JACKSON

After April leaves, I stand in the entryway with heavy shoulders and know my promise might not hold its weight. I can hear Athena stomping around in her room, footsteps pounding the floorboards, and sigh. I didn't necessarily think the 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 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 her own right.

I've raised Athena alone since her mother died on the day she was born - that's a day I don't think about. Of course, that means avoiding the thought of my brand new, beautiful baby, but it's a price I'm willing to pay. I won't go back to see the look on the doctor's face as he told me Myla didn't make it. She died bringing 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 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 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.

I love her with all I have, but that's not to say she doesn't test me daily. And right now is a perfect example 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. "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. She can't just shut me out, though that's easier. I know where she got the tendency to do so - that's all me. "Well, can you unlock it now?"

"No," 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 gonna ask you 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. 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 her 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 that she can hide beneath. 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. Leave now, 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 listening. "Can you hear me?"

"No."

"Athena," I say, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. "What you did to April was unkind. 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. There's no reason to be mean to her."

"Except that I don't like her," she follows up. "That's a reason."

"That's not a reason to be mean to anyone," I say, a little stunned. "Where is this coming from?"

"Me," she says. "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 not possible," I say. "I have to work. 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!" she says, still 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 idiots get picked up by nannies."

"Hey," I say sternly. "Don't say that word."

"I was calling it to myself, so I can," 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. 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. 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 to leave. The songs are too difficult for me to hear - they bring me back to a time I don't like reliving. "Dinner in a half hour."

"I'm staying here."

I don't bother responding; I just leave the room with an 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. It doesn't work, though; I end up eating alone even though I set places for two. Her plate 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 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 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 I'm drawn to, but I have no idea what it is. I feel like she has the propensity to become a big part of Athena's life, but 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 give up, so I plan on giving her all the encouragement to stay.

Later, I'm in deep writing a report for work when I hear soft footsteps come down the stairs, 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, her favorite dilapidated 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 turn it back on."

"Wait," she says, reaching her arms out. "Can I stay 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 that it's past midnight. "No, sweetie," I say. "Come on. It's late. Let's go 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?" 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 me and gets in bed while I fiddle with the radio, restarting the CD easily. The familiar notes fill the room and I get the urge to leave as soon as I can, so I head towards the door 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. "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 faces 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 left I can do, and turn her overhead light off.

…

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 rather than preparing for the day. I'm the one who ends up packing her bag, 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 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 these 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, a hand on the end of each braid, then pulls. The beads clatter to the floor and I stare at her, rage boiling. "Damn it, Athena," I grumble. "What did I just say?"

"I said 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 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," I say. "We need to 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. "I don't wanna go," Athena says suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, glancing in the rearview mirror. "You love learning at school."

"I don't even learn 'cause I already know everything my teacher says," she claims. "I don't like it."

"Well, maybe we can look into getting you into 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 pick me up. Not April."

Seeing this avenue as my only way out, I decide to do something I'll regret later. "I will," I say. "Alright? Now, please, you have to get in there."

Satisfied and blissfully unaware of my fib, Athena gathers her backpack, unbuckles, 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!"

I give her a wave and an ultra-fake smile in return. When she turns around and can no longer see my expression, I let it drop and massage my temples. It was a mistake, I know. But I didn't have a choice.

Sitting at my desk a few hours later, I can't stop thinking about what's to come for April she shows up in my place after school. I set her up for failure, but there's no way to fix it after I've already made the mistake. All I can do is promise not to lie to Athena again. It was to get out of a fight; in making my situation easier, I made April's ten times harder.

I don't get any calls from the school once it lets out, which is 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 my heart do something strange. But all I can do is pinch my eyes shut, shake my head, and ignore it. It's out of place. Confusing, to say the least.

I set my things down and hang up my coat, following her voice. When I get into the kitchen, I see she's sautéing sausages 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 over her shoulder wearing an expression I can't 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. "Thena," I say. "I'm home." I hear the sound of paper rustling and when I peer behind the couch, she doesn't look up. 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?"

"You lied," she spits, concentrating on whatever's in her hands. 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. You're just lying again!" she exclaims. "I don't believe you. Liar."

"Athena, I made it a mistake. I'm…"

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," she says, tilting her head side-to-side while keeping her eyes downcast. "Go away, liar."

I sigh and lift up, 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.

"Nope," I say. "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'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 would happen. "I just think her feelings were hurt," April notes.

"I can't do anything right lately," I say. "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. "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 with something small and red held in one hand. "I want dinner," she says, tossing it onto the floor.

When I glance down, 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.

"I don't know," she says, hopping up onto a stool. "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 doing behind the couch and I feel sick - I stood there and watched her without doing a thing.

"What?" she says innocently.

"You ripped up April's notebook," I say. "Go to your room."

"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 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 anywhere with Athena trying everything in her power to assure that I don't. I get about halfway before she wriggles away and runs to the first floor, retreating behind the couch once again.

"Athena, come out," I say desperately. "I'm not playing this game."

"I want to eat dinner."

"Then you need to apologize to April," I say, trying to find a 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. She isn't wrong. Even though our wrongdoings don't match up, she's still not wrong. "Please, just apologize," I say.

"Sorry."

"Where she can hear you," I say firmly. "To her face."

"If I do that, can I eat 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 to the kitchen where April still stands next to the island, red cover in her hands. "Sorry," Athena says pathetically, without conviction. "I saved this part."

She hands her the torn piece of paper and April looks at it briefly, 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," I say. "Really."

"It's okay," April says.

"It's not," I say. "I know it's not. Something needs to be done, and I'm still trying to figure out what it 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," I say. "If you're so organized."

"I guess."

"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 did 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 given to me by…" She shakes her head. "A lot of memories in there. I've played and sung a lot of songs, and I've been keeping track for years. Well, it's not that I was so much keeping track, just… remembering. But it's okay. I 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. Maybe getting her mind on something else will help.

"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 picture her on stage with a microphone; the image comes naturally. "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.

"In a different lifetime," I say, laughing, acknowledging it with a glance. "Haven't thought about it for ages. You're kind to think so, though."

"Oh," she says, a bit confused. "Do you play, then?"

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head with the corners of my lips turned down. "No, no. That thing's there for show. I'm not sure if it's even been opened during Thena's lifetime."

"Oh," April says again, gripping her small purse with both hands. "Well, I should go," 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.

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. "Oh, Thena," I murmur.

"Mommy stays gone 'cause I do bad stuff," she sniffles.

"No," I say, rubbing her back. "No, you know that's not why Mommy died. That's not how it works."

"But I made her go away," she whimpers.

"You didn't," I say. "Don't say things like that."

She doesn't say anything else. Instead, she leans all of her weight against me and cries harder and harder with each passing second, and I don't know how to fix it.

…

"Jackson. What is going on with Thena?"

I look to my sister, Maggie, as I stand across from her at the kitchen table. It's her son, Tyler's, birthday and we've just finished eating cake and ice cream at their house. Our parents are here, along with her other kids - Ayala and Wyatt. And of course, me and Athena. "Huh?" I say, zoned out.

"I said, what is going on with Thena?" she presses, eyebrows low as she gathers a stack of paper plates. "Look at her." She nods towards the backyard where Tyler, Wyatt and Ayala 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 touch her cake. That's not like her."

"I don't know," I say with a groan. "We've been going through a lot."

"We?" Maggie asks, eyebrows up. "Both of you? What's going on?"

"Well, I hired a new nanny."

"What number are you on now, 30?" she says - worded as a joke but with none of the inflection.

"Ha," I say. "I don't know, 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 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.

"Do 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. I think all the time, and you're wrong."

"If I'm wrong, then what's your brainchild idea as to why she's acting like this?" 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? 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. "That's not 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?"

"Jesus, I don't know!" I explode. "I've had enough of the third degree, Christ, you sound like Mom."

"Who sounds like me?" 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 time with Athena," Maggie spills.

"I am-"

"Well, anyone with eyes can see that," my mom says. "What started this?"

"God," I exclaim, 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 invite us over," 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," Maggie says. "Jesus. We're trying to help you, but here you are getting 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. "I hired April for that help."

"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.

"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. "I don't like her, so you won't either. Daddy likes her, 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, and usher her towards the door.