A/N: Ohh, my plot line starting to show in this chapter…And I've discovered it's A LOT more easier writing from Seth's perspective than it is Summer's, although I think I'm going to do both…Review as always (and guys, you guys are the best bloody reviewers out there, I love you!)

Gotta thank my music muse again! This time, The Joke by Steve Miller Band. Download it, you won't regret it! Best sing along song out there, if that's a way to describe it…

Chapter Two

Smell was the most common of memory triggers, so he heard.

For him, it was music. Music. The beat running through his veins, the radio inside his head, his ever-lasting god that he calls his Jesus, if he believed in such a person.

His god. Music was his god, and god, it was a god that kept on giving.

Manhattan's favourite radio station was blasting through their house, while he laid on their couch and kept realising how much he loved warm, summer Sunday afternoons.

The Joker by the Steve Miller Band floated through the air, which amazed him because that song was old when he was a kid, and Manhattan's radio station didn't play anything but the new, underground punk bands.

His dad loved this song. He used to play it every Friday night when they lived in Berkley, snapping his fingers and making his mom laugh.

"People keep talking about me baby," he sang to Summer, while she sipped at a beer and sat at the kitchen table behind him.

She rolled her eyes.

"Saying I'm doing you wrong," he kept singing.

"Stop it."

He swayed to the beat, singing cheesily.

"You're the cutest thing that I ever did see. I really love your peaches; want to shake your tree." He paused and stopped singing. "My favourite lyrics ever."

She started to laugh. He got up and sat down next to her, taking a swig from her beer.

"That's my dad's all favourite time song. I think that's when I should have realised he was stoner."

"That's your dad's favourite song? Isn't it like, from the seventies or something?"

He patted her hand. "Sometimes, I think you have come so far in music and then…you just disappoint me."

She rolled her eyes again.

"Your dad actually called yesterday."

"Oh yeah? When?"

"When you were at the Laundromat with Hattie."

He nodded and picked at his fingers.

"He said something interesting…actually."

He had that same dream again last night. He was stuck in the past; being ten years old and watching girls walk past in patented Spice Girls platform shoes. Then his mother would come pick him up in a Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car and they would just fly, fly away.

He hated that dream. It caused him to have a sick feeling in his stomach, made him wake up with a headache. He had been having that same dream since he was fifteen.

Summer was looking at him tiredly.

"He said…he said maybe that it's time for a change Seth."

"He said that?"

She nodded.

Summer had become ridiculously close with his parents. He supposed it was because of the whole "disowning" thing that Summer's dad did when she married him. It privately annoyed him. It wasn't that he didn't want Summer to be close with his parents; it was that he didn't want anyone from his little "Cohen Clan" to be close with them. He had unofficially drawn a line between his Newport family and his Queens family and he unofficially didn't want anyone to cross it.

It was a territorial thing, he told himself. He made his own little life on the East Coast and he didn't want "no fangled-dangled Westies to come tread all over it", in Michael's words, a friend from work.

Summer told him that it was a "shame" thing. He was "ashamed" of his Queens family; that he didn't want "no fangled-dangled Westies to come judge it". That time it was Summer's words, in love with Michael's description of West Coast people.

He knew he was being stupid. Idiotic. Stupid. Because he knew his parents would never do any of that, despite the fact that they were "bloody Westies", as termed by Zeppelin.

His guilt in his head told him that it was because he didn't want his children to ever really know how much money he could have, how much better their life could be.

Because ol' Seth Cohen, oh no, he liked to think that he was a changed man, but baby, he still classified "succuss" by how much money you made.

He knew Summer did. He knew that was why Summer was not unhappy but not happy either. And why he was too. He had money, but only a little and he was a goddamn man in the goddamn twenty-first century. And goddamn men in the goddamn twenty-first century always wanted more.

He hadn't minded at first. Money was a lost cause, a dead subject that didn't bother him, not one single bit. But then his family was formed and his family forced him to revert back to his old, bad habits. He only wanted the best for his little Cohens, only wanted his Cohen Clan to be happy.

Summer sighed at him.

"You love your dad Seth," she reminded him.

"I know."

He loved his dad. He only got a bit edgy when it came to his family. Because his dad was always Sandy, always giving advice, that it got to him sometimes.

Summer was the calm one out of them, now.

"And he said…" Summer stopped when Manhattan skipped into the room.

"Heard you singing to that song before Dad, you were fan-bloody-tastic." She giggled.

"I thought you were supposed to be the polite, quiet one," he shot back. "Obviously, I was wrong."

"Not the first time," she laughed.

"Oh, oh," he grasped his chest and opened his mouth in a mock, hurt way. "Hattie, my Hattie, you kill me."

Manhattan laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm going next door, 'kay Mommy?"

Summer nodded.

"Bye Hattie," he eyed her evilly.

"Bye Daddy," she mirrored his image.

Summer waited till the house was silent again.

"Where's everyone else?" He stalled.

"Zepp's next door. James' napping. Halle's at the pool with Zack."

"I don't like Zack. He's too rude for a seven year old."

"I know," Summer said patiently.

"I don't want him hanging around with Halle."

"I know."

He squinted at her for a second and paused. "I'm my mother. And you're my father."

She laughed. "Seth…"

"I know, we were talking 'bout something important right?"

She nodded.

"So your dad said…he suggested...that maybe we can go back to Newport for awhile."

He stared at her. It wasn't the first time that suggestion had come up. Ryan offered, years ago. Staring at his feet, hanging his hair in his face, looked like he was about to say shucks or something. So this house I bought in Newport, it's pretty…pretty big. And I've got lots of room, it's just me. So maybe you guys can…it can sorta become your poolhouse.

And his mother tried to get him to move every time Chrismukkah came around. Seth, come back home! I miss my baby. And I don't see enough of my grandkids.

But it was never an option. Summer laughed right in Ryan's face when he first said it. She was too much of an East Coast girl by then, too imbedded in the music scene, the fashion, the thick New York accents and running into Saturday Night Live cast members at the supermarket. That was back when Zeppelin and Halle were just two and things were allllllllllllllllll-right.

Kirsten's insistence on the phone every Chrismukkah was just a constant, like discussing the weather.

It was never an option, expect for one moment in his past which he didn't want to relive.

But Summer's face was telling a different story.

"Summer, we've been over this before. We can't afford the real estate or even the standard of living."

"I know," she whispered.

He glanced at his feet then met her eyes. "But…" he sighed.

"But, Ryan's, Ryan's repeated his offer. And we don't have to" she hurried at the expression on his face, "we don't have to stay there for long, just till we find our own place. Or we could stay at your parents. And your dad got me…"

She paused and looked mortified.

"What?"

"Your dad got me a job offer at the hospital there for being head of the child psychology department."

He eyed her. "Oh he did, did he? For exactly how long have you known this?"

"Well…your father mentioned something ages ago, months ago and we joked that I should send my resume and everything. And your father did and I had no idea. I had no idea," she repeated, seeing his expression. "Then, a month ago, a representative from St Vincent's came and saw me and we had an interview and I heard nothing about it."

"Until…"

"Until yesterday. They called. I think your dad and your mom's father and even my father, I think they all helped convinced them."

"Convinced who what?"

"Convinced St Vincent's I was right for the job. And even though I've always said it's an area of the job that I would hate, you know, I would just be organising stuff and not getting in the thick of things; like I do here at the social works department…I don't know."

He sighed. He felt he was getting beaten.

"Am I supposed to just give up my job then?"

"Well, you were talking about quitting anyway! You said you were "gonna quit my job and start writing the novel of the century!" She yelled, mocking him.

"I've been saying that for years. I've been saying that since I was sixteen."

"So we're gonna stay here because you're going to pretend that you actually like your shitty job?"

She slammed down her beer and got up and paced around the kitchen. He stood up, tall and imposing.

"I didn't know we wanted to leave. I thought you were happy."

She glared at him.

"Don't give me that crap! What did you say to me, like a week ago? I'm not happy but not unhappy either. Well, guess what Co-hen," she spat, "I'm unhappy. And I think you're kidding yourself if you think you're not."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Manhattan slip through the front door. Her large, dusky eyes that looked exactly like his stared at him.

"Daddy? Mommy? Are…are we okay?" She whispered.

Are we okay? He felt his heart breaking. Are we, are we, are we…every Cohen in his house was connected. Manhattan was smart. She saw the demise of their family with the demise of Seth and Summer.

Summer went over and picked her up and kissed her on the cheek.

"Daddy's just going to go pick up Halle from the pool. Why don't you help me start dinner?"

Manhattan's eyes haunted him throughout his walk down to the public pool. He quietly walked Halle and Zack back, while they ran around in front of him and had cute, seven-year old conversations which, if they were older, would probably be called flirting.

Zeppelin and Halle spent the dinner entertaining them with gossip about the De Palmers next door, Zeppelin waving his chicken wings around while he imitated David De Palmer, the eldest who was in the army. Halle and James were squealing, Summer was eating quietly and Manhattan just looked at him, in a way that she probably thought was secretive.

It was Sunday movie night. Another Cohen tradition. It was his turn for movie night and he had his selection all laid out. A little bit of This is Spinal Tap, a little bit of Rushmore and just a touch of Wayne's World, because sometimes, he liked to be a bit silly and he knew his kids loved Wayne's World.

Summer sat curled up next to him on the couch, because, that was what they always did. But her body felt tense and she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Halfway through Spinal Tap, he decided something.

"Okay, my Cohens."

Halle glanced at him but then looked back at the movie. Manhattan stared at him.

"Zeppelin."

Zeppelin ignored him, engrossed in the movie while he mouthed the words along with Christopher Guest.

"These go to eleven," Zeppelin giggled in his poor, British accent.

"Zeppelin Cohen!" Summer retorted.

Zeppelin turned and faced Seth.

"That's better." He paused and looked down at Summer. "So…how do you guys feel like going to Cali for awhile?"

He couldn't meet Summer's eyes, he couldn't, he couldn't…

"That's going to be our trip for the summer holiday? Oh I knew it!" Halle squealed. "I said to Zepp, I said, hey Zepp, we're going on a holiday this summer, I could feel it."

"Well, you're crazy!" Zeppelin yelled. "We've never been on a holiday, why should this summer be different?"

"Maybe…maybe longer than a holiday," he spoke loudly, breaking up their fight.

"What?" Manhattan spoke up from the depths of the couch, her eyes never leaving his.

"Maybe we'll move back to Newport for awhile. Mommy got a job there."

"What do you mean "back"?" Zeppelin growled. "We grew up in New York, we ain't no Westies."

Zeppelin was a thoroughbred New York boy; New York City was part of his heart, enclosed into his personality and feed through his speech. He considered himself as integral to New York as John Belushi and the Saturday Night Live boys were back in the seventies.

Summer was staring at him.

"What are you doing?" She whispered.

"I'm making my family happy," he muttered.

Manhattan was smart. His family was connected. He and Summer were connected. If Summer was gone, then he was gone. And if they were gone, then their family was gone.

Are we okay?

Oh baby, you're making me crazy, he sang to himself. He was pushing down his proud and standing tall with his family. His proudest achievement.

My family, he thought and shook his head.

He was making Summer happy. He was going to slink back to Newport where everyone was going to think that they had given up. He was going to piss off Zeppelin and cause riots in the gossip scene and he didn't want to do it.

But he could feel the demise of his family if they stayed in New York.

So it was back to Newport.