I've been described as a wishful thinker, although my darling daughter Miyako prefers "irrational." Not sure where she learned that word—it wasn't at kindergarten—eh. Who am I kidding? She learned it from Farida...the only second-grader who knows that word.

Speaking of which, why's Farida answering the door? Where's Isono? Where are her parents?

"Hi, Miya-chan," she says first, waving. My daughter waves back from behind her sticker-laden tablet. Her outfit turned out super-cute today, by the way. That rainbow romper? That top knot? On point!

Back to what I was saying to start with. Wishful thinking. Thinking perhaps the passage of time, the balm offered by sheer length of years, by continued familiarity—or, I dunno, the desire to make me happy or something—would lead to a begrudging little weed-in-the-sidewalk friendship between Jou and Seto. Or even their children, so pure and innocent, unsullied by prejudices, learning from their fathers' pain and choosing a brighter path forward—

"Great," says Farida, crossing her arms and leaning on the doorframe. "The idiot's here, too."

"Great!" my son says loudly, sticking his tongue out. "The turd-face is here!"

I turn red. "Atem! Apologize to Farida!"

"No! She called me an idiot!"

"We're guests here. You won't speak to her like that!"

"Tell her to say sorry to me!"

"Oi!"

We all turn.

"Now, you got a nice porch an' all," says Jou, shifting the weight of the colorful children's luggage hanging off him. "But Yuugi and I have a flight to catch. You gonna let us in, or what?"

Farida twirls her dark braid. "I'm a sphinx," she says. "You have to answer my riddle first."

"Farida, let our friends inside." Farida jumps, and Isis appears. Her ageless beauty always impresses me. As for me, let's just say I used to dye my hair for fun, and leave it at that.

"But I'm a sphinx," Farida repeats halfheartedly. "They haven't heard my riddle yet."

Her mother raises an eyebrow. She says, "We'll trade riddles over dinner. Let them in."

"Yes, Mama." I catch Farida making a rude hand gesture at Atem before slipping under her mother's arm. Atem catches my eye. He pushes his purple glasses up his nose and shoves his hands in his pockets, stewing.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," says Isis. "Please, come in. Welcome." She smiles down at our children as they shuffle by. "Hello, Miya-chan. Hello, Atem."

"Hi, Aunt Isis."

When we reach the expanse of a kitchen, Jou sets down the luggage, and I return an impromptu hug from Miyako.

"Is Uncle Seto here?" she asks.

"He's in his office," says Farida. She sits on a barstool and pushes her bare foot against the island to set herself spinning. "Wanna bug him?"

"Yeah!" says Atem.

"Don't bug Uncle Seto while he's working," I tell him.

Jou undermines my attempt at good parenting. "A couple little insects never hurt anybody," he says, grinning and elbowing Atem, who cackles with glee.

Isis guides a pitcher of lemonade from the smart fridge to the island. She clucks her tongue. "Like father, like son," she says in a smiling voice.

"Like one father," I mutter.

"Don't worry, Mama," says Farida, coasting to a stop. She holds each pink plastic cup while Isis pours. "We won't bug him. We'll just say hi. We'll take him some lemonade." She takes up the cup and offers an angelic smile.

Y'know, as much as she looks like her mother and thinks like her father...Farida's through-and-through a protégé of her uncle Mokuba. (Nobody believes that smile.)

Isis sighs. "Go on," she says.

Atem and Farida scramble toward the main hall, sloshing lemonade everywhere. But Miyako stops on the threshold, hugging her tablet to her chest. She rocks from foot to foot.

"Bye, Daddy," she says. "Bye, Pops."

"Bye, baby girl," says Jou. "Pops wants a hug first."

She teleports to him, and he scoops her up. I rub my eye with my sleeve. Ugh. This doesn't get old. Isis watches, smiling warmly.

"You're coming back, right?" Miyako mumbles into Jou's shirt.

"Course we're coming back!" he says.

"We'll video call every night," I add, to reassure her. "The whole week will go by before you know it."

"And I'll bring you a cool souvenir!" Jou throws in. "How's that sound?"

"Okay."

Miyako tugs me into their hug. For a few sweet moments we embrace, till she gets impatient to rejoin her partners-in-crime. She springs from Jou's arms and gallops after them.

Isis whisks a dish towel from the counter and kneels to mop up the lemonade. Jou, ever the gentleman, follows her lead with another towel. Good dad, good husband, good friend. I'm reminded once again I hit the jackpot.

"Thank you for letting them stay here," I say to Isis. "I, uh—I can't promise they won't cause trouble…"

Isis stands and flips the towel over one shoulder. She gives me a look that's flatter than a face-down Duel Monsters card.

"I would not have agreed if I were not prepared," she says.

Jou wrings his towel out over the sink. "Wonder if they found Kaiba," he says.

From upstairs, as if on cue: "MAMA! BABA LOCKED US OUT!"

An ominous energy radiates from Isis. She smiles at us first: "Have a lovely trip! Please see yourselves out if you don't mind." Then she sweeps out of the kitchen.

"FARIDA. WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Jou and I wince. Isis raising her voice is downright terrifying.

Please excuse me, gentlemen, I must hop off the line. My daughter's cousin short-circuited my laptop, and my desk is now a sticky tar pit. I'll review the report you sent as soon as I change my soaked—though fresh-smelling—trousers. I appreciate it. Thanks. Thank you. Excuse me.

Atem.

Atem never met his namesake. Atem's not remotely related to him. But right now this stubborn eight-year-old is the spitting image of him—proud, defiant, sure of himself. I tower over him in the doorway and he glowers up at me.

"Well?" I say.

"What?"

"Anything you have to say to me?"

"No."

"You want to spend your week here grounded?"

"No."

"Then I'll wait."

He squirms. Then he jabs a finger toward Farida. "She started it!"

"I did not!" Farida lunges for him, but Isis keeps a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Did, too. You said we should go bug him!"

"Yeah, bug him, not break his computer! Idiot!"

"You're the idiot!"

Next to them, the little one pokes a hole the tension the only way she knows how. "Hi, Uncle Seto," she says sweetly.

It works. "...Hi, Miyako."

"Sorry we broke your computer."

"You didn't break my computer."

I look back down at Atem, waiting. He rubs his nose and kicks the ground, fighting to keep his diffusing defiance alive, and now I see the Jounouchi in him.

"Sorry." He cuts it from a rock and chucks at my feet.

"I accept your apology." I shut the door behind me. Four sets of eyes blink at once.

"Don't you have work?" Atem asks.

"How can I work with a broken computer?"

"We have like a hundred computers," says Farida, skeptical. (Proud of her.)

"I'm gonna change outta these lemonade pants," I say, "and we'll go from there."

Miyako giggles. "Lemonade pants!"

On our way down the hall (evidently I'm a drum major the way these kids parade behind me), Isis threads her fingers into my hair and massages my neck.

"They're happy," she says, glancing over her shoulder at the chatty trio. "Thank you for taking off work."

"It's Sunday, anyway," I say.

"You missed seeing Yuugi and Jounouchi," she adds, tugging at my hair, trying to rile me up. I don't disappoint.

"What a pity! I'm afraid they'll get back at me somehow." I feel eyes on me; Farida's listening. "I'll be haunted by their little doppelgängers."

Atem's listening, too. "What'd you call me, Lemonade Pants?"

Miyako's giggling intensifies. Even Isis snorts with laughter.

"A doppelgänger."

Atem's wicked grin grows. He's loving his audience. "What's that mean, Lemonade Pants?"

"It means..." We reach the landing. I stop and remove my glasses and wipe the lenses with my shirt, taking my time. "Well. I shouldn't say."

"C'mon!"

Farida's confused. "Doesn't it mean—" she starts to say, but I wink at her as I fit my glasses back on. She understands; her eyes glitter in cahoots.

"Well…" I sigh.

"Tell me!"

Gravely I say, "It means Lemonade Underwear."

Isis doubles over. Miyako laughs so hard she falls over. Atem likewise falls to his knees in a dramatic, wounded display. "You win!" he groans.

Farida gloats over him. "Baba doesn't lose!" she crows, hands on hips, exultant. "He's the best in the world!"

Now I'm grinning. I love my girl.

The children have been restless all morning. They play in the backyard, some manner of make-believe in which Farida's the queen and her cousins are her subjects. I watch them from the shade of the veranda, sampling the occasional sip of iced tea, looking like lounging royalty myself. Seto is in his office again. I wonder if he's avoiding Yuugi and Jounouchi.

I hear the scrape of tires on gravel coming up the long drive. So do the children—their heads whip round like they're little kittens on the hunt.

"They're here!"

They drop their toys and scatter, disappearing around the side of the house before I get my sandals on.

By the time I reach them, the car doors hang open and Yuugi and Jounouchi are being buried in hugs. Farida hovers to one side, wearing an enigmatic expression. I stand behind her and take up her hair to braid it; she glances up at me.

"Welcome back!" I say brightly. "How was your trip?"

"Freaking amazing," says Jounouchi, rolling his tanned neck and shoulders and ruffling Atem's hair. Yuugi hoists Miyako onto his hip and hums in agreement.

"M-hm! I haven't felt so relaxed in literal years, prob'ly," he says. "How were the kids?"

"They're alive."

All of us turn to find Seto crossing his arms in the entryway. He's out of place in his sweater (it's cold in his office). Not avoiding, after all; I'm glad.

Seto and Jounouchi size one another up on instinct, but all are safe and protected here, and they let it drop. "Isono's getting their luggage," Seto says. Jounouchi nods.

"I want my souvenir," chirps Miyako. Yuugi sets her down and rummages in the backseat of the car.

"Here, ladybug." He hands her a small box, perhaps for jewelry, gift-wrapped with rainbow paper. She admires it with awe.

"Where's mine?" demands Atem.

Yuugi passes him a gift bag. "Here ya go!"

Atem tears it open at once, but his face falls.

"A shirt?" He casts it back into the bag, frowning with envy at Miyako's mysterious box. "What did she get? I don't want a boring shirt!"

I worry he's hurt Yuugi's feelings, but I'm reminded that contentious personalities are Yuugi's forte. He faces his son and answers calmly. "We got you both what we thought you'd like," he says.

"You like her better!"

"We love you both."

"You don't care about me!"

"Atem."

Jounouchi interjects. "You listen here—"

Miyako's brow furrows during this dispute. She considers her gift. Then she crosses the driveway to Seto and tugs at his pant leg. He looks down, a bit startled, and crouches to meet her at eye level.

"What's up?"

"You can have it," she says, holding out her souvenir, apropos of nothing. Atem wipes his nose and watches, wide-eyed.

"Are you sure?" says Seto.

"Yeah," she says firmly. "I'm giving it to you."

He nods once and accepts it with a gentle smile. "Thanks," he says.

Miyako hugs him, then trots to her brother and hugs him, too. Atem hangs his head, sheepish for complaining, and hugs her back with one arm. She's certainly mastering her father's talent for mediation.

What a darling display! If I were more demonstrative, I'd be as teary-eyed as Yuugi and Jounouchi. As it is, my daughter and I stand by. I finish her braid.

Isono brings down the suitcases, and before long we share one last, reluctant wave as the rugged red Subaru pulls away. Farida gravitates back to the strewn toys in the backyard. She plays intensely; she distracts herself from disappointment this way.

Seto and I head inside. In the cool, too-quiet foyer, our shoulders drift together and we lean into each other.

"What was it that Miyako gave you?" I ask.

"Probably some trinket," he says, unwrapping the box to show me. But we both gasp at its contents.

"Is that made of gold?!" I say.

"Is it?" he says, bewildered. "They gave her the wrong thing. I'll call Yuugi—"

"No." I touch the arm that's halfway to his mobile phone. "It was important to her to give it to you. Yuugi would have stopped her if he didn't approve."

Seto frowned. "You think?"

"I'm certain," I say.

He relaxes a little. "I don't see a necklace anywhere," he teases, tracing my collarbone.

I smirk. "I hardly need one to predict your closest friend's behavior."

"That's fair."

Through the open door we hear birds singing, fountains gushing, Farida narrating a grand adventure to herself. It's a beautiful day.

"It's Sunday," I say.

Seto places his gift on the entryway table, alongside a bowl of fresh-cut flowers. "Are we as fun to play with as Atem and Miyako?"

"I'd like to think so."

He shrugs off his sweater and tosses it on the table, too. "Well, I'm certain."

We meet our brilliant daughter on the lawn, whose braid is already undone, whose radiant smile at the sight of us puts the summer sun to shame.

PIECE #13: FATHERHOOD

Doctor's Note: Pharaoh Atem watches over Little Atem as he harasses Seto, and sends his approval from the Afterlife 3

Thank you for reading! - Dr. MP