JACKSON

I would never use the adjective 'guarded' to describe April. Even upon first meeting her, she was open, generous with personal information. But right now, as I look at her from across the hospital room, her expression has its walls up. She's wary and unsure, afraid to test the waters. Above everything - 'guarded' - is the word I'd use to describe the way she looks right now.

"We do," I continue, pushing the thought. "We miss you a lot."

Athena and I have barely survived without April in the house to brighten it. We go through the same routine every day - silence filling the space that the fights used to. Athena figured out how to play the 'Classical Favorites' CD on loop, and it plays morning, noon and night. She rises with an alarm and stands with a stony expression while I do her hair. She eats whatever breakfast I place in front of her and goes to the after-school program once school lets out, which is something I never wanted. She gets shoved to the side; there are too many kids to get any individual attention. But without a nanny, I don't have a choice. At the end of the day, I pick her up and order food, after which she gives herself a bath and goes to bed. Each day has been the same. Horribly, awfully identical.

"Jackson…" she says, defeated. "I know. I feel the same, but it's not that easy. The last thing I want is to hurt you. Either of you." She takes a deep breath. "When she walked in and saw me in Myla's spot, that killed me. The way she reacted… it wasn't good. I don't like hurting her, hurting anyone, and I know I did."

"What hurt the most was you leaving," I say truthfully. "This week has been horrible. She's taken so many steps back, she's a shell of who she was. She's wilting without you."

"She was so mad, though," April says. "I thought the best thing I could do was give you both space."

I shake my head. "We need you," I say. "Something is missing without you."

She turns and looks at Athena's sleeping face - my sweet daughter who looks even younger than her 8 years, dwarfed by the bed and the gown. As she lies cuddled against April, it's clear who she doesn't plan on letting go of. Even in sleep, she gravitates towards her. "I miss you guys, too," she says, stroking Athena's hair. "All I could do was think about this face. I didn't want our last words to be in anger."

"No," I say.

"She's so beautiful," April whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Athena's forehead. Then, she looks over her shoulder and locks eyes with me. "I missed you, too, you know," she says. "I missed you a lot."

"I wanted to call," I say. "But I didn't know if that was what you wanted. I wanted to give you time."

"I wanted to give you time," she says.

I chuckle a little. "Well, at least we were on the same page."

"I talked to my dad," she says. "I told him everything. I hadn't been telling him the truth about where I was working, but he knows now. And I talked to him about how the last thing I wanted was to seem like I was replacing Myla." She pauses, still stroking Athena's curls. "He talked to me about how I used to behave at her age, when I lost my mom. He helped me find the line between replacement and fulfillment."

"Good," I say, hopeful. "That's really good."

"It is," she says. "It was really nice to see him." She takes a deep breath. "I don't want to step into Myla's shoes, Jackson. I hope you know that. I know… no one could fill my mom's place. That's my mom, you know. No one else could ever be her. So, to imagine Athena thinking that I assumed I could waltz in and take over for Myla, that ripped me apart. Because I knew exactly how she felt. So," she says. "I hope it's clear that's not what I'm doing."

"So, you want to stay?" I ask.

She blinks, expression pensive. "Being employed by you…" she begins. "I don't think it's a good idea." She meets my eyes with a storm in hers. "I have a lot of feelings for you, Jackson. So, I think coming back to work would be messy. I don't think I can."

"Then don't," I say immediately. Her face morphs into confusion and a smile teases its way onto mine. "Come back as my girlfriend."

She raises her eyebrows and inhales deeply, taking her time before answering. "I want to," she says. "But I want to make sure it's the right decision."

"April, it is," I say.

"For us, yeah, it is," she says, then gestures towards my daughter. "But I'll only feel good once you talk to her about it. When she's feeling better." She sits up, legs hanging off the side of the bed as she faces me. "Will you do that?"

I let out a long exhale, knowing she's right. None of this will work if Athena doesn't understand. "Yeah," I say. "Of course."

She hops off and sets her feet on the floor, directing them towards the door. "I'll give you some time," she says, nodding towards the little sleeping figure. "Just be with her, okay? Your little girl is just fine, right here in front of you. She's gonna be okay. Let her know how you feel. About everything."

"Okay," I say as I walk her towards the exit. "Hey, wait."

"What?" she says, turning around.

Quickly, I grab her waist with one hand and cup her chin with the other, pulling her in to kiss her long and slow. She melts, lips molding against mine perfectly, and sighs as she relaxes fully. She winds her arms around my neck, tilts her head, and stands on her tiptoes to push even nearer. When we pull apart, sparkles dance in her eyes and I know for a fact that I will see her soon. This isn't goodbye, though the kiss was good enough to warrant it. "Get home safe," I tell her.

"I will," she says, one hand in the middle of my chest. "Remember. Talk to her."

"I will," I say. "Thank you for everything, April."

She pulls away, nodding, then says, "Bye."

"Bye," I say, then turn around and close the door to Athena's small, quiet room.

I sit in the same chair, eyes on the bed. She's fast asleep and I assume she'll stay that way for a while. I have plenty to do; my phone is on the table, there's a book in my bag along with documents from work, but I can't tear my eyes from my daughter. I can't force myself to do anything but watch her sleep - there's a certain calming quality that isn't there when she's awake.

When she left, April vacated a substantial part of the bed, and I can't help but notice as I sit in the chair alongside it. I lean forward with my arms overlapping in the space, but I know it isn't enough. April told me to do what feels natural, to give Athena the affection she wants. I've never been confident in doing that, though, because the potential refusal was too much to handle. She's asleep now, though, and I want to be near her. And judging by the way she cuddled close to me a few nights ago, she wants it, too.

So, I slip my shoes off and slide in as carefully as I can, avoiding the IV while jostling her as little as I can. She doesn't wake, the sedatives make sure of that, but she lets out a long sigh after I get comfortable. I rest with my cheek on the top of her head and breathe slowly, my heart matching up with hers, and close my eyes. I don't sleep, though - all I can do is think.

I came close to losing her today, that fact continues to stare me in the face, resting on my shoulder like a demon. It happened in an instant, in the blink of an eye, and once it started there was no stopping it. April, quite literally, saved her life. If she hadn't been there - sure, the ambulance would have arrived, but would it have been too late? Instead of lying next to my daughter as she sleeps, would I instead be grieving an empty bed?

I don't let myself think about it for too long, though, because that didn't happen. April was there. She knew what to do and she did it; that's what matters. The unthinkable didn't occur; I didn't lose Athena. She's right here, tucked close to my side, very much alive.

The prospect is terrifying, though, losing the last tie to Myla. Myla's last tie to the living. The world would be wrong without a piece of her in it, without Athena's heart, and I don't know if I could cope with that. Myla wouldn't have let this happen - April wouldn't have, either. In short, a mother would have been more prepared. Another pair of eyes would have done me some good in the moment, and probably more often than that, too. I've never had the privilege of looking at parenting as a partnership, but it's tempting. Commiserating on problems that sometimes, I can't deal with on my own. As I think about an ideal companion in helping me raise Athena, only one face comes to mind: April's.

Guilt does come along with it, though. My feelings for her are strong and Athena's are, too. But strong feelings for a nanny from a child's point of view are totally different than feelings for a mother. April made it clear she doesn't want to replace Myla and I don't want that, either, but I've made room in my heart. Room enough for her. What I don't know is if Athena will understand the presence of a new person in her life, in our house, who cares about both of us. Not a mother, but similar. It's a difficult line to toe, but I'm sure with conversation and the right steps taken, we could navigate it together. I just need Athena to understand.

Though it would defeat the purpose of worrying about replacement, I have a feeling Myla would know what to do in a situation like this. I knew her well for many years, so well that I swear I can hear her sometimes. Telling me not to eat something, to sleep those five extra minutes, to take the long way home when Athena sings along with the radio. In that way and in many more, maybe April was right. There isn't some great, big nothingness after someone dies. Maybe Myla is somewhere, watching Athena, watching me.

"Is it silly to talk out loud to you?" I ask, and the sound of my voice makes me jump. It comes too loud - as if it doesn't make sense in the room. So, to fit the atmosphere, I lower to a whisper. "I don't even know if you can hear me. I might look like an ass." I laugh to myself. "Or maybe you can hear me, and I look like an ass anyway."

Athena stirs, probably having heard my voice somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain. She doesn't wake, though. She presses her face to my chest and turns on her side, breathing with her mouth open. I kiss her head, lingering for a while, until I think of what else I want to say. What else there is to say. It almost seems too much.

"If you're out there, I'm sorry I haven't talked to you sooner," I say. "I don't know why I didn't. I was scared, maybe. I don't know. But April told Athena that it would help her, to talk to you. So, I suppose it couldn't hurt me." I adjust my legs and close my eyes, trying to conjure up a clear image of Myla. Surprisingly, it's more difficult than I anticipated. I have plenty of photos, but they aren't out anymore. To save Athena and myself the pain, I stored them after she died. A small part of me thinks I should get them back out. "I'm sorry," I say. "I'm not sure for what. For everything I've done wrong with her." I look at Athena's soft face with the graceful features of her mother's. "I know you wouldn't have made all these mistakes." I sigh and caress her cheek slowly, marveling at her baby-smooth skin. "But you know, she's still a great kid. She's resilient, she's smart, and she's talented. You probably already know she's been playing the piano, doing exactly what you hoped. She really is your baby, Myla. I wish she'd gotten to know you. She would love you. She already does, but… you know what I mean. It would be different." I can almost picture her nodding. "We miss you all the time," I say. "I miss you in the weirdest moments – the ones where I need you. When Thena and I are fighting. When I don't understand what's going on in her head. When she doesn't make sense, that's when I miss you the most. Because you'd know how to handle all that so much better than me." I sigh and skim a hand down Athena's arm to hold her hand, running my thumb over four of her small fingers. "I see you in her, though," I say. "Especially when she plays. She lights up like you did. It's amazing to watch. You must be so proud of her. I am." I open my eyes and look at the ceiling almost as if I expect to see her there. I don't, of course, but if I concentrate hard enough, her presence comes close to something palpable. Whether it's my imagination or not, it's comforting all the same. "We'll always miss you," I say. "But something tells me that we're doing okay, and I hope that's alright. I hope it's alright that I'm falling in love again, because I am. With life, honestly," I say, then inhale deeply to finish. "And with April."

…

Athena is quiet and reserved when it comes time to go home. She holds my hand on the way into the house - I'm sure, if it were legal, she would have been in my lap for the ride home. She's perfectly fine, everything working like it should, with the allergens out of her system. I'm glad to have her in one piece, of course, and it's good to see her out of the hospital setting. It was getting unnerving, the sight of her tiny body in the big hospital bed. I was ready to get back home, where she could have her bed, her room, and her piano.

On a normal day, she'd lead the way inside without any tether. But today, she waits for me to step in first and cowers close like we're stepping into strange territory. "Hey," I say, toeing my shoes off as I look down at her. "You okay?" She meets my eyes with a stoic expression. "Aren't you happy we're home?" She nods, but that's all she gives. "Get your shoes off and I'll start on dinner," I say.

I give her hand a squeeze and leave her in the entryway, confident she's capable of removing her own shoes. I take care of my coat, walk into the kitchen, and wash my hands while looking out the far window. I let my mind wander to the conversation that April and I had in the hospital, along with the one-sided talk I had with Myla. Or maybe it wasn't one-sided, I don't know. They've both been on my mind for different reasons; one because of a beginning and one because of an end. And the strange thing is, the beginning made that ending clearer than it's ever been.

"Thena, baby, what do you want to eat?" I call, both sides of the refrigerator open as I look inside. "We have fresh pasta, squash, and I think some leftover Spanish rice. What sounds good?"

I don't get an answer right away. Instead, I hear defined footsteps that tell me she hasn't yet taken off her shoes. And when she appears in the kitchen with Nike sneakers still on, my suspicion is confirmed. "Where's April?" she asks.

I frown, confused. "I thought I told you to take those off," I say, nodding towards her feet. "Go ahead and put them in the closet."

"Where's April, though?" she asks again, not budging.

"Why?" I ask.

She hadn't asked about April upon waking up. Honestly, I'm not sure she even remembers seeing her in the hospital or inviting April to lay with her. When she woke up, she didn't do much speaking except to answer the doctor's questions. So, the fact that she's asking for her catches me off guard. Ever since she caught the two of us in bed, April's name hasn't been mentioned. I tried to explain the situation the morning after, but she wouldn't hear it. We still haven't talked about it, though that isn't a smart move. I'm taking the easy way out. I felt there was no other choice, as I was still analyzing my own feelings and April's, but I'm realizing now that it was selfish. I didn't put Athena first and it was unfair to expect more of her 8 years. Standing here looking at her, I'm riddled with guilt. I shouldn't ask why she's asking for April - of course, she is. Not long ago, she called April her best friend. And now, after a big, loud argument and a walkout in the middle of the night, April has stayed gone.

"Because April makes dinner at home," she says, fingers wrapping around the edge of the island.

April hasn't made dinner all week since she's been absent, obviously. But I assume the routine was something of a comfort to my daughter, whose life had been founded on instability before the redhead stepped into it. So, she doesn't only miss the person, but the dependability. I miss that about April, too. I wish she were here, too, helping with dinner. I love the way she smiles as she cooks, how she jokes with her back turned as she tends to the stove. I love how she weaves Athena into the conversation like it's nothing, including her as she should be. April makes it look so easy. I wonder if I'll always be this jealous of her ability to glide into a situation and make it her own.

"She does, doesn't she," I say, turning away from the fridge to look at my daughter. She nods and I sigh. "Baby, I was hoping to talk to you about her. About April."

Athena looks at me warily, wondering what'll come out of my mouth next. She drops one hand from the island and wrinkles her brow, deducing whether or not she'll entertain this conversation. "Is she coming over?" she asks.

"No," I say. "Not tonight. But we should talk about what you saw last week and how it made you feel, and… where we're going from here." She blinks slowly, lips tightening. "I want to start talking to you about this kind of stuff, Thena. I don't wanna keep secrets anymore, okay? I'm gonna be better about sharing my… my thoughts and feelings. Do you think we could both work on that?"

She shrugs and says, "Why is it about April?"

"Because I…" I close my mouth to try and figure out the words. "Let me start from the beginning. You like April a lot. Right?" She nods but breaks eye contact, like she's wondering if she's allowed to like her anymore - after what she saw and how she reacted. Given the fact she hasn't brought it up since it happened tells me she isn't proud of what she did. It's not entirely unwarranted though; we blindsided her. "Well, I like her, too," I say.

"She was my best friend," Athena says. "Before I made her go away."

My chest splinters hearing that. "Hey, no," I say. "You didn't. It was April's choice to leave. You didn't make anyone do anything."

"I yelled at her," she murmurs.

"Because you were confused," I say. "You were confused, wondering why Daddy and April were sleeping in the same bed together, like moms and dads do. Right? That bothered you?"

She nods, lower lip jutting out. "You were stealing her," she says. "She liked you better than me."

"That's impossible, I promise," I say, kneeling so I'm able to look in her pretty brown eyes. "April loves you so much, it's crazy."

"She said that?" Athena says.

"A bunch of times," I say. "I promise, I could never take the spot you have in her heart. You've got such a big seat, I'm not sure how there's room for more." She giggles and I reach to take her hand. "But I wanted to ask you if we could share April." She looks up from our fingers to meet my eyes, confused as she waits for me to finish my thought. "I really like her, too," I say. "She makes me happy in a way I haven't been in a long time. And I don't want you to think that you don't make me happy, because you do. You really, really do. I'm proud of you every day and being around you brings me so much joy. But I miss having a grown-up around. You know, after you go to bed, I need someone to talk to. I get lonely sometimes."

"Someone to sleep in your bed with you?"

I clear my throat. "Yes, I like it when April sleeps in my bed." I take a deep breath and brace myself for how the conversation will progress. I might as well put everything out there right now, while we're talking about it. No more hiding. "And I like kissing April, too," I say.

She frowns deeply as she tries to figure it out. "Does she like it when you kiss her?" she asks, and I nod. "On the lips?" she continues, eyebrows up. I nod again and she narrows her eyes. "But only moms and dads kiss on the lips."

"Well…" I say. "Not always. Sometimes, boyfriends and girlfriends do, too."

She blinks hard, eyes darting around. "You and April are boyfriend and girlfriend?" she asks.

"I'd really like that to be the case, yes," I say.

"Is she your girlfriend and my nanny?"

I take a deep breath and lick my lips. "Well, I don't think that's how it would go," I say. "It's complicated. She would still pick you up from school on days when she could, and I would do it other days. She'd still come over and cook dinner, but maybe we could help her out more. She'd probably stay over some nights and be here in the morning while you get ready for school. Maybe, you'd even get to see her on the weekend."

"Even on the weekend?" she asks, starting to sound excited.

"Yeah," I say. "She sings for people at night, and maybe we could go watch her."

"I wanna see her sing," she says.

"Me, too," I say. "I was thinking that… instead of coming back as your nanny, she could come back as my girlfriend. And just be a really, really good friend to you. You wouldn't call her anything different, she'll still be the same April. She just won't be your nanny. She'll be a big part of both of our lives in a new way."

Her eyes light up for a fleeting moment as the joy takes over her face. But as soon as that glee appears, it's gone. "But…" she says, then lifts a hand to chew on her fingernails, cutting herself off.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

She looks at the floor, at the sneakers still on her feet. "What about Mommy?" she asks.

I nod though she's not looking at me. I was prepared for this, because the same thoughts running through Athena's mind probably ran through mine at the hospital. "You don't want her to take Mommy's place," I say.

She lifts her head, eyes glassy. "What if I forget about Mommy?" she asks. "What if I love April too much and that makes Mommy leave forever? And I have no thoughts about her left?"

"That's not how it works, baby," I say, reaching to cap a hand over both of her shoulders. "Your heart has all the room in the world. You have room for both April and your mom. Your mom's never gonna go away."

"But what if she does?"

"She won't, I promise."

"But what if she doesn't like April? What if she gets mad that I love her so much?"

I chew the inside of my cheek for a moment, taking my time to respond. "You know the CD you listen to in your bedroom?" I ask. She nods. "Well, your mom chose the songs on that CD."

Her eyes widen as she asks, "She did?"

"Yeah," I say. "I never told you that because… I don't know. Talking about your mom used to hurt. It used to make me miss her too much. But April helped me see that there's a happy way to remember Mommy, too, through memories and thoughts and you know what, most of all?" She tips her head to one side, questioning. "Music," I say, filling in the blank.

"The piano," she says, pointing to the living room.

"The piano," I echo. "And you know April's favorite composer?"

"Debussy," Athena answers. "He's French. His song Ballade was the first one I ever played."

"You're right," I say. "And you know who wrote most of the songs on the CD your mom made?"

"Debussy?" she guesses.

"You got it," I say, smiling. "Your mom won't be mad at you for loving April, Thena. I think, if they knew each other, they'd be really good friends. Look how much they have in common - they both love Debussy and playing the piano. They both love you."

"Yeah," she says, letting the information soak in for a long moment. When she looks to me again, I see thoughts swimming behind her eyes. "Daddy, would Mommy be mad at you for loving April?"

"No," I say. "You know how I know?" She shakes her head. "I talked to her about it."

"You did?" she gasps. "How?"

"Just how April said," I say. "Just… talked out loud, and I felt like she was listening."

"Do you think she heard you?" Athena asks.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "But I hope so. It made me feel good, talking to her. It made me miss her a little less, imagining her there with me, listening." I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "Have you ever talked to her like April suggested?"

She shrugs. "I tried a long time ago, but it didn't work. So, I stopped."

I take a moment to let my thoughts simmer, wanting to make sure I'm positive about what comes next before I let it free. I decide that I am. "Do you want me to take you to see her grave?" I asked.

"Her gave?" she says, trying out the word.

"Grave," I correct.

"What's that?"

I'm aware that I've done my daughter a disservice by never showing her Myla's headstone. The gray slate isn't much - there's not an epitaph, not even a birth or death date. When it happened, I had been too decimated to make any sort of decision. To this day, I can't remember the funeral. I should do something to make the headstone more than what it is, but right now it's all I've got. The least I can do is show Athena where she's laid to rest. "It's the place where a person is buried," I say. "You know, like at a cemetery - like what we see when we ride the train north. After you die, you get put under the ground, under a headstone that marks where you are. And if you want, I can take you to see Mommy's."

"Is it scary?" she asks.

"No, no," I say. "You don't see the dead people. They're under the ground, safe and sound. You just see the stones with their names on them."

"Mommy has a stone?"

I nod. "It's not that great, but I want to make it better eventually. I can show you what it's like now, though. Maybe, being around her grave will help you."

"Will you sit with me?" she asks.

"If you want me to," I say.

She nods and says, "I don't wanna be by myself."

"Do you not wanna go?" I ask. "We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"I want to," she says, picking her head up.

"Okay," I say, then bring her closer to kiss her forehead. "Then, we'll go."

…

It's drizzling on the afternoon we visit Myla's headstone. It's barely enough to turn the windshield wipers on, but I do anyway. The rhythmic sound fills the heavy silence that has found itself between Athena and me - heavy, but not negative. I can tell there's a lot on her mind, but I don't press. There's good reason for her mind to be busy. She probably has no clue what to expect as we pull up to the cemetery, though I showed her pictures of pretty headstones on the internet. I don't want her to be scared, and I don't think she is. Interested, maybe. Nervous. But not scared.

"You okay?" I ask after we park.

I glance in the rearview mirror to find Athena staring at her lap. She's wearing a velvet dress - in fact, the same one she wore the day she met April. This time, though, there are black tights underneath paired with shiny Mary-Jane shoes. This morning, she asked for a new hairstyle, so I wove it into a tight, braided bun on top of her head. With so much of it pulled away from her face, she looks even younger than before. More vulnerable, too. "Yeah," she answers quietly.

"You sure?" She nods. "You sure you wanna do this?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," I say, unbuckling. "Let's go, then. If you're ready."

"I am."

I wait as she climbs out of the car, listening to the sound of her shoes hit the damp pavement. I start to walk, having memorized the placement of the headstone even after all the years passed. I came to visit only once - when Athena was 6 months old. I had her in a baby carrier that I held awkwardly, trudging across the wide expanse of this place. She slept through the whole thing, but there had been nothing to witness. All I did was stare at the blank stone and convince myself there was nothing underneath, nothing to see, and no reason to be there. Now, I feel differently. Now, my daughter walks beside me, 8 years old, and reaches for my hand. We both know there's a reason behind why we're here.

I take her hand and squeeze the small fingers, relishing the warmth as we walk side-by-side. It's a long trip down a small pathway, and when the headstone comes into view, I lead her into the grass. Athena gives wide clearance to the other graves, careful not to step on any flat headstones or bump into any standing ones, and I think it catches her by surprise when we finally arrive. It surprises me, too - the blankness.

"Daddy," Athena says. "There aren't any words." I stare at the stone and know she's right. I knew she was right before we came. But now more than ever, I regret not putting more into the marker. It's a disgrace to have it so blanched. "Everyone else has words, but not Mommy. Hers just says 'Avery,' Daddy. Why? It doesn't even have 'Myla.' It's so empty."

"I know," I say. "That was my fault."

"You didn't write the words?"

"I didn't," I say. "I could've, but I didn't."

"Why?"

I let out a long, slow breath. "Because this is stuff you have to figure out right after a person dies. And it happened so fast, so suddenly with your mom that… I wasn't ready. I wasn't thinking straight; I wasn't thinking like myself. I couldn't make any decisions and I didn't have anyone to help me."

"I was a baby," she says, voice small.

"Yes, you were tiny," I say. "And I was so worried all the time. I still worry about you."

"Why?"

"It's what parents do," I say. "We're made to worry."

"Does Mommy worry?" she asks.

"I'm sure she does," I say. "You can ask her, if you want."

She looks at my face for a long time, studying the features slowly. Her eyes rove all over until she tears them away, looking towards the headstone instead. She walks a little closer and sets her hands on the top, thumbs rubbing the smooth stone. "Hi," she whispers, testing it out. "Hi, mommy." I stay in place, hands in my pockets, chin lowered. That is, until she turns with a certain look in her eyes, one I can't quite read. "Can I talk to her by myself?" Athena asks.

"Of course," I say, nodding. "I'll go wait at the edge of the grass. Take however long you need."

I walk backwards for a few steps, just watching her as she turns back around. Before I walk normally, I see my daughter sink to her knees next to her mother's nearly unmarked headstone and lean against it. It must be cold, but she pays no mind.

I get to the edge and keep my eyes on her. There's no way I'm able to hear the words said, but I don't need to. She should be allowed to share such private moments with her mother, just like they would if she were alive. I don't have to be privy to every word, every thought. There are some things that should stay between the two of them.

She stays at the stone for a long time, but I don't grow impatient. I take my eyes off of her after a while and look to the white sky, blinking against the raindrops. And because I'm not looking, I jump when Athena reaches for my hand and asks if we can go back to the car.

We don't discuss what she talked about and I don't feel the need to. We go about the rest of our night as normal, the only thing differing being Athena's attitude. She's lighter. Not necessarily happier, but like there's been a weight lifted from her shoulders. I know the feeling well.

That night at bedtime, Athena doesn't go by herself. When 8pm rolls around, she notices the change of TV show and stands up from the couch at the same time I do - both of us on the same wavelength for the first time in a while. "Time for bed?" I say, and she nods before leading the way upstairs.

After getting into her pajamas and putting her bonnet on, she settles under the covers as I kneel at the edge of her bed, my forearm on the mattress as my cheek rests against a closed fist. "I'm not tired yet, daddy," she says. "Will you tickle my arm?"

"Alright," I whisper, moving to drag my fingernails down the arm she's unearthed from the covers. "Did you have a good day today?" I ask.

She nods while making steady eye contact. "Yeah," she answers softly, voice scratchy with sleep though she had just claimed otherwise.

"Good," I say.

"I think Mommy listened," she says. "I think she heard me."

"Really?"

She nods. "I listened really hard for her, too. I wasn't scared being there by myself."

"I'm glad," I say. "It's good that you got some time alone."

"She talked back," she says.

"What did she say?" I ask.

"That she likes it when I play the piano," Athena says, smiling with heavy eyelids. "She likes it a lot, she said. And she also said that she likes it when my April plays, too. I asked her if I was allowed to love her and she said it was okay, because she really likes her a lot, too." She blinks slowly, head falling heavier against the pillow. "I miss my April, Daddy," she says. "But if she comes back, do you promise you won't take her all for yourself?"

I shake my head. "I promise we'll share," I say. "We can both love her. And we can love both her and Mommy at the same time, just not in the same way. We'll love April in a whole new way."

"Okay," she says, eyes completely closed now. "Okay."

"Okay," I repeat, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "Okay."

…

"Hi," Athena says, and my phone looks huge in her small hand as she holds it up to her ear. "Is this April that I'm talking to?"

The phone isn't on speaker, but I'm close enough that I can hear April through it. "Yes, it is," she says. "Is this Athena?"

"Yeah," Athena says, a big smile widening on her face as she ducks her chin.

"I did not expect to hear your voice! You sound like you're doing much better."

"I am," Athena says. "I feel good."

"Good, I'm so happy to hear that. You had me worried for a bit there."

"Yeah," Athena says again. "Um, I called you from my daddy's phone 'cause I wanted to see if you wanted to come someplace with us," she says, making eye contact. I nod to encourage her along.

"Sure, of course," April answers. "Where are we going?"

"I want you to meet my mommy."

…

When we pull into the cemetery, April is already there, standing in the section where I told her to meet us. It's cool today but not raining; the sky is a spectacular blue. April is wearing a dark green coat and jeans, simple ivory Converse on her feet. Her hair is in loose curls, and she smiles brightly when she sees us. Athena gets out of the car first and bounds over, arms outstretched, and I stay behind during their reunification. April picks her up, swings her in a circle, and buries her face in my daughter's neck. With her eyes pinched closed, it almost looks like she's crying.

I get out and make my way over, unable to stop grinning as I watch them hug. "Hey there," I say smoothly, though on the inside I feel anything but.

"Hi," April says, eyes twinkling as she sets Athena back on the ground.

My daughter looks between us, head darting back and forth. "Are you gonna kiss her now?" she asks. "Because I already know you do that."

April bursts out laughing, covering her face as she bends in half. "Oh, my gosh," she mutters.

"Is that alright, Thena?" I ask playfully, sauntering closer to April. "If I kiss her on the lips?"

"Just don't make me look!" she says, shielding her eyes and turning around.

"I better make it quick, then," I say, capturing April's waist. Naturally, she winds her arms around my neck and presses her lips to mine, and I close my eyes with feeling. I let out a sigh, one I've seemingly been holding the entire time we've been apart and get lost in the way her body feels. But as much as I'd like to, I don't linger. Not with Athena so close. "I missed you," I whisper, pulling away to look into her eyes.

"Missed you so much," she says, fingers dancing on the nape of my neck.

"Are you done?" Athena gripes.

"Fine, yes," April says, winking at me before pulling away.

"April," Athena says, cutting between us and reaching up. April knows the gesture well, so she picks up my daughter easily and balances her on a hip. "Before we go see Mommy, I have a question."

"Ask away."

"Can you make me a CD?" she asks. "Mommy made one with her favorite classical songs and I listen to it every night. I know all her favorites now. I want to hear your favorites, too. Then I can have both."

April smiles and kisses Athena's cheek as the little girl waits for an answer. "Of course," she says with a grin. "I'd love to."

"Okay," Athena says, taking April's hand as she's put back on the ground. "We can go see her now." She keeps a tight hold on April as she maneuvers through the headstones expertly, as if she's been here a thousand times. When we reach Myla's, she stops and looks up at April, then back to the stone. "This one is hers," she says, letting go of April's hand to press her fingers to the top of the slate, just like last time.

Instinctively, instantly, April drops to her knees. She looks quickly to Athena and then back to the stone before saying, "Hi, Myla. I'm April."

Athena's head darts to where April sits. It's clear she hadn't expected the introduction to come so easily, so habitually, as if April were presenting herself to someone living. "I talked to her like you said," Athena murmurs. "It worked the best right here."

"I bet," April says, tracing the roundness of the stone. "It's such a pretty headstone. We should decorate it with more things."

My daughter flips around, looking hopeful. "Can we, Daddy?" she asks.

I nod surely. "Of course," I say.

Turning back around, Athena places a hand in the middle of April's back as she stands, and April continues to kneel. "He said yes," she tells her, as if April didn't hear me herself.

"Good," April responds, eyes towards the ground.

There's a long pause between them after that, but not an uncomfortable one. Neither of them fidget, sigh, or speak - they simply exist. The three of them, Myla included, right there, together. Then, out of the blue, Athena speaks. "My daddy loves you," she says. My stomach plummets to my feet. "I asked my mom, and she said it was okay if you love him back."

April doesn't hesitate. She doesn't stutter or hiccup, she answers like it comes as second nature. And maybe, it does. "I definitely do," she says, and I hear the smile in her voice as she turns to look at Athena. She takes her hand, squeezes it, and says, "And I love you, too."