JACKSON

The next morning happens quietly. When I push open Athena's bedroom door to get her up, I find her already awake and sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by a group of dolls and her favorite stuffed bunny, of course. I think he has a name, but I constantly forget it.

"Hey, Thena," I say, and she raises her eyes to meet mine. "What are you doing?"

"Talking," she says, pulling the bunny into her lap and petting his ears in the same manner she has since toddlerhood. They're worn and faded, past the point of repair.

"To whom?" I ask, and she widens her eyes and jerks her head towards the toys as if I should've known. "Oh," I say. "Well, it's time to get ready for school."

She tucks the bunny's head beneath her chin and looks at me with a certain guard in her eyes. It's a look her mother used to wear when there was something on her mind - sometimes, it blows me away how similar they are. I've never told Athena as much, but maybe someday I will. I'm not sure how much good it would do. "Don't you wanna know what we were talking about?" she asks as I walk towards the closet to pull out a clean uniform.

"Sure, babe," I say, rifling through the hanging clothes to find a blouse. Once I pull it out, I toss it on the bed and bend a bit to reach the pull-out drawers. "Do you have clean white tights?" I ask. "Or are you wearing navy today?"

"I don't know," she says, walking to me after stepping over her audience. "I was telling them about Mommy." Something in my chest grows cold as my stomach lurches. I take a deep breath and clear my throat, finding the white tights I was looking for, then hand them over. She doesn't take them, though. "Did you hear me?" she says. "They wanted to know about her."

"I'm sure they did," I say dismissively. "But baby, I need to tell you something. I know it's not what you want to hear-"

"Then don't say it," she says simply, turning around to take off her nightgown and change into the clothes I laid out.

"Well, it's not that simple," I say. "You should hear it.

"I don't want to. You just said that I don't want to."

"Athena, it wasn't your mom playing the piano last night," I say. "What you heard… that wasn't her. I don't want you to be confused-"

"I'm not confused one bit," she says. "Mommy plays the piano. It could only be her that was playing, and I heard it. You didn't hear it, so you don't know."

"Sweetie, no," I continue. "It wasn't her. It was April. April plays the piano."

"Not like that," she argues. "Not like Mommy."

"Yes," I say, insistent and frustrated. "Yes, she does. That's who you heard - I don't know what else to tell you."

"Even April said maybe!" Athena shrieks, fists clenched after she yanks a shirt on over her head. "She walked up the stairs with me and I laid down and told her I heard Mommy. And she said maybe I did!"

"She was saying that to be nice," I say. "Because she's very nice and very good at playing the piano."

"She's not nice and she's not good as Mommy," she counters. "Stop lying, liar! You always lie. Stop talking, Daddy!"

"Hey," I say. "Don't talk to me like that. Athena, you know Mommy's gone. Thinking otherwise hurts people. She's dead, sweetie. You know that."

"Stop saying it!" she shrills, face flushing. "Just stop!" She clenches her teeth along with her fists, arms shaking as she says, "I wish it was you and not her."

I physically recoil from her words, feeling their sting instantly. As I look at her face, I see the pain and malice that I won't allow myself to feel, that I won't dig deep enough for - she's laid it all bare. As she pants and her chest heaves, animosity pumping through her veins, I'm not sure what to do. I'm at a loss, like I am so often with my daughter, and I realize I don't know her as well as I've always assumed. "Finish getting ready," I say calmly, breaking our silent stare-down. "Brush your teeth before you come downstairs. I'll do your hair when you're ready."

She doesn't respond as I turn around and walk out of her room and down the hall. Once I'm about halfway down the stairs, she slams her door and the force of it reverberates throughout the second floor, sending shockwaves through both mine and the house's system. I hear thumps and thuds inside as she presumably throws things out of rage, and before long the sound of crying joins in. I stop in my tracks, wondering if I should go up and try to make it better, apologize for the way I worded things, but I don't move. Something keeps me from it - I don't feel welcome. I know she doesn't want me; she said so herself.

So, I do what I know how to. I pack her bag, her lunch, and lay out the hair tools. When she finishes her tantrum and comes downstairs, I'll be ready.

…

My mind is nowhere near present for the entirety of the workday. I have a meeting in which two of my head groups are presenting a new branding technique for Dasani, who recently hired our agency for a new campaign. I'm mentally absent during it, and when asked my opinion come the end, I'm lost and have to hide my humiliation over the fact that I am. Admittedly, my thoughts were everywhere but at work - mostly centered on my troubled daughter and the way she spoke to me this morning, the way we spoke to each other.

Should I have apologized? I don't know. I don't think what I said was wrong, necessarily - she's 7 years old and knows her mother is gone. She's known that for her entire life, and the suggestion of anything different drives a dagger into my chest. She has no way of knowing how I feel about Myla and the instance of her passing because I never bring it up, but I stay quiet for a reason. I don't see the point of reliving a time where everything was dismal, where I had a new baby and no idea how to care for her, where I'd spend nights crying, feeling more alone than ever. I fell into a depression that felt a lot like I assume postpartum would, paired with the loss of someone so important. She was never supposed to leave. We were supposed to raise our family together - she dreamed about Athena, wished for her, fell in love with her while the baby's heartbeat rested inside her. And all of it was taken away. Maybe what Athena said earlier was right - it's not like I haven't thought it myself time and time again. It should've been me.

"Mr. Avery? Hello? Jackson?"

I shake my head and blink hard, leaned back in my chair. With my hands folded over my middle and my head resting back, my assistant has caught me in a position that probably looks like I was lounging. "Sorry, Heather," I say, sitting up. "What's going on?"

"They're asking for your decision," she says. "They're ready for you to sign off. Actually, they were ready an hour ago. But when I knocked, you didn't answer."

"Shit, I'm sorry," I say. "I was on the phone." It's a lie, a thin one, and she sees through it. I don't know why I bothered.

"About the decision," she says. "Hahn's group or Stark's? I need to let the rep know."

I lean forward onto my elbows, rubbing my temples to try and concentrate on anything I remember from the meeting earlier. In all honesty, I have no damn clue. "I…" I stammer, unsure of where the sentence is going once I start it.

"If I were you, I'd lean towards Hahn," she says, closing the door and lowering her voice. I look up and can tell by her expression that she knows something is wrong. "I would never try and speak for you, Jackson, but-"

"Please, god, speak for me," I say, laughing as a way to release some tension.

She shuts the door fully. "Are you okay?" she asks.

Heather has been my assistant for two years - ever since I was promoted to vice president at MERGE. "I will be," I say, pasting a smile on my lips.

"You sure?" she asks. "You're usually all in with product meetings. Today, I looked over and if I didn't know better, I'd have assumed you were high. Your eyes were glazed over, you were in another world. Definitely not here."

"Sorry about that," I say. "I can assure you, it's not typical behavior. You know that."

"I know. That's why I'm concerned."

"It's my daughter," I say, chewing a small portion of my lower lip as I shake my head. "A lot going on at home right now. I try not to bring it here, but that doesn't always work. As you can see."

"I can definitely see," she says, leaning in. "You know, no one will say anything if you take a day off."

I refute her right away. "Oh, no," I say. "That would make things worse. If I'm healthy and there's no blizzard keeping me from this place, I'll be here."

"I don't doubt that," she says. "But it's alright to take a break. You know that, right?"

"Of course," I say. "You think I arranged those staff vacation days for nothing?"

"Yet you haven't touched one of yours," she retorts. "Why is that?"

"Because I'm vice president," I say, matching her tone and spirit. "When have you known a body to function without its heart?"

"When did you start considering yourself the heart?" she asks, eyebrows raised as she knocks me down a peg. "Come on, Jackson."

"Okay," I admit. "Sure. But this is my business. I'm depended on to make sure it runs."

"I can assure you that we would last one day," she says, then gasps. "Or maybe, a week."

"I don't know," I say, waving her off. "We'll see. We'll see."

She stands up, catching the cue that I'm ready for her to leave. "I'll tell the rep that you chose Hahn," she says. "That alright?"

"Fine by me," I say. "As long as you think it's the right choice. I trust you."

She lingers in the doorway with one hand on the wall, one foot outside while still looking in at me. She inhales deeply and says, "If you trust me so much, you should listen once in a while. Take a day off, Jackson."

"Get back to work, Heather," I say, having returned to my paperwork.

"You're being stubborn!" she calls.

"I'm making a living. Get back to work."

…

Light shines through the bay window as I walk up the front steps that night, feeling haggard from a day at work where I didn't do much at all. I have a briefcase full of proposals I need to look over and potentially sign - that's what I should've been doing today - I'll have to get to them once April leaves.

I hear soft voices coming from the front room as I'm taking my shoes off. The rise and fall of April's soprano along with Athena's murmur, trading off like they're reciting something they both know well. I stay in the foyer for a moment, just listening, until I can't justify hiding any longer. "Hi, ladies," I say, coming around the corner to see them. They're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, knees bent, a book held between them. Until I came through and interrupted, I think they were taking turns reading. From what I can tell, it's another one of Junie B. Jones'. "How was your afternoon?"

April smiles but Athena lifts the book to cover her face. April glances at her then back to me, visibly wondering how to bridge the gap. "Good," she finally answers, seeing that Athena doesn't plan on giving me anything.

"Thena?" I prompt. "How about yours?"

Now, instead of just using the book to hide, she turns and presses her face into April's shoulder. This is the closest I've ever seen her get - there seems to be a certain warmth between the two of them that hasn't been there before. Well, maybe not so much as a 'warmth,' per se, but a lack of frigidity. "Athena," April says, trying to encourage her to speak. "Say hi. Your dad is talking to you."

"No."

April shoots me an apologetic look, though she has no reason to do so. It's not her fault Athena is acting this way, I'm fully aware that it's mine because of what went down this morning. I know I should apologize being that she's a child and I treated her unfairly. I came to that conclusion much earlier, but I have no idea how to go about it. I'm afraid that in bringing it back up, it'll start the fight over - that's something I definitely don't want. "Thena," I say. "Can I get a 'hi, Daddy'?"

She ignores me, then lifts her face to April, asking, "Can we finish reading?"

April looks to me again and I feel lost. When given a choice, Athena never picks someone over me. This is the first time I've ever experienced it - she won't even look at me, no less give me the time of day. I feel shoved to the side, and for what? Because of a disagreement?

"Can you say hi to your daddy?" April asks.

"Hi," Athena mumbles without looking. "Now, can we read?"

I let out a sigh that was meant to be silent but instead comes out as a powerful gust of air. April meets my eyes, helpless. "Go ahead, finish," I say tersely. I'm not upset with her, not at all. If anyone, I'm upset with myself. I let things get to this point, where I allow my 7-year-old to ignore me and make me feel lesser, but I don't know how to bring them back. Sometimes, like now, the situation feels so far gone that there might not be any hope of bringing it back. I can't say 'bringing it back to what it was,' because I'm not sure there was ever a time where Athena and I were genuinely happy. Between us, someone is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I'll get dinner started."

I retreat into the kitchen and rest against the island for a long moment, breathing. The rise and fall of April and Athena's voices returns after a few seconds as they pick up where they left off. I open the fridge to try and decide what to make and nothing sounds good - there's barely anything in here, anyway. I don't have the energy to cook, so I end up calling a number for pizza stuck to the side of the fridge. It'll make Athena happy at least, and maybe put me a little closer to being on her good side.

I lean against the island, the small of my back pressing into it, as I listen to my daughter and her nanny continue to converse. Their voices have changed from the rhythm of the book to that of a conversation, and it's coming through clear as day. I have no choice but to listen in.

"Why didn't you wanna say hi to your daddy?" April asks.

Silence follows. Such a thick patch that I'm sure Athena must be ignoring her in the way she was ignoring me. It's not a sense of satisfaction that I get because of it, that would be wrong, but for a moment I'm at least thankful that I'm not alone. That moment ends quickly, though, because she does end up speaking. "'Cause I'm mad at him," she eventually says.

"Why's that?'

She doesn't answer right away. I can't see her face, but it would seem she's taking her time in thinking about her answer. It's typical. She's always been very cerebral. "He yelled at me this morning."

"Oh, no," April says. "What about?"

I hear the sound of a book closing, which is probably April's doing. I furrow my eyebrows and cross my arms, interested to hear how the story will progress. But instead of answering the question outright, Athena diverts the topic elsewhere. "Daddy said that it was you playing the piano last night," she says quietly, almost like she's ashamed to put it out in the open. "Was it?"

I wait with bated breath, wondering how April will answer the million-dollar question. It was the impetus as to why Athena got angry in the first place - the impetus as to why I lost my temper, too. "It was," April says, almost as if she's guilty owning up to it. "And I'm really sorry. I didn't know it would wake you - I didn't know you could hear from upstairs. I never meant to confuse you or hurt your feelings, Athena."

I expect Athena to launch into a full-blown retelling of our verbal altercation that morning; though I was proven right, I still imagine that she'll paint me in a negative light and say I yelled at her for no good reason. That isn't entirely true; I did yell at her, but at the time, the reason felt valid. Now that I've had time to think about it, though, I'm not so sure.

"My mommy played the piano," Athena says. The gravity of her words and the tone in which she says them makes my heart lurch. I'm not used to hearing her talk about Myla - I don't think she ever has, at least not to someone who isn't me. And I'm not exactly great at entertaining the idea. "I saw videos once. My aunt showed me."

That was a night to remember. I had asked Maggie to babysit Athena when she was three, which was normal back then. We didn't have a steady nanny or babysitter, so I relied on family. I don't so much anymore because they have their own lives and can't cater to mine, though we see each other regularly. But that night, Maggie had been here, and I got home earlier than anticipated to find the two of them still awake, sitting on the couch and watching home videos. At first, I thought it was a benign and even heartfelt gesture - that is, until I realized the content of what they were watching. It was Myla at the grand piano in the front room, playing her favorite songs. She used to love Chopin and Beethoven. She would sit there and play for hours, even more so when she was pregnant. She always said she wanted Athena to come into the world knowing music, already appreciating it. The best I've been able to do for her is play the 'Classical Favorites' CD whenever she wants it. Other than that, the first instance she's come across music since birth is thanks to April.

That night, Maggie got read the riot act and I didn't talk to her for weeks. Athena, on the other hand, spoke about her mother and the 'pretty music' constantly - incessantly asking to see the videos again. I never showed them to her a second time, though. I couldn't stomach it. I couldn't look at those tapes and watch what I lost, watch what my daughter will never see firsthand. I've deprived Athena of her mother because I'm deprived of her. It comes down to something as simple as that.

It doesn't surprise me that, even after just one viewing, she still remembers the content of the tapes. I'm sure she can still picture her mother's smile as clearly as I can - the way she moved with the music and let it become her. It was like she had another soul, a secret one, when she sat behind those keys. She and the piano were partners, and it was a relationship in which she wanted Athena included so badly.

"She did?" April asks, prompting Athena to continue.

"Yeah. I saw her playing. She was playing so pretty. She was really good. That's why I thought it was her… it sounded pretty."

"Well, thank you," April says. "You know how long I've been playing for?" There's a pause where I assume Athena shakes her head. "Since I was 5 years old. Even younger than you."

"Younger than me?"

"Yep."

There's another silence - one where I imagine their conversation must be over. Lately, Athena hasn't been up for much talking, so I can't picture her wanting to say more. I can't believe she's let go as much as she already did; this is rare. Rare and coveted, in my case. I would love to talk to her like this, but I have no idea how. Sometimes, I look at her and see a carbon copy of her mother - they get angry the same way and experience joy as twins. But other times, I look at her and see a complete stranger. Someone made from my blood who I don't have a chance of recognizing.

"I want you to play it again," Athena says, surprising me. Her voice is so quiet, I strain to hear it. "The pretty music. The pretty song you did."

Pretty music. The phrase hasn't been lost but saved and lent to someone else. Someone who, in her eyes, must deserve it. "You want me to play?" April asks, sounding as shocked as I feel. That was the last thing I expected Athena to request. If anything, I pictured her getting angry and ordering April never to touch the piano again. I was ready to step in if that happened, but now I can let a bit of my guard down since Athena apparently has.

"That same song," Athena says. "Play it." There's a pocket of silence before she follows up with, "Please."

I hear a shift of movement as they get up from the couch and I stand there speechless, dumbfounded that this is actually happening. I'm not sure how I feel about Athena craving the sound of the piano played by a woman who isn't her mother. Though I know there's nothing logically wrong, something about the concept feels out of place. I don't make a move to prevent it from happening, though; I won't go that far. What I'll do is stand here and wait for it to transpire, since I have no clear idea how it will turn out.

"It's called Ballade," I hear April say, and the position of her voice has changed now that she's closer - at the piano. I hear the lid come open and the air changes, almost like the piano has inhaled. "It's by a composer named Claude Debussy. He's from France, and he's probably my favorite."

"Okay," Athena says. "Can you play it now?"

"Sure," April says, then starts to play as if it's nothing. It comes so naturally, it's otherworldly to hear. I take a deep breath and hold it, chest tightening, eyes burning. The idea of the piano being played again after all these years was a nice image, but the actual event is almost too much for me to handle. It doesn't feel like Myla out there playing while I cook dinner, it feels like a new being entirely - it is. April has encouraged a different strain of life into this house through the notes she's playing; there's no denying it while hearing them.

The way she plays is expressive and human - not like someone plunking out sound on a keyboard but someone who experiences every emotion through the music itself. I can see a story in my head through the way she plays, because of what she paints, so real that it practically stands before me.

Though the song is long, it ends much too soon, and I'm jolted back from the world I'd been transported into. April and Athena's conversation is quiet now and drawn-out; they speak in such low tones that I can't hear a word of their exchange. Instead, I hear the song being played again in slightly a different way, but it's still discernible as the same. Something about it has changed, though, something I can't put my finger on.

"Oh, my god," I hear April say, interrupting the occurring notes. "Oh, my god…" I frown and stand up straighter, wondering what's wrong. "Oh, my god, Athena. Oh, my god!" The creases on my forehead deepen as the song stops and April's voice continues. "Have you… have you played that before?"

"No," Athena says, sounding confused. "I don't know that song."

"Do you take lessons?" April asks, and I'm still puzzled. Of course she doesn't - I've debated it, but never had the time or inclination. "How did you do that, then? How did you do that?"

"I don't know," Athena's small voice says, and I can tell she's being genuine. There's a specific depth to her tone that isn't often present. "I just... did it."

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps thunders through the hall and April stands in the kitchen, wide-eyed and frazzled. Her mouth is gaping, face flushed - I still have no idea what's going on. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing… nothing's wrong," she says, then looks down the hallway she just came from. "Nothing at all. Something is incredible, though." She locks eyes with me and smiles breathily, wearing an expression that lights up her face. "Your daughter is a prodigy."

"My daughter is a what?" I say dumbly.

"Didn't you hear that, just now?"

"I heard you playing, yes. It was beautiful."

"Not me," April says, deflecting with a wave of her hand and a frown. "Her. The second time through. That was her."

"That can't be," I say, taking a few steps closer. "Athena," I call.

"I promise you," April says, taking my wrist to tug me towards the piano. I stare at the contact - the place where her hand has wrapped around my arm is tingling and sending shockwaves up to my shoulder, her touch is that powerful. "It was her. I promise you! She played Debussy with no experience." She stops in her tracks and turns to face me. "Do you know how hard that song is? Do you know how many years it took me to sound like she just made it sound?" She throws her arms up. "You don't just sit down one day and play Ballade!"

I'm still at a loss. Now, we're standing near the piano and it seems boastful, oozing with pride at the talent it unearthed. Athena sits at the bench, seemingly waiting for instruction. She's watching April's every move. She's smiling, just a bit, as she looks up at her. "Okay," I say, trying to make sense of this as I look at my daughter. "Honey, play it again," I say. "Play it so I can hear."

In a split second, the tiny smile on her face drops to the stony scowl I'm used to. She stares at the keys, fingers draped over them, and simply says, "No."

"No?" April says, speaking first.

"I just want to see what you can do," I say. "If it makes you feel better, I won't look. I'll turn around."

"I don't want to," she grumbles.

April walks closer to the bench, closer to Athena, while keeping her eyes on my face. "It was amazing," she insists, as if she's trying to convince me. Now, I wish I could go back in time and listen better, listen to the second run of the song while knowing it was my daughter playing. I wasn't listening closely enough. I didn't hear everything I should have. Athena looks up at her nanny and lets April cup her face, grinning as she says, "You are amazing."

I can't remember the last time Athena let someone - anyone - touch her like that in such an affectionate way. She soaks it up with April, soaks up that praise, and I feel a lump in my throat. How long has she been waiting for validation? How long have I been depriving her of it?

Interrupting the moment, the doorbell rings and makes us all jump. "Oh," I say, heading towards the door. "That would be the pizza."

"Pizza?" Athena says. "Pizza!" She hurries over to help me greet the delivery person, then tugs on my sleeve. "I want April to stay," she says quietly, like she's nervous that April might hear.

"Honey, she doesn't wanna do that," I say, paying the young girl at the door.

"But I want her to," Athena presses, then turns around and speaks with a louder voice. "Can you stay and eat with us, April?" she asks.

Judging by her expression, April is just as shocked as I am by the proposal. "Sure," she says. "As long as it's okay with…"

"It's fine by me," I say, bringing the pizza box inside. "I just don't want you to feel obligated."

"Oh no, I don't," she says. "I'll get plates."

It's a strange and refreshing feeling, sitting at the dinner table with a third person. We don't do much talking at first - I'm not sure what to say. Bringing up the topic of the piano doesn't seem allowed, as it's so fresh and Athena clearly didn't want to share it with me. I hope she'll change her mind on that, but for now I won't force it. "Tell Daddy about that one guy," Athena prompts after her first piece of pizza, tapping April on the forearm. "The guy who's your favorite."

"Oh, Debussy," April says, smiling a bit bashfully. "Well, he probably already knows about him."

"I don't, actually," I say, setting down a piece of crust. "I'd love to hear."

"Oh," she says, clearly surprised. "Well… um, he was French."

"His name is Claude," Athena cuts in, smiling at April and waiting for approval.

"Yep, his name was Claude," April continues. "He actually began piano lessons at age 7…" She looks to Athena and raises her eyebrows.

My daughter jolts upwards in her chair, more animated than I've seen her in a long time. "I'm 7!" she exclaims.

"I know," April says warmly.

"What else did he do?"

Before April can answer the question, my phone rings from inside my pocket and attracts everyone's attention. I pull it out to see that it's Heather, and due to the proposals I heard today, I can't let it go to voicemail. "Sorry," I say, standing. "Gotta take this. You guys keep eating."

I talk to Heather for a while about what the representative thought of the team's pitch - I don't realize how long the conversation has been going until I see April cleaning up and boxing up the pizza leftovers.

"You don't have to," I mouth, one hand to the bottom of the phone while Heather continues to talk.

"It's fine," April says, shrugging me off as she continues.

When I finally hang up, I breeze back into the dining room. "Now, what we were we saying about Claude?" I ask, but the table is empty. I'm speaking to no one. The question was meant for Athena because I imagined she'd still be sitting at the table, but she's not. "Thena?" I call out.

April brushes past me as she heads towards the front door. "Piano," she says.

When I look around the table and towards the instrument, I see Athena has made a home under it. With her legs tucked to her chest and her chin resting on her knees, her face is turned away from me. All I can see is the back of her curly hair and thin arms wrapped around her shins. "Oh," I say, then look up to see April gathering her things and putting her coat on. "Are you heading out? Thanks for staying and eating with us."

"With Athena, you mean," she murmurs, turned away as she adjusts her bag.

I sigh a little, feeling guilty. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. We're closing on a big project right now and it's hard to get away."

She raises her head and meets my eyes dead-on, ferocity laden in hers. "She was trying to talk to you," she says, eyebrows lowered and jaw tight. "She wanted to tell you about something important to her. By taking that phone call, you told her that you don't care."

"Hey," I say, taken aback. "Of course I care."

"Show her, then," April says, fire behind her words. "Because she doesn't see it. Honestly, neither do I."

I stand there for a moment with my lips parted, trying to think of something to say in my defense. I can't come up with anything, though, probably because she's right. In my heart of hearts, I know I don't have a leg to stand on. "I'm trying," I say weakly.

She hitches her bag higher and puts her hand on the doorknob, never breaking from my eyes. "Are you?" she says, then shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I gotta go." She lifts her chin a bit to look around me. "Bye, Athena. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye," my daughter mumbles quietly, sadly.

April shuts the door and I'm left standing in the aftershocks of her anger. The dose of reality doesn't taste good, especially not having come from her. I don't want her to think poorly of me, but I respect the fact that she said what she did. It's not that I haven't been told as much before, but it hit harder coming from her. There's not a single other nanny in the world who would be so upfront. Most are intimidated by my presence alone, but she's not. It's not what I'm used to, but it's a breath of fresh air. It's something that makes me want to keep her around. It's obvious she brings something to our house, to our family, that we've never had.

I think about April and what she said for the rest of the night. While I'm awake, her words ring through my mind. And while I'm asleep, I dream about a redhead.

…

The following weekend, my mother, father, sister and her kids are over at our house for dinner. We've just finished and are sitting around the table talking - everyone except Maggie's kids, that is, who have gone to play in the basement. Athena sits in her usual spot, though, swinging her legs as she passes the time. It seems like she doesn't want to be here but can't think of anyplace better.

"We discovered something with Athena the other day," I say, broaching the topic without asking first. My daughter's head jerks up, meeting my eyes with indignance. She tightens her lips and glowers, but I don't see a reason not to share the news. Even if I haven't witnessed it firsthand, I don't have a reason not to believe April. "Turns out, she's pretty gifted at the piano."

"Oh, really," my mother says, folding her hands as she faces her granddaughter. "Well, isn't that lovely! I was wondering when you would find your passion, little one. What can you play?" Athena doesn't answer, which prompts my mother to keep talking. "Twinkle, Twinkle? Hot Cross Buns?"

Athena looks back to her lap and frowns deeper, intertwining her fingers and pressing them together. "Baby songs," she mumbles.

"What do you like to play, then?" my father asks. "You know, I know a lot about the piano. I'm the boss of all the people who play in the big restaurant you love!"

Athena just shrugs, refusing to disclose the song. If she won't, I will. "Apparently, she played Ballade by Debussy the other day. After hearing it just once," I say.

"No way," Maggie says, eyes big and round. "That's amazing. Seriously! I have to see this."

"It would make my day," my mother says.

"What do you say, Thena?" I prompt, nudging her arm. "Will you play for them?"

She chews the inside of her cheek for a long time, blinking steadily at her moving knees. Then, finally, she gives a little shake of her head and crosses her arms over her chest. "No," she says. "I only play for April."