APRIL

My entire body freezes; I don't move a muscle. Even if I were capable, I wouldn't. I stay still, watching Jackson's face with wide eyes, wondering what he'll say. Wondering what he possibly could say. My heart is pounding and every second that passes lasts an hour.

"Um," he stammers, sitting up. "Yeah."

My face screws up in confusion, mouth gaping. I smack him in the side just as Athena asks, "Really?"

"I mean, no," he amends, running a palm down his face. "No, baby, no. It's not."

"Who is it?" she asks. "I see someone in there with you."

Seeing no other way out, I decide to take the plunge and sit up, too, holding the covers against my chest. I look her in the eyes and she stares back with fire in hers, ice-cold confusion rippling beneath. "Athena, please listen," I begin, but she doesn't let me finish.

"April?" she says, voice holding raw emotion. "Daddy, what is my April doing in your bed?"

"Baby, calm down," he says. "Listen. Sometimes, adults do things that kids don't understand-"

"Why are you naked?" she shrills, eyes darting between us as her chest heaves with exertion. "You're not wearing anything! Why?"

"Athena," Jackson says. "Listen. Daddy has been lonely for a long time, and April-"

"You have me!" she says. "You aren't lonely. She can't sleep there!" Then, she looks to me. "You have your own house and your own bed. Why are you here?"

"Hey," Jackson cuts in.

"You're not her boss!" Athena says. "She's my April. You're stealing her! You always take everything. I don't have a single person now!"

"He didn't take me," I cut in. "Thena, we can be just as close as we were before."

"No, we can't," she says, crying now. "I don't want you anymore. I don't want you now because Daddy has you." She bunches her fists and starts to shake, which is something I've never seen her do. "You're sleeping where my mommy used to sleep. That's not your spot."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Jackson says.

"Yes, I do," I say. "She's confused, I-"

"No, I'm not!" Athena shouts. "You won't be my mommy no matter where you sleep! No matter if you're naked with my daddy or play the piano! I don't want you!"

My heart sinks and my chin instantly begins to tremble. I look away and let the first tear slip out, rolling down my cheek to disappear under my jaw. "Athena," Jackson says. "You don't mean that. Stop it. We can talk through this."

"I don't want to hear a single thing you say," she says, shoving the open door so it slams against the wall. "I wished for Mommy to come back for my birthday! I didn't wish for this!"

She turns on her heel and storms out of the room, and Jackson gets up to follow after putting a shirt on. I gather what I had on before I donned his pajamas, then bite the inside of my cheek so I don't start sobbing. I walk in the direction of the stairs and see Athena has locked herself in her bedroom. "Thena," Jackson says, crouched at the door. "Open up. Let's talk."

"No," I hear through the door. "Leave me alone forever."

I cap a hand over the banister and look over my shoulder, heart splintering. "Jackson, I should go," I say, voice cracking.

"I… yeah," he says, then sees that I'm crying. "Hey," he says, jiggling Athena's locked door handle once more before walking to me. "Hey, no… baby, don't cry."

"Don't worry about me," I say, wiping insistently at my face. "She needs you. This shouldn't have… this was wrong. She shouldn't have seen that."

"I can explain it to her," he says. "We'll get through this."

I shake my head. "No," I say. "We hurt her. I really hurt her, Jackson, and I don't feel good about it. I can't stay."

"Okay," he says unsurely. "Okay… see you tomorrow, then? Monday pickup?"

My features crumple as I shake my head yet again, tears falling more rapidly now. "No," I say, the word wobbling as it comes out. "I don't think so."

"April, what?" he says incredulously. "What do you mean, no?"

"She doesn't want me," I say. "I wouldn't, either, if I had to find out what she found out in the way she did."

"She doesn't know what she's saying," he says. "She's 7." He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "8. I mean 8. She'll warm up to it."

"She shouldn't have to," I say. "You need to put her first. I don't want you to worry about me, and she doesn't either. I have to go."

"I don't want you to," he says, desperate and sad. "I don't want you to go. April, Jesus, please don't do this. We were just talking about how much you've changed her. And not only her, but me, too. Please, don't just walk away."

"I can't stay knowing that I'm hurting her. I just can't," I say.

"April," he says.

"No," I reply, heading down the stairs.

"April," he calls after me, but I don't turn around. I slip into my shoes, zip up my coat, then leave with tears running down my face. I wait on the sidewalk for an Uber, and once I'm inside I double over and cry into my open palms.

…

Lying in bed the next morning, the first person I want to talk to is Jackson. I don't have any missed calls or texts from him, though, so it seems he's taking what I said seriously. I can't tell if that's what I want or if I want the complete opposite. At the moment, neither make sense and my mind is an unhappy, awful place to be. But unfortunately, I can't get away.

If I can't talk to Jackson, the next person I want is Steph. She seems even further, though, even more untouchable. I don't even know where I'd begin with her. Once again, I'd just be running to her with my problems instead of addressing hers. So, she's off the table. I can't think about her because I'll only get sadder. I don't know what will fix our disjointed friendship or if anything can at this point. I've never felt more like an island.

In times like these, I wish my mom was around. I have a feeling she would know what to do – or at least, know how to make me feel better. This morning, I allow the feeling of missing her to hurt.

I call off work at Uncommon Ground, giving up the brunch shift that I desperately needed. I took one look in the mirror after waking up and knew that there was no way I could look presentable by 10. My hair is a wreck, there are dark bags under my eyes, and my face is swollen from crying. So, I retire to bed and continue to cry even after I run out of tissues and energy. Somehow, the tears still come.

Around midday, I pull out the notebook that Jackson gave me what feels like forever ago. I flip through the pages, coming across 'Honey - Kehlani' that I wrote in loopy script when I was first swept up in him. I handed my heart over that night. I turn the page quickly to get away from it, to see 'Vincent - Don McLean,' and that only reminds me of Athena. The sweet sadness of the song is an encapsulation of her heart - at least, the way I see it. And I just made it all the more blue.

I play the song and lie on my back, tears slipping into my ears. I picture Athena's face, smiling after learning a new piece. Who will teach her now? Will she keep playing or will she give it up out of obstinance? Though I propelled the idea, I don't like the image of her sitting alongside a different teacher on the bench. I don't want someone else to take that spot, someone more talented and skilled than I am. It doesn't seem right. They don't know her like I do. They won't love her like I do.

But I have to give her up. I have to give both of them up, so they won't do the same for each other. I won't put my heart above a child's or her father's. The two of them need each other and will for the rest of their lives. They lost someone whom I never knew, and it's not my place to govern how they move on. For a while, I thought I was helping. Maybe, I was. But as soon as that changed - and it very much did - their home was no longer mine to share.

…

Though I don't go to work that day, when nightfall comes and I'm still in my pajamas, I'm rotting from the inside out. There's a tight feeling in my chest that I know The Whistler will make disappear, so I force myself to sit up and put together a small set list. I can only hope there's a spot open, but even if there isn't, listening should be enough. I just can't lay here and stare at the walls anymore.

I make an effort and put on my leggings with a sequined shirt, then spend time in the mirror putting on makeup and curling my hair. I sit on the closed toilet lid once I'm put together, elbows on my knees, and soak in the silence of the apartment. I miss getting ready with Steph and singing the songs we were about to perform; I miss laughing my ass off with her; I miss everything in general. I want my best friend back, but I have no idea how to make it happen. At least, not right now.

I don't let myself sit for long before slipping on boots and heading out the door. I don't allow my mind to wander before arriving at the bar, and when I do, Owen greets me with open arms. "Baby!" he cheers, wrapping me in a tight hug. "Good god, it's been fuckin' years. Where have you been? You look skinny. Tonight, you're eating a burger."

"Okay," I say, smiling weakly.

"A huge one. With everything on it."

"Alright," I say.

"I cleared you a spot," he says. "Soon as I saw that face. You're up in five."

"Thanks, Owen," I say. "I really need it."

"I know, honey," he says, squeezing my wrist. "Go show us your heart."

As I wait backstage, thoughts that haven't been in my mind for ages make themselves known. It's not unheard of for indie record labels to come watch performers here - there have even been rumors about people being signed in the past. Stories like that are what made me start frequenting this place, but I haven't had the same luck. But maybe, since everything else is so awful, I deserve to have some part of the universe on my side.

"You know her, you love her - please welcome, the one we raised all on our own, April Skye!"

I smile softly under the lights tonight instead of big and brash. My vibrant personality doesn't shine because my heart isn't in its normal place, but I hope I can still give a worthwhile performance. "Hi," I say, leaning into the mic. "I know it's been a while."

"We missed you!" someone shouts from the audience.

I giggle a little. "Missed you, too," I say. "Tonight, I'm gonna sing three songs. The first is When I Look at You by Miley Cyrus." I force my lips into a smile, though I don't quite mean it. I wait for the intro to pass, then take a deep breath before starting. "Everybody needs inspiration… everybody needs a song, a beautiful melody when the night's so long. 'Cause there is no guarantee that this life is easy… yeah, when my world is falling apart, when there's no light to break up the dark that's when I… I… I look at you." I furrow my eyebrows and do my best to ignore the lump in my throat. I try to inhale for the next verse, but the breath comes short and I can't reach the note. Instead, with red cheeks, I shake my head and mutter, "I'm sorry," before rushing off the stage wiping my eyes. I shouldn't have come tonight. I wasn't ready.

"Honey!" Owen says, catching my attention as I make my way to the door.

"I'm not hungry," I say, sniffling. "Next time, I promise."

"Forget about the burger," he says. "There's someone asking for you."

I look up and brush hair out of my eyes, feeling so wounded already. The first place my mind jumps is Jackson, and I don't know if I really want it to be him or if I really, really don't. "Who?" I ask.

He nods down the bar and I see the back of a blonde ponytail. On cue, Izzie turns around wearing a soft expression, but I stay rooted in place. "Hey," she says. "Before you say anything, I'm not stalking you."

"Aaaaand I'm outta here," Owen says, disappearing.

"I've been coming here lately," she says. "I knew that you used to sing here, but I didn't know if you did anymore. I didn't come for you. You just… happened to be here."

"And you just happened to be here," I say, blinking hard to force the tears away.

"Can we talk?" she asks.

I sigh, shoulders deflating. "I don't know," I say.

"It won't be like last time," she says. "I want to apologize for that."

"Well, it wasn't just you," I grumble, still standing.

"I want to smooth things over," she says. "We haven't been able to do that, and it doesn't feel right. I think that's why I still think about you so much."

I frown. "You think about me?"

"I already told you that," she says. "You said the same thing."

I nod. I guess I did. But after everything that's happened with Jackson and Athena, she hasn't been on the forefront of my mind. I wouldn't have guessed she'd be so easy to forget when something bigger came up. "Okay," I say. "Sure. Let's talk. Owen," I say, finding a barstool. "Can I have that burger now?"

When it comes, I cut it and give one half to Izzie, who shares the plate with me. "You sounded great," she says, chewing. "Why'd you stop?"

"Uh, because I looked like an ass?" I say. "It was making me cry."

"Why?"

"I'm going through a lot right now," I say, keeping a bite of burger in the pocket of one cheek.

"Through what?"

I plunk an elbow down on the bar and gesture with the burger I have left. "You name it. How I feel about you. How Steph feels about me. Leaving Jackson. Breaking his daughter's heart. The list goes on."

"Christ," she says.

"Yeah," I say.

"Well…" she begins. "If it helps, I am sorry for kissing you in Starbucks. Or perpetuating it, or… or whatever I did. It shouldn't have happened. We're done, me and you."

"Yeah," I say. "I know. I'm sorry, too. I already talked to Jackson about it."

"You did?"

I nod. "We talked about the virginity thing, too. And what it means for me, being bi. He was cool about it." My nose tingles and I press my eyes shut tight. Thinking about him only makes me sad; I can't help but remember the conversation we had on the couch. It was so intimate, being with him.

"I'm glad," Izzie says. "Because, well, me and Alexis, we broke up."

"Your girlfriend?" I ask, eyes wide. "Why?"

She shrugs. "Because we talked about it, too. And I was honest when I told her that I'm not over you and I still have feelings left. She went through my phone and saw that your contact name was 'Baby A' and didn't like that. It turned into this whole huge argument and… yeah, it's probably a good thing. I'll find someone better."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Yeah," she says. "I don't know. It wasn't that serious."

"Okay," I say. "You know, I'm confused, too. I still have a lot of feelings. I remember all that great stuff that we did, all these amazing things you made me feel. I really loved you, Biz. I actually probably still love you, but I'm not in love, if that makes sense." I shake my head. "I've been trying to make sense of it. It's not really working."

"No, of course you're not in love with me," she says, softly smiling. "You're in love with him."

"Him?" I repeat, blinking incredulously. "Him, you mean Jackson?" She nods. "No. We never said we loved each other."

"It doesn't matter," she says. "You're conveniently forgetting that I know what you look like when you're in love. You're broken over him, you want him back. He made you happy."

Now, I plant both elbows on the bar and rest my face in my hands. "I don't know," I say. "Why does it matter? Everything is ruined anyway. His daughter found us in bed and had a fit. I'm really close with her, she's so important to me… and she was upset because she thought I was trying to replace her mom. Her mom who's dead."

"Oh," Izzie says.

"Yeah," I say. "And I know how that feels. It feels like shit, watching the rest of the world move on. It's like, you can't understand how life can continue so easily when you've lost someone so big. I don't wanna be the person who breaks her heart. That's why I left."

"You left?" she says. "What? Why?"

"I just said," I say. "I don't want to make it seem like I'm filling a void."

"But you are," she says. "You're not replacing her mom, but you are filling a void. I can only imagine how much you've done. You're great with kids. My nieces still talk about you."

"I don't know," I say sadly. "That's why I started crying onstage. I really wanted it to work, but I don't want to hurt them. Hurt her, I mean."

She thinks for a long moment while eating a few fries. "You know who would know something about how to treat a little girl who lost her mother?" she asks. I shake my head and she points a fry at me. "Your dad."

"My dad?" I say, eyebrows up.

"What, you think he didn't deal with his fair share of hardships when you were little?" she says. "From the stories you told me, you weren't exactly a walk in the park."

"No, no, he did… I…" I sigh. "He just doesn't know about… them. That I was a nanny, or that I sing here or play the piano at Uncommon Ground." I close my eyes with shame. "I told him I work at the hospital."

"Oh," she says. "Why?"

"Because," I say emphatically. "That's what he wanted. And he always said my mom would be so proud of me for it, and…"

"Don't you think she'd be proud of you now?" Izzie says. "You've made a life for yourself. You get up in front of people and perform every day. You're beautiful, you're smart, you take care of others…" She takes my hand benignly, like a friend. Like someone who knows me and knows my heart. I look up from our linked fingers and meet her eyes, mine watering with emotion again. "You should tell him the truth," she says seriously, stroking my skin. "He deserves to know."

…

"Sugar!"

The hug my dad gives me is nearly suffocating when I show up the following Saturday morning. I'd called in the middle of the week and asked to see him, and he jumped at the chance. It's been too long, I admit, and seeing him is a comfort. "Hi, Daddy," I say, closing my eyes to breathe in his familiar scent.

"Come in, come in," he says, ushering me inside before closing the door. "You're gorgeous. You are absolutely gorgeous. I hope you're hungry, because I'm starved. Let's eat."

"Alright," I say, smiling as I follow him.

"How've you been?" he asks, opening the fridge. "You haven't called in a while, so I'm guessing you've been busy. I bet they work you hard at the hospital."

I widen my eyes and blink hard, staring at the granite countertop under my hands. I hadn't expected to launch into everything right off the bat, but he hasn't given me much choice. "Uh, dad," I say.

"Uh-oh," he chuckles. "What's up?" He turns around with a blanched expression. "Are you pregnant?"

"I'm not - no, Dad," I say, waving one hand. "I came to talk in person because… well, it's serious. And I'm hoping you'll hear me out after I tell you the first thing."

"You're scaring me, sugar."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "So, I'm just gonna say it. I don't work at a hospital. I never did. I made it up."

I close my eyes and wait for his reaction, which I've been dreading. He's quiet at first, but his eyes soon turn confused. "You don't?" he asks, setting the bag of lunch meat down. "Why'd you lie?"

"I don't know," I sigh. "Because you paid for my degree. It's what you really wanted me to do. But I just can't. I worked my ass off in school and thought I could fake my way through a career, but I couldn't. I tried, but I failed."

I rest my face in my hands and start to cry for probably the millionth time this week. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps and feel his hand on my back, right in the middle. "You didn't fail, sugar," he says. "I wish you hadn't lied, but you didn't fail."

I lift up and don't bother to wipe the moisture off my face. "I did, though," I sob. "I disappointed you and I know it would disappoint Mom. You've always told me how proud she'd be, and I wasn't doing what I said I was. I'm awful."

"Hey," he says, thumbing my tears away. "You are not awful. I don't want to hear you say that and she wouldn't, either. She would've had a damn fit." I smile weakly and he holds the side of my face with one hand. "You know something," he says.

"What?" I peep.

He laughs to himself, shaking his head. "We have about two hundred videos of you as a baby. All down in the basement somewhere, in a box. Each one labeled with the date and year, how old you were, all the details," he says. "So, you watch these videos and expect to see something special, right, like your first steps. Your first word. Your first day of school." I nod and he smiles. "But no. You pop in a tape and it's just you - this fat little baby - sitting on the living room floor with a plastic spoon in your mouth. Staring at nothing. Hair a mess. Pop in another one, there you are in the high-chair, spaghetti on your face, eating dinner. Another one, there you are drawing about ten thousand circles with a blue crayon." He touches my chin and meets my eyes pointedly. "Your mom took those videos because she loved every single thing you did. Every damn breath, she was impressed. She was proud of you for waking up in the morning and made sure everyone knew it. So, no matter what you're doing in this life, she's watching you and saying, 'that's my baby.' And she's tapping the angels around her and saying, 'did you see what my baby did? Do you see how amazing she is?'" He laughs softly, shaking his head again. "That's just the way she was. She loved you more than she knew what to do with. She'd be proud of you for any damn thing you're doing, baby. Anything."

Through a hiccupping sob, I say, "I'm singing."

"Singing?" he says, sitting next to me. "Is that right?"

I nod. "And playing the piano at a restaurant."

"Playing piano," he says, impressed. "Of course. My Mozart."

"And I was a nanny," I say. "To the most complicated little girl."

"Oh, yeah?" he says. "Why's that in past tense?"

I take a deep breath and decide to tell him everything. I might as well; I'll feel better after doing so. I want to be closer, more honest with him. He didn't have to be so accepting to the lie I've been riding for months; he didn't have to comfort me with the warm quilt of memories he crafted of Mom in just a few sentences. But he did, because he's my dad. He deserves the truth now.

"I hurt her," I say once the story comes to a close. "And that's the last thing I wanted to do, but I don't know how to fix it or if I even should." I pause. "I miss them, though. I… I had something with him, with Jackson. I don't want to give it up, but if it'll break her heart in the process, I can't go back. I don't know what to do."

He takes his time thinking over what I've said, letting the story ruminate before jumping to conclusions. "When you were 7, right after it happened," he says. "It was hard. A hard time for both of us in very different ways. We were both hurting, so we had a hard time connecting with each other. We both wanted her, that's what it came down to, and we couldn't have her." His eyes are warm and his chin quivers - even after 17 years, her death stings. "But you kept thinking you saw her around every corner. You ran up to every other red-haired woman and threw your arms around her, called her 'mama.' Scared the shit out of 'em, I assume. That went on for about three solid months. I didn't have the heart to stop you. At the time, I didn't know what I could say to make it better." He stops, sniffles, and regroups to keep going. "But around that same age, when your Aunt Kathy tried to come help us, stay for a few weeks, you wouldn't so much as look at her. You spewed those same horrible things Athena spewed at you - you couldn't stand her presence. You thought she was coming to take your mom's place, and you wouldn't hear otherwise. You were bent on hating her. You wanted that mother figure - the gravitation to every redhead in a thirty-mile radius told me that - but when one came close, it scared you. Because what would happen when you started to love her? Would the feelings for your mom go away - the good and sad? How was there room in your heart for two?"

"I love Aunt Kathy now, though," I say. "I can't remember that."

"You were young," he says. "And that's exactly my point. It took you a long time. You resented her for reasons you didn't know how to put into words, but she was so patient. She had lost a sister, but rebuilding your heart was what mattered. Because, I think, in helping patch yours up, she patched hers, too." He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, saying, "Maybe you and Athena aren't so different."

"Maybe not," I say. "I just… I had no idea, I guess."

"If you want to stay in her life, you have to make an effort," he says. "She's the child. You're the adult. Be honest. Tell her what role you play and who you'll always leave a space for. She might not understand now, but if you're in it for the long haul, she will someday." He gives me a hug and I let it linger, forehead resting on his shoulder. "Take a look at what you lost," he says, patting my back. "You didn't turn out too bad, did you?"

…

I have to pick up extra shifts at Uncommon Ground because of my low income, which means I'm here all day. Especially on weekends, when brunch and dinner hours are busier, my fingers are sore and cramping by the end of the night.

Tonight, so far, is like any other. I'm sitting at the piano in the same stuffy suit, playing a variation of What A Wonderful World while getting lost in my head. I've let my dad's advice simmer all week, mixing with what Izzie said, too. No one has contacted me, and I haven't contacted anyone, but time alone hasn't been detrimental. I actually might have needed it to get my brain back on track. I don't know what my next move is, but I'll figure it out eventually.

I'm on autopilot when a familiar face catches my eye from across the room, and I come back into focus to see Jackson and Athena walking towards the best table - the one with a view, by the window. Richard is seating them; of course, they're here. I bet they come a lot, I just never noticed. My stomach sinks and I cement my eyes onto the ivories, determined not to make myself known.

I can't resist, though. After I finish the song and move onto something I could play in my sleep, I steal a glance at their table to find them sitting in silence, not even looking at each other. Athena has her eyes out the window, legs swinging, and Jackson is studying the open menu open in front of him. I close my eyes and shake my head; the divide has grown back tenfold. Not only can I see it, I can feel it, too.

I send my concentration back to the piano and keep it there, playing through today's set list with a robotic feel that normally isn't there. I'll get my groove back eventually, at least I hope I will, but today isn't that day.

I wonder if they know I'm here. I wonder if that's why they came. If that's the case, why hasn't Jackson acknowledged me? He didn't want me to leave the other night. That was my choice. I don't think he's upset with me – but how should I know? He hasn't called. He hasn't reached out in any form. Maybe he is angry. I might be, if I were in his shoes, given how easily I walked out after promising Athena so much. Maybe it was an awful thing to do.

I can't stop with all the maybes. They take over every thought. And even though what I wanted most was to see their faces, I only find relief once they leave. As they walk out, neither of them looks my way. I can't help but wonder if it's purposeful.

…

The first night the pair of them showed up at Uncommon Ground, I could chalk it up to happenstance. The second night – coincidence. But the third time, I know it's not. I know something is going on, but I have no idea what. And I have no idea how to find out, either.

I tell myself that it's not my job. If Jackson wants to keep showing up with Athena at a place he knows I work, he obviously wants to make something happen so it's up to him to do so. The ball is in his court, and what I need to do is stop thinking about it. Of course, that's easier said than done with the two of them less than twenty feet away. Because of that, I can barely think straight at all. What clouds my mind is the last night we were together – how comfortable it was to be in bed with him; that warm feeling juxtaposed next to the blanched look on Athena's face is enough to send my stomach plummeting to my feet. I wish I could wipe my mind clean.

I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on the music. It's the best I can do right now, find something else to focus on. My job. Making music. Making money.

I don't know how long I zone out for, but I only come back when I hear a clatter and the sound of panic, which makes me stop playing and look up, eyebrows creasing.

"Help!" someone shouts, and when I center on the action, I see the exclamation came from Jackson. "My daughter," he says desperately, and I notice Athena doubled over, hands on her throat.

I don't take time to think. Instead, I get up so fast that the bench topples over and run across the room, pushing people out of the way as I go. "Excuse me," I say, shouldering through to get where I need to be. "Excuse me!"

"April," Jackson says, breathless. His eyes dart everywhere, insanely unsteady. He has no idea what to do. I've never seen him in such a state, showcasing such primal fear.

But I'm steady. I force my heart to calm its beat and remember that I'm trained for this, at least to a certain degree. "I'm a nurse," I say, cutting corners. "What happened?"

"She can't breathe," he says, hands shaking as he reaches towards her.

I look to Athena and she looks back with bugging eyes, hands still in their place. "My throat is big," she says, voice scratchy.

"She can talk, she can breathe," I say, checking off a mental list. Then, I look to her plate. "What's this? What did she eat?"

"Paella," he says.

"What's in it?" I ask.

"Why?" he spews. "April, she can't breathe!"

"What's in it?" I ask again.

"Should I call 911?" someone asks.

"Yes," I say, because even though I know what I'm doing – I'm not a professional. I'm going to need help.

"It's… um, it's… some sort of seafood," Jackson says, gesticulating wildly with his hands. "It's new. Dad!" He calls for Richard, but he's nowhere in sight. "He would know," he says desperately.

"It's an allergy," I say, piecing it together in my mind. I remember being in Bubba Gump with Izzie, eating shellfish for the first time. My throat is big. It's swelling. I can still feel the tightness of it, if I think hard enough. How hot my face was, how helpless it made me feel. I can fix this. "Hold on," I say, then turn around and start running in the direction of the break room.

"Where are you going?" Jackson calls.

"Just hold on!" I grab my purse as fast as I can, then race back out to where Athena is crying silently. Tears stream down her face as it grows more flushed, and her eyes are pinched tightly closed, legs kicking. It's getting worse. "I have a shellfish allergy," I say, digging through my bag and tossing stray items to the side. "I carry an EpiPen for it." I look up at Athena once I find it and get it ready without having to look. "Thena, this is gonna hurt. But it'll be over fast, alright?"

Without waiting for a response, I jab the needle into her small thigh and wait for the click. She screams, body tensing, but as soon as she does, I relax. It's done. She has what she needs.

"Good girl," I say, and she opens her wet eyes. "Good, good, good girl," I say, locking on her gaze. "Stay calm. It's me. The ambulance will be here in a second." Her eyes are huge and scared, so I take her hand and hold tight. "Can you breathe?" I ask, and she nods. "Good. That's all we need to worry about right now." I lift my eyes from hers and look to Jackson, who's silently crying. "She's fine," I say, then take his hand as firmly as I have hers.

…

After everything settles down, I'm wired in the waiting room at the hospital. It hadn't been my idea to come with them, but Jackson had insisted in little to no words and I had no choice. The doctors were going through procedures with Athena to make sure she's stable, and I'm waiting for the all-clear to see her.

Still in the Uncommon Ground suit, I wring my hands as I pace back and forth through the rows of chairs. Logically, I know she's fine. I did what I had to do in an emergency situation and primed her perfectly for the paramedics. But the irrational part of my brain, the caretaking part, needs to see her so I can prove as much.

"Are you waiting for Athena Avery?" someone in scrubs asks.

I lift my head quickly. "Yes," I say.

"She's almost asleep, but you can go in and see her," he says. "Down the hall and to your left."

After bidding him a quick thank you, I follow the directions and hurry to Athena's room. Once I reach the door, though, I slow my footsteps and stop to catch my breath before entering - it's so quiet. I don't want to disturb anyone.

"Come in," I hear Jackson say. "April, come in."

I pass through the entryway to see Athena lying on a hospital bed dressed in a baby blue gown, hair tied away from her face, head lolled to one side. She's looking at me with eyes glazed over, but a small smile on her face. There's an IV in her arm, and when she blinks slow, I can tell there's some sort of calming sedative in her system. "Hi," I say, relief coursing through my body.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her voice comes roughly. "You…" she begins, gently holding her throat.

"Hey, hey, don't worry about talking," I say.

"Her voice is just sore, they said," Jackson tells me gently.

"Of course," I say, feeling strangely cordial.

"A…" Athena says, urging out the best part of my name. I look over and she pats the bed next to her, asking a clear question with her eyes.

I look to Jackson for permission. "Do you mind…?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Of course not," he says. Gingerly, I crawl in and cocoon her body with mine. She nestles against me, smaller than ever, and falls asleep almost instantly. After she does, I turn my head to look at Jackson - I felt his eyes on me. "She didn't want me there, but she wants you," he says. "Typical." I laugh humorlessly, stroking Athena's hair with one hand - rhythmic and repetitive so it will soothe her in sleep. "April," he says after a period of silence. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," I say. "Just glad I was there."

"No, I do need to," he presses. "Because if you hadn't…" He frowns deeply and clasps his hands together, letting out a sigh before amending his thought. "Just... thank you."

"Of course."

We spend a long time in silence, the three of us. Athena's heart monitor beeps steadily and there's the rise and fall of her restful breath, but that's it. I don't watch Jackson because I don't want to seem obvious, but I'm dying to know what he's thinking. I'm in danger of falling asleep myself when he speaks next, and it makes me jump because his voice comes so clear and strong.

"April," he says, and I turn to meet his eyes. His are shiny, glazed over with what looks like tears. He inhales deeply and lets it out, never breaking eye contact. "We miss you."