what. "Did you have a good day?" I ask. All she does is shrug. "April said you were reading. Are you? What are you up to back here?"
"You lied," she spits, staring down at whatever's in her hands instead of me. She's ripping something, I think, but I can't see what. Her face tightens and darkens at once as she repeats herself, saying, "You lied. Liar."
"I know I told you something different this morning," I say. "I'm sorry. I really am."
"You don't even mean it that you're sorry 'cause you're just lying again!" she exclaims. "I don't believe you. Liar."
"Athena, I made it a mistake. It's not nice to call names."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," she says, tilting her head side-to-side while ripping the paper more forcefully. "Go away, liar."
I sigh and lift up from my knees, standing to my full height while pinching the bridge of my nose. I go back into the kitchen where April is stirring the pasta, watching me with wide eyes. "Was she reading?" she asks.
"No," I say. "She was calling me names."
"I've been trying to get her to stop," April says. "I'm sorry."
"I deserve it," I say. "I did tell her I'd be there to pick her up if only to get her out of the car this morning. She was about to be late, I felt like I had no other choice. I'm sorry."
She shrugs and faces the pot again, staring at the frothy water. I feel like she and I aren't off to a very good start, which isn't what I hoped for. "I just think her feelings were hurt," she notes.
"I can't seem to do anything right lately," I say. "That's on me. I know I need to be better." April nods slightly, not necessarily agreeing but acknowledging that she heard me. "What else did you two get up to today?"
"Not much," she answers. "We came home after fighting about whether or not to walk, which means we didn't get here 'til about 4:30. Then we had a snack… well, I had a snack. She wouldn't eat and still hasn't eaten." She gestures towards the untouched pear sitting on the table in the breakfast nook. "Then, I started dinner and she told me she was going to read behind the couch. That was about a half hour ago. I haven't seen her since."
"The good news is she's alive," I say, attempting to joke. April smiles weakly. She looks tired; I can tell this is wearing on her and it's only the second day. I feel awful but have no idea how to fix it. "Look, I know Athena can be a lot," I say. "She has a hard time expressing herself and she's used to getting her way. But I really did mean what I said yesterday, I do think it'll get better."
April nods again and turns off the range. "Dinner's ready," she says. "Does she want to eat?"
As if on cue, Athena appears in the kitchen next to the island with something small and red held in one hand. "I want dinner," she says, then tosses it down.
When I glance at it, I see it's a shell of a book. There's no image on the front or back, so my guess is that it was, at one point, a notebook. But by the looks of it, the pages have been ripped out to leave only pitiful shreds connected to the spine. "Thena, what is this?" I ask, picking it up gingerly from the floor.
"I don't know," she says, hopping up onto a stool at the counter. "I just found it."
"You found it?" I ask. "Where?"
"I don't know."
April finishes dishing Athena her dinner - fresh pasta and sausage with alfredo sauce - and places the dishes back on the stove. Curiously, she looks at what I'm holding and instantly, her eyes widen in shock. "Oh, my…" she breathes, taking one tentative step in my direction. "That's…"
The blood drains from my face as I take in her reaction. "Shit," I say. "Is this yours?"
"Yeah," she answers, reaching for it.
"Athena Violet," I say, turning towards my daughter who's just begun to eat what's in front of her. Now, I realize what she was ripping behind the couch and I feel sick - I let her do it, I stood there and watched her.
"What?" she says innocently.
"You ripped up April's notebook for no good reason," I say. "Go up to your room right now."
"No!" she says. "I just started eating 'cause I'm hungry. She didn't even give me a snack today, she starved me!"
April doesn't respond; her eyes are still on the cover of the notebook which I can now see says 'Songbook' in pretty cursive. Shit, shit, shit. "It's okay…" she begins, but I stop her.
"No, it's not okay," I say. "Athena, upstairs. Now."
"No!" she screams at the top of her lungs, face turning red. "You can't make me!"
"Oh, yes I can," I say, marching over to where she sits at the counter and plucking her from the stool. I hold her on my hip as she kicks and flails, throwing her body around in an attempt to work herself out of my grip.
"Daddy, let me down!" she screeches, but I don't relent. I breeze past April and walk with purpose towards the stairs, though it's hard to make it up with Athena trying everything in her power to assure that I don't. I get about halfway before she wriggles away and runs down to the first floor, retreating behind the couch once again where she hides in the smallest crevice she can find.
"Athena, come out," I say, feeling desperate. "I'm not playing this game with you."
"I want to eat my dinner."
"Then you need to apologize to April," I say, trying to find some way to make this better. "It was wrong, what you did."
"I didn't know it was hers. She wasn't using it."
"Thena, don't lie."
"You did!"
I sigh and let my lips puff out, unable to come up with an argument to counter that one. She isn't wrong. Even though our wrongdoings don't match up, she's still not wrong. "Please, just apologize to her," I say.
"Sorry."
"Where she can hear you," I say firmly. "To her face."
"If I do that, can I eat my dinner?"
"Yes."
She slinks out from behind the couch, half a slice of paper in one hand. She glowers as she passes and I follow her closely back to the kitchen where April still stands next to the island, red cover in her hands. "Sorry," Athena says pathetically, without any conviction behind her words. "I saved this part."
She hands her the torn piece of paper and April looks at it for a brief moment, sniffling as if she's trying not to cry. "Thanks, Athena," she says, then makes eye contact with me. "I think I should probably get going."
"I'll walk you out," I say. "Thena, eat please."
I stand near the steps while April puts her shoes on and try to come up with something to say. My throat is dry and palms sweaty when I finally manage to speak. "I'm really sorry about what she did," I say. "Really."
"It's okay," April says.
"It's not, though," I say. "I know it's not. Something needs to be done, and I'm still trying to figure out what that 'something' is." April nods. "I saw on the cover that it was a songbook. Do you… write songs?"
She shakes her head and her hair follows suit. "No," she says. "But I sing. I keep track… well, I used to, of everything I've sung in that book. And everything I want to sing, or am singing currently."
"Oh, you're a singer?" I say.
She shrugs a bit. "At night, sometimes. At a bar. It's just something I do on the side."
"You sound pretty serious about it," I say. "If you're so organized. That's a commendable thing to be."
"Thanks."
"Really, I insist on getting you a new book. I don't know why she would do something like that. I'd say it's not like her, but…"
"I promise, it's okay," she says. "I can get one myself."
"Please," I say. "Let me. It's the least I can do." She makes an expression that's not really a yes or a no, but once again something I have trouble reading. She wipes beneath her eyes and something pangs in my heart - it's obvious that what Athena really hurt her. This book must have been special, more special than I realize. "I am sorry," I say.
"I'll be fine," she says. "It was just paper. But I guess… a lot of memories, too. I've played and sung a lot of songs, and I've been keeping track of them for years. Well, it's not that I was so much keeping track of them, just… remembering. But it's okay. I still have them all in my head."
"What bar do you sing at?" I ask, trying to make this conversation easier. Her eyes still shine, and I don't want her to start crying as soon as she walks out the door. I won't be able to stop thinking about it if that's the case.
"It's called The Whistler," she says. "On Milwaukee, over in Logan Square."
"Nice area," I say.
"Yeah," she says. "I've been singing there for a couple years now. They all know me."
"That sounds great," I say, smiling. I can actually picture her on stage with a microphone, the image comes naturally. She's mild-mannered in this atmosphere, but something tells me she has a good amount of stage presence. I'd love to hear her sing live. Now, I feel even worse about the notebook. "I'm sure you're very good."
"I don't know," she says modestly, then meets my eyes. "Do you sing?" she asks, nodding towards the white grand piano that sits on the far wall of the front room. It's only used for decoration, it hasn't been touched in years and years. Most of the time, I forget it's there. It's funny that she would assume I sing because of it.
"In a different lifetime," I say, laughing. "Yesteryear. Haven't thought about it for ages. You're kind to think so, though."
"Oh," she says, seemingly a bit confused. "Do you play, then? The piano?"
"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head with the corners of my lips turned down. "No, no. That thing's just there for show. I'm not sure if it's even been opened during Thena's lifetime."
"Oh," April says again, both hands gripping her small, black purse. "Well, I should go now," she says. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"I want to promise that it'll be better," I say. "But that fell through last time. So, here's a promise that I'm going to try and make it better."
She smiles a little, a real one. It's nice to see in comparison to the somber state of her face from before. "Okay," she says. "I'll try, too."
I give her a nod and shut the door, turning to find Athena standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the warm, yellow light shining behind her. I give her a questioning look as I approach and see that her eyes are glassy and she's on the verge of tears. Even her chin is wobbling. I haven't seen her cry tears of sadness in a long time, but I'm not sure that's what this is. I don't know what's happening. "Babe," I say, kneeling to her level. "What is it?"
"I was bad," she says, strings of spit clinging between her top and bottom lip. "I'm bad and that's why Mommy went away and died."
My eyebrows instinctively raise with feeling as I pull her close, and she falls against me for the first time in a while. She throws her arms around my shoulders and holds tight, pressing her face into my neck as she cries. "No, baby," I say. "No, no, no."
"But I was bad," she says. "All the time. And she's still gone."
"That's how being dead works, sweetie," I say. "She didn't die because you were bad."
"But I made her die," she whimpers - she knows that her mother died while delivering her.
"You didn't," I say. "Don't say things like that. You know that's not true."
She doesn't say anything else - positive or negative. Instead, she just leans all of her weight against me and cries harder than I've heard in a long time, and I don't know how to fix it. I'm not sure how this situation continues to get more and more complicated, but it seems there will always be a way.
…
"Jackson. What's wrong with Thena?"
I look to my sister, Maggie, as I stand across from her at the kitchen table. It's her son, James', birthday today and we've just finished eating cake and ice cream at his party at their house. Our parents are here, along with her other kids - Nyla and Liam. And of course, me and Athena. "Huh?" I say, zoned out.
"I said, what's wrong with Thena?" she presses, eyebrows low as she gathers a stack of paper plates. "Just look at her." She nods towards the backyard where James, Liam and Nyla are jumping on the trampoline hard enough to make each other fall, laughing along the way. Athena isn't with them, though. Instead, she's sitting in the grass with her back against a tree, plucking at the grass with a downturned face. "And she didn't even touch her cake. That's not like her."
"I don't know," I say with a groan. "We've been going through a lot lately."
"We?" Maggie asks, eyebrows up. "Both of you? What's been going on?"
"Well, I hired a new nanny."
"What are you on, number 30 now?" she says - worded like a joke but with none of the inflection.
"Ha," I say. "I don't know what number she is, but Athena is hellbent on making her quit. She acted like she was being kidnapped on the first day and ripped up her notebook on the second. I don't know where all this is coming from."
"Oh, I have no idea," Maggie says sarcastically.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.
She shoots me a look. "Oh, come on, Jackson. Really?"
"What, really!" I exclaim.
"Don't you see how unhappy she is?" she asks. "Look at her. Look at your daughter."
"I see my daughter every day, yes, I know what she looks like."
"She wants to be with you!" Maggie insists. "She wants your attention; that's what she's trying to do."
I squint at my sister. "She gets plenty of attention. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then why is she lashing out at every single nanny you hire?" she pushes. "Maybe, so they'll quit and she can spend more time with you. I swear, you don't think."
"I do think, thank you very much, and you're wrong."
"If I'm wrong, then what's your brainchild idea as to why she's acting the way she is?" she asks.
I huff. "If she wants my attention so bad, how come she acts out in the same way while she's with me? And how come it's worse now than ever?"
"Because she's older," Maggie answers. "She's more aware of what behaviors get certain outcomes. And she acts the same way around you because it's still getting your attention, no matter how negative."
I shake my head. "I don't think that's it. I'm not one of those parents who never sees their kid. I see her every night. I get her ready for school in the mornings."
"When do you guys have fun?"
"We have fun."
"Doing what?"
"I don't know, Maggie, Jesus!" I explode. "I've had enough of the third degree, Christ, you sound like Mom."
"Who sounds like me?" our mom says, coming around the corner with a dubious expression on her face. "My ears were ringing. Now, I know why."
"Jackson isn't spending enough time with Athena," Maggie spills.
"I am-"
"Well, anyone with eyes can see that," my mom says. "What started this conversation?"
"Fuck!" I curse, slamming the lid to the garbage can shut. "Since when do either of you know the ins and outs of my life? You don't know what it's like at our house. It's not like you ever come over."
"It's not like you ever invite us," Mom counters.
"I don't have the time!"
"See," Maggie says, raising her eyebrows again. "You don't have time for much, do you? Besides work."
"I spend time with my daughter," I growl, eyes on fire. "You two can sit on your pedestals and pretend like you're perfect parents who never make mistakes. Sure. Go ahead. That's not me - I make mistakes, but I love my little girl."
"No one's saying you don't love her, Jackson, god," Maggie says. "You're so dramatic. We're trying to help you, but here you are getting all defensive. Wonder why."
"I told you years ago that putting a stop to the revolving door of nannies would do that baby some good," Mom says.
"Nothing is wrong with needing help," I say. "So, I hired April for that help."
"But at what cost to Athena?"
"Why are you talking about April?" Athena asks, having come in through the screen door without any of us hearing. "I heard you say her name."
"Nothing, baby," I say, one hand in the middle of her shoulder blades while I glare at my mom and sister. "Don't worry about it."
"Do Grandma and Aunt Maggie know her?" Athena asks.
"No," I say. "But they'd like to. I was telling them how nice she is, and they said they'd love to meet her."
"No, you don't," Athena says. "She's not nice and I don't like her, so you won't either. Daddy likes her a lot, though."
"Okay, we are leaving," I say, interrupting before she can dig my grave any deeper.
"I don't wanna go, though," my daughter whines, flashing a pleading expression towards the two women in the kitchen. "Tell him to let me stay. Please?"
"I said we're going," I say, ushering her towards the door. "I need to get out of here, and that's the final answer."
