There was a park in her neighborhood. Like an actual park with slides and monkey bars and kids and laughter. In the 17 years they have lived in this neighborhood Amy never knew that fun was nearby. She was a bit dismayed that her parents never brought her when she was a child. What kind of parents don't take their only child to a neighborhood park? And the older she grew the more she became chained to her home and childhood explorations became obsolete. But since the fight with her mother she never wanted to remain in the house longer than necessary. So she frequented the library more often and even became friends with the librarian. She found a community theatre and saw a few low budget productions of Shakespeare plays. And today, after school, she idly roamed the streets until she happened upon this park.

Under no circumstance did Amy want to become those people who sit on park benches and mope about their childhood. But seeing that she was sat on this bench, at the park, drifting in her thoughts she realized she'd become the thing she hated. Amy watched as the parents lifted their children in the air and guided them down the slide. She watched parents congratulate their kids on meaningless accomplishments like walking across a small beam, or parents comforting their kids when they fell. She hated to admit it but she was jealous. Like palms radiating jealous of 4 year olds because they had what she so desperately wanted; parental love. Amy shivered; either at her depressing thought or the drastic temperature drop. The sun was beginning to set and though her mother didn't pay her much attention lately she was still alert and had no qualms in putting out a missing persons. She was crazy like that.

Amy crossed the opening to the house and it seemed the same as it always did; empty. She saw a soft amber light coming from the study and softly padded past trying not to alert her mother. She was halfway past when she heard a loud thud from the room. She turned to see the study cluttered in boxes, papers and photos and in the core of it all was her mother in lounge clothes with her socks off and her hair undone.

"Mother?" Amy was certain something terrible had happened. She'd expected to see the second coming of the Lord before she ever saw her mother sitting amidst clutter and unkempt.

"Hm." Barbara uttered, barely looking up from the small photo in her hand.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm great!" She said laughing. Oh my god. It had actually happened her mother had actually gone insane! Amy was only 17, she would have at least 35 more years having to care for her mean, senile mother. "Come here." She said pushing a pile aside creating space for her on the floor. She look up with tired and sunken eyes, "please."

That was the first time her mother said please. Not counting the times she'd said it sarcastically or patronizing, this was a genuine plea. Amy froze, taking in how the word sounded falling from her mother's mouth. How sincere she sounded, how weak she sounded.

She followed suit and took her shoes off, squeezing between her mother and the bookshelf. The photos surrounding them were old, the edges torn and the color faded. They were all of her mother, young and happy. She started to ask about them when her mother said louder than expected.

"Sheldon called."

"He did?"

Amy thought he was telling her another empty promise like when he promised he'd read A Lover's Affairbut she knew he only read the first and last chapter and guessed the rest.

"He did. He wants to take you out tomorrow night...On a date."

"Okay mother, before you say anything I just want you to know it's just to the university. I don't know exactly what he has planned but Mrs. Gephart works at the university and you know and trust her. Nothing will happen." Without thinking Amy began to beg permission.

"I never said anything otherwise."

"I just- you a...I-I"

"I know. And I'm sorry." She took in a large breath like it was her last. "You're used to me saying no, and I'm sorry. For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry. You can go, have fun. Just-" she fell back into her stern tone, "-just don't come home...after 11." She ended softly.

Amy scooted closer and almost rested her head on her mother's shoulder when she noticed the photo she had been holding.

"Is that us?" It was Amy as a baby, she assumed. She wasn't sure because they didn't have many pictures of herself around the house. If it weren't for her mirror Amy wouldn't have know what she looked like. She was certain that was her dad, his thick moustache and glasses gave him away. And her mother wore the same clothes since 1975 so the pink sweater in the picture was the same pink sweater she wore every Sunday.

"Hm-hmm."

"Why have I never seen this before?" The photo was of Amy, probably 2 years old, in a brightly colored dress and a bow in her hair. The only clothes Amy remembered owning were muted clunky clothes, nothing this childlike. Her father had her cradled in his arms while her mother leaned in kissing her cheek. It was hauntingly beautiful. It felt like she was looking at ghosts. These people couldn't have existed. Her father felt differently about having a daughter when she was younger and her mother had never shown her this much affection. These people were carefree and in love. This couldn't be them.

"It-I" her mother choked on her words and tears replaced them. "This wasn't us. This was a singular moment where we were happy together. But it wasn't us. We were arguments and silence and I felt putting this up was a lie. It was a painful reminder after every argument that we could never be those people in the photo."

"But we can, or we could be. I want to be."

"I don't know how. I don't know how to be happy, or to love anymore. I'm much more broken than I thought and I'm hurting you in the process, Amy. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Barbara collapsed over the box in front of her, her back lifting in sobs. She was right, they didn't know how to be a loving family. So much so Amy didn't know how to comfort her mother. She sat in surprise watching her mother unravel. Amy slowly wrapped her arms around her mother's chest, rested her head and rubbed circles on her back.

The room fell silent, but full of unanswered questions, of unspoken emotions, of hurt, anger, betrayal, and love.

"I need help, Amy." Barbara said. "I've, uh, made plans to see a therapist next week. Just a trial run to see how it goes."

"Oh, okay. That sounds good."

"Would you like to come with me?"

"Really, you want me there?"

"I owe it to you...please."

Amy nestled her head into her mother's neck and that was all of the answer she needed.

That evening, Amy and her mother ate dinner together. Not two bodies that happened to be in the same room. But they spoke to each other, it was incredibly awkward because they had never conversed over dinner but it was a start.

"Oh, Sheldon left this message for you." She grabbed her message pad from the phone. "He said the dress code is evening attire and to meet him at the university in the architecture building at 8 tomorrow night."

"Oh, thank you for letting me know." Amy's grin was ripping her cheeks apart and no amount of strength could hide it.

"You're smitten."

"I am not!" She held her head in her plate so her mom would miss the blush burning her cheeks.

"Can you say his name without smiling?"

"Sheldon." She held her lips as thin as possible but the grin busted through.

"Smitten."

"I-I don't have anything to wear. Well, except my prom dress but that has too many bad memories."

"Well why don't you give it some new memories. It's a beautiful dress, don't let what happened ruin it for you."Barbara fingered her wedding ring, lost in thought. "My first date with your dad was also at the university. He had taken me to the observatory to look at a comet. He made dinner, brought wine and had everything set out to see the comet at a specific time." She reaches out to the empty third chair as if she were grabbing her father's hand. "But he was too busy trying to open the bottles for a toast that we missed the entire thing! It wasn't coming back for another 75 years and he promised we would see it the next time it came around." Her laughter fell to the floor like dust.

Amy shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the story. Before, memories of her father brought her immense joy but now she was too confused to know what was real.

"I don't want you to hate him." Her mother started noticing the shift in Amy's mood. "He did love you, with everything he had. He loved you. I shouldn't have thrown his past in your face."

They paused, looked at the empty third seat and let their emotions settle.

"So, shall we pick you out something to wear for your date!"