Here it is! Right on time (for once!). I hope all of you have had a lovely week and enjoy the next chapter!

I don't own.

I get to go to work today.

I get to go to work today.

I never quite realized how much I miss it, the activity, the bounce of it. Just that rigid, loose flow that I get into whenever I get into my little work-mindset…it's like no other. I love Rose and I love being around her, but she still sleeps a lot and doesn't give me any trouble. I need a challenge. I need something to do.

I get ready early and wait until my parents get here, watching the news and wondering when I became a workaholic. However, I'm shaken out of my thoughts by the phone blaring. I rush to pick it up so that the ringing doesn't wake up Rose. "Hello?"

"Nancy, good morning," Mom says.

"You guys on your way?" I ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Actually—you know my friend Delores?"

"The clingy one you think is a closeted lesbian?"

"No, the other one. The one that used to knit you hats."

"Oh, that Delores!" The Itchy-Hat Delores.

"She fell this morning and broke her ankle. Her husband is out of town and she's asked me to help her. Would it be okay if it's just your father? He's quite excited to spend some time with her."

"I don't know. She's really nervous around men. I mean, I could stay home today if she seems freaked out about it."

"It might be good for her to spend time with him, if she's only a little uncomfortable. If she seems upset, I wouldn't, but I think being around him might decrease her unease. Especially since she'll need to get over it, to an extent, before she gets into school next year. How bad is it? Just a little bit uneasy or close to panic attack?"

"No, no. She's just quieter and restless. It's not severe."

"Okay. I think, if she seems like she's alright with it, you should try to work this out. It'd be good for her."

"Alright. We'll see how she is. Can I talk to him for a minute?"

"Actually, he's already in your area. He is really, really excited. He has a few different plans for some things for them to do."

"I'll call him and we'll go over his plans. So, I'll call you tonight to tell you how it went—well, Dad will too, I'm sure, but—whatever." We offer each other the goodbyes, then hang up. I quickly dial up my dad. He answers cheerfully. "So, Mom said you were making some plans for today?" I ask.

"Yeah, I thought maybe I could do a little sightseeing with her. I have a family membership—I got it so that I could take Anita's kids and Tony's son whenever I have them—and I thought it might be interesting for her."

I sigh. "I don't know. That might be a little too much for her. She's still pretty weak, especially after yesterday. Why don't you two just hang around here? Maybe go somewhere to eat, but I don't think much more than that."

"Oh. Alright. I'll just sit around and tell her stories of what a hellion you were," he says, cheekily.

I laugh. "That's fine. I'm sure she'll enjoy that. Just be careful, okay? She's really uneasy." I feel eyes burning onto my back. I turn and see Rosie watching me from the hallway. I smile at her. "I'll talk to you when you get here."

"Love you."

"Love you too. Bye." I hang up. I step over to her and stroke her hair. "Good morning, darling."

She murmurs some sort of greeting, but it's so cute and quiet that I can't quite make it out.

"That was Grandpa. Your Nana had an emergency—something about how a friend of hers broke her leg or something—so he's coming by himself."

"Really?" she asks, her voice neutral. "Huh."

"I think you'll like him. He's so gentle—he'll probably just watch movies with you all day." Hopefully.

"Huh."

"Are—are you okay with that?" I ask her, kneeling down just a little so that we're on more of the same level (she's just so short). "I mean, if you're not, that's fine—though he'd never hurt you. I promise that."

She shakes her head, making me anxious, but says, "It—it's fine. I'll be fine. He can come."

I know she'd rather not. I can see it. But she's trying to get past that, which just makes me so proud. My mom said this would be good for her…I trust her judgment. "Fantastic," I say, grinning at her. "You'll just—"

He knocks on the door—he's a loud knocker, like May—I quickly get it. The first thing he does is give me a hug—he's a hugger too—and then waves happily at Rose.

I briefly look up at the clock—holy shit! I told them I'd be there ten minutes! I turn to Rose. "I—I've really got to go," I tell her as I give her a hug. "Rosie, if you want me to come home, just call, alright? For any reason. I love you and I'll see you when I get back." I give her a kiss, pat her head, and go out, jogging down the hallway. According to May, as of last night, we have a huge order due tomorrow and all hands will need to be on deck. I can't be any later than I already am.

I run, grab a taxi, and have him step on it, taking me to my shop. I can tell from looking through the window that things are in a state of utter chaos in there, with my workers rushing around like deranged little bees, trying to get everything in order (why is it that my entire crew is made up of chronic procrastinators?). I burst in, and all eyes are on me, watching for an order or question or swear word. "What's going on?" I ask.

Everyone starts answering at once, barking out their idea of the events, or their lack of knowledge. I just roll my eyes and signal May over. She takes a deep breath and tells me, in a rapid voice that could intimidate a chipmunk, "So, there's that order I was telling you about last night, right, and that it's absolutely huge and we called in everyone for overtime, right, but the thing is both Hannie and Jo are out sick today with a stomach bug and Kayla's dad's brother's husband had a heart attack and Sheila is out on maternity leave so we're four people down and the order is due today and we're all trying to get our shit together but Hannie's usually the one to organize these things so without her we're all just trying to figure out what to do but we're just clueless and…help."

I shake my head. My employees are five year olds, I swear to God. I quickly find the description of the order and find out what has been done (not much). I grab a notebook and break it down into steps. Then I make each person their own assignment list with the words, 'CALM THE FUCK DOWN' written in red at the top. It's primitive, but it might be the only way to get things done (though why no one else has used basic project management skills is unknown; it's not that hard. Make a list. Give everyone a part of the list. That simple).

Everyone nods, breathlessly, and goes to their individual tasks. It's still crazy and hectic in here, but at least it's organized chaos. May creeps up to me. "You're insane, you know that? Head Bitch In Charge."

"I missed being the boss," I say. "Now get to work, Tremaine."

She rolls her eyes. "Make me. We're still fifty-fifty in this, so don't get all prissy with me."

I playfully shove her. "Go. I've got to practice for a few minutes—I haven't handled a sewing machine since before Rose was born."

May shakes her head and leaves to get some blazers ready, muttering something about me 'living under a rock'.

I spend the next few hours doing completely menial labor, which feels foreign and oddly satisfying to me. I guess it's because I haven't had to actually work in years. I miss it. I am not meant to be a socialite.

Near the usual lunch time, I call several pizzas in. It'll surprise the crew and, c'mon, who doesn't like pizza? Well, by the time it gets here, everyone is starving and quite excited about free food. Everyone settles with their individual slices (I'm giving myself the liberty of eating it two days in a row since, according to everyone, I'm underweight) and we all talk. Of course, the first question out of anyone is Lindsay with, "So, what's up with ya daughter?"

I grin. "She's spending the day with her grandpa. She's doing really well here."

"What's she like?" Roxie asks, her voice quiet and jittery.

"Probably one of the sweetest teenagers I've ever met."

"She's not kidding," May adds. "I've babysat her before. She doesn't act like a teenager. Quiet as hell and doesn't bother anyone."

"And she popped out of your vagina?" Lindsay shouts, which causes a wide-spread laugh.

"I don't expect it to last. She was quite spunky as a child. I think she's just a little spooked, that's all."

"What about your man? He in the picture?"

"That—That—Is—"

"That's really, really complicated," May interjects, much to my relief. "However, it is of my opinion that he is a grade-A jackass and she should drop him and get a restraining order. But that's just my opinion."

"That no one asked for," I tell her. There's no need in causing that kind of speculation with my employees. They saw me when I had a black eye. They'll put the numbers together and come up with the same false answer my family did.

But how false is it?

I shake the question from my head. "So, Lindsey, you pop out any wild, Irish babies yet?"

The rest of the day goes by without event. We finish the order with only twenty minutes to spare and I let everyone go home early. They all worked their tails off today; they deserve it. Once everyone's gone, I poke around to see if they've changed anything. They haven't, not much. I mean, they updated a few things to keep in the times, but I can still find my way around the entire building and recognize nearly everything.

Once I'm finished, I go home too. I'm tired and I want to see my Rose. I've missed her and had a strong urge to call them several times today, but I resisted; I know my dad is taking good care of her and that if there were any problems, he'd call.

I pick up some dinner (pasta) and go to my apartment. I carefully walk in and grin. Dad's sitting in the chair reading Sherlock Holmes, dozing slightly, and Rose is completely knocked out on the couch, curled up with a blanket. Since Dad's only partially asleep, he notices me. But as he's stepping close to me, I see several large Barnes and Noble bags in the corner. We both go into the kitchen so we can talk and I ask, "Did you guys go out? I thought you were going to stay in." I'm a little peeved he did was I told him not to.

"She seemed really nervous around me so I thought maybe getting her out of this cramped apartment might help. I was right, too. As soon as we got out, she relaxed. I wanted us to be in an open space until she was a little more comfortable with me. After we spent a few hours together, she was okay with being here alone."

Okay, now I'm no longer peeved. He had a damn good reason. I tell him, smirking, "So you took her to a bookstore."

"First to the park. We had breakfast there, spent some time on the swings, then went shopping. By the time we got back, which was a little after one, she was exhausted. I meant to get another meal into her, but I couldn't wake her."

"You got a meal into her?"

"Yes. She ate an entire plate of fruit."

"How?" I ask, excited and puzzled.

"I distracted her as we ate. She went on autopilot and finished the plate. She seemed surprised herself."

"You're a miracle worker, you know that?" I say, hugging him, laughing quietly.

"I've got a lot more miracles to work out, though. Do you know she doesn't know what the United States is? She's bright, there's no doubt, but seriously? I got her several books for us to study. She seems okay with studying them, so at least there's that."

"She has a rough road ahead of her."

"She can do it. Getting over rough obstacles seems to be in your genetics. Speaking of which, I kind of made a little boo boo today," he says. My stomach turns.

"What?"

"I told her about you being adopted. I didn't know you hadn't told her."

I relax. It could've been a lot worse. "It just never came up. I haven't been hiding it or anything."

"I told her about what happened. She was alright with it, but be ready for some questions."

"Okay. I'll talk to her about it tonight. Did she behave, though?"

"She was an angel. Were you expecting anything different?" he asks, chuckling.

"I don't know. She—she's been so timid since I got her back. I guess—well, I know—she's traumatized and nervous about everything, but I just wonder when that's going to break. I know that a lot of times disrupted teenagers act out and she was always so free-spirited as a child and—I just keep expecting her to snap at me, but she hasn't and I wonder if it's healthy that she's been so unemotional and—and—and—" He grabs my head and pulls me into a tight, cozy hug. "I just don't know anymore."

"It's alright," he says. "You'll figure it out."

"But what do you think? Like, is that normal or is that repressed or is she—is she alright? Do you think she's alright?"

"Yeah, as alright as she can be. I mean, it sounds like what she went through was pretty brutal, so I'm not expecting her to walk away without any issues. But she seems to be adjusting well and seems pretty happy…I'm calm down. Are you taking her to a therapist soon?"

"Yeah. I've got her an appointment for Thursday. The detectives down at the station recommended her—the therapist, I mean."

"How is Rose reacting to it? Or have you not told her?"

"She knows she's going to one, just not when. She seemed okay with it."

A high-pitched yelp echos around the apartment, scaring the shit out of me. I wince. Rose is having another nightmare. "She's been doing that so much…"

"She did it earlier. I thought she was in pain."

"That was my idea the first time. God, I can't imagine the things that are running through her head."

"Poor dear," he says. "I've got to get going—Anita called. She needs my babysitting services tonight."

"Alright. But wait—would you and Mom like to come over Saturday for lunch? I really like you guys being around Rose and she really likes being around you. I thought it would be nice."

"I have no plans, and I'm sure your mother does either. Count us in. About noon, maybe?"

"Sounds good to me."

We exchange kisses and hugs and goodbyes before he heads out the door. I sigh and sit down in the living room, where Dad had been. Rose is sleeping like an angel. I nose through her new books—a few workbooks, a shit load of history-slash-culture books, a book of maps—did the man buy out the store or something? I feel like I should repay him; he must have spent a fortune. Well, at least now Rose will be occupied.

I spot the first Harry Potter book setting idly by the couch, on the floor. I haven't read that yet, honestly (though as far as my dad goes, I have). Oh, what the hell. If Rose is reading it, I'll read it. I curl up with it, careful to mark Rose's place.

By the time Rose wakes, I'm half-way through the book and getting bored of it (I'm not too much of a reader—I prefer puzzles and such, plus the words usually give me a headache). She's stirring, so I feel the liberty to sit on the end of the couch with her feet in my lap. She blearily looks up at me. "Good morning, Sunshine," I tell her, smiling. She's so adorable and silly-looking when she first wakes up.

"How long have I been sleeping?" she asks.

"A few hours," I reply, patting her toes. "You looked like you needed it. Did you have fun today?"

She sits up with a slight groan, alerting me. "Yeah. He's really nice."

"He's one of the kindest people I've ever met. You ready for dinner?" She nods and I fix us our plates. "So, why don't you tell me about your day?"

She blabbers on, excitedly. I can tell she had a blast, as boring as her day sounded to me (again, not much of a reader). But then she slows. "So, he—Pop-Pop—he told me about something today…well…I just wanted to…you know…um…" She looks almost pathetically confused and terrified.

I smile at her. "About me being adopted? Yeah, he mentioned it to me. I'm not sure why I didn't tell you before—I wasn't hiding it—I guess it just never came up. It's not a big deal to me, so I didn't really think to tell you." It's the truth.

"Oh," she says, still sounding nervous. "So is it something that's okay to talk about? Are you okay with talking about it?"

I fight back a laugh at the weirdness of the situation. She's asking me if I'm okay with talking about something. "Yeah." I realize that this would be a good opportunity to bring in the idea of a psychologist into the picture, again. "At one point, when I was in my teens and early twenties, it wasn't, but I went to a psychologist—remember what those are? That's the same kind of thing I want you to go to—and that really helped me kind of come to terms with it."

"At first, I kind of pushed it down. I didn't think about it. I thought I was over it really quickly. But then I started hitting all of these big things—prom, senior year, graduation—and it started coming back up. Like, I started being really angry all the time and feeling worthless about myself. I mean, I just kind of thought that there was something wrong with me. I remember when I realized it had gotten out of hand. I was in my first year at college and had just had a terrible, terrible day in a terrible, terrible week. Nothing was going right for me. I had failed a few tests, my boyfriend broke up with me, and I had gotten caught with beer in my system. I just felt so horrible and useless…I had climbed up onto the roof of one of the college buildings—I liked to think up there—and I just remember sitting on the edge and wanting to jump. I nearly did—but then I realized what I was about to do. I got down, called Dad, went home, and made an appointment with a therapist as soon as possible."

Of course, I feel rather bad for admitting it, but I just feel like Rose needs to know that. Plus—I don't know what goes through her head. She could've wanted to jump off this building a hundred times by now. Her aversion to food could be a form of self-starvation. I just don't…I want her to realize that she can go up from here.

"You almost attempted suicide?" Her voice sounds betrayed, but I still feel like I made the right decision.

"Yeah. I was young and stupid. Fortunately, that was the lowest point. I got some help and within the year I had resolved it enough to function. Past that, it kept just getting better for me. Occasionally it would come back a little—the anger and rejection, not the suicidal part—but it was fleeting, for the most part. Pretty much the only time it lingered was right after you were born. I just—I would hold you and look at you and just think, 'Why would anyone reject their child?'. I still sometimes will think about you and how you're only a little bit younger than I was. I can't imagine ever doing that to you—I don't care what you do. You could kill someone or do drugs or decide to become a hobo—that wouldn't make me kick you out like that (though I'd probably try my hardest to talk you out of it or nag you to death to fix it). In a way, though, it kind of made it a little easier for me to understand. Like, it made it more obvious that it wasn't something wrong with me, it was something wrong with her. Still…it just kind of made me dislike her even more. But I'm happy now with my big, loving family and my angelic little girl and my nice job and—Life is just great. Well, not great, since there's a lot of bad stuff that has happened that shouldn't've, but as far as everything else goes…I'm good now."

She puts her nearly empty plate down. Dad's idea works! I hold back an ecstatic jump and let her hug me. "I'm sorry that happened. That's really sad."

Oh, my adorable, empathetic, caring daughter. I wish she'd stop feeling bad for me. It's supposed to be the other way around. "It's alright, darling. Don't worry about me. Like I said, "I'm good now." We cuddle for a few moments. "Oh, Aunt May said, 'hi'. She also said she'd like to bring Polar Bear back soon. He really likes you."

"I'd like that. Maybe me and Pop-Pop can take him to the park with us one day."

"You two going to make that your 'thing'?"

"I think so. He said he's going to help me with my studies. I—I don't know very much about this place. I think I'm really behind."

"After what happened, you're allowed to be behind. I have no doubts that you'll be caught up by the time summer's over."

"You think?"

"Yep, I do. You're gonna be brilliant, baby."

I just know so.

As always, please review. It makes me so happy when you do.