Eugene leaned back in his chair and sighed. Like most sane fish, he hated Mondays—however, this hate ran deeper than exhaustion and the prospect of a full week of work before him.

It had been on Monday that he'd gotten the call. It was Monday, as he'd sipped his early morning coffee and poured over the Bikini Bottom Tribune, that his old shell phone had so innocently rang. And it was on Monday that with little thought he had picked it up, unaware of the news waiting at the other end.

Eugene could still hear the nurse's voice, hesitant and quiet, stumbling over words to tell him he would never see his wife again.

Perry Krabs.

She'd had warm brown eyes, soft flippers and a thunderous laugh. Her presence filled any room she was in—both literally and metaphorically—and he missed her dearly. Perry would never see her daughter grow up. She would never see the booming success of the Krusty Krab. Pearl had only been a couple years old when he'd met Perry; however, it wasn't long before he came to love the child just as he did her mother. It was hard not to fall in love with a fish such as her. His sailor comrades thought he was crazy for marrying a whale—let alone a single mother—but to Eugene, she was the best catch in the sea.

He closed his eyes. No. He couldn't remember that now.

But the fact remained: Pearl was all he had.

He dropped a doubloon onto the thick pile of cash before him. It gleamed under the artificial light. Eugene had always admired the way it shone, hidden colours flashing in the deep gold, but today it seemed dull and lifeless. He sighed. Maybe a vacation would help. He'd been working without break for too long. It was making him crazy. And it'd certainly be good for Pearl, too, he thought – the girl was too caught up in her little bubble of friends.

Maybe a resort? He imagined himself and Pearl sunbathing by a pool. He imagined a staff member bringing him a cool drink and fresh towel…and he also imagined the staff's flipper outstretched, waiting for a tip.

A resort was too expensive, he decided. They could visit Atlantis, maybe…but plane tickets were just so much this time of the year. And anyway, Pearl would want to shop in the expensive stores and he couldn't see himself saying no to everything.

Maybe Goo Lake, then, he thought. It was a popular vacation spot a few reefs over. He could get some use out of his mother's old camper, and they could park at the camping grounds beside the sand dunes surrounding the goo lake. And there'd be no damned shopping malls around for Pearl to spend his money in.

It would be nice to spend time with his daughter. Lately she'd been less than interested in spending time with him—she was always alone in her room, flippers pounding away on the small buttons of her shell phone. She only ever talks to me when she wants something, he thought bitterly. He shook his head. The two needed some family bonding time. He was sick of spending every night alone on the cold leather couch in his dark house.

He'd call up some of his old navy buddies, but they all lived hours away. He hadn't spoken to some of them in decades. He sighed. It was vaguely terrifying to wake up at the ripe age of fifty-five only to realize that you had no close friends.

From outside the door he could hear Mr. Squidward yell at SpongeBob. He chuckled. He loved the two—in the removed, twisted way an employer could love his employees—but they made terrible company. SpongeBob, an annoying little barnacle of a lad, was difficult to tolerate for long periods of time. He was certainly—erm, empathetic—and by Neptune did he love his job, but the boy was much too squeaky to be around. And Mr. Squidward was such a downer! As he moped about, he reminded Eugene of how he was after Perry left: an unsuccessful ball of self-loathing and frustration. And not to mention so bilge-dwellin' sad. Eugene shook his head. He would rather not think of such things.

Eight o'clock slowly came round. Eugene tiredly made his way across the restaurant, watching an energetic SpongeBob enthusiastically wipe down the last tables; Mr. Squidward had left an hour ago.

"Mr. Krabs," the lad said, focusing hard on the table at hand, "Should I use the Lemon Bubble or the Squeaky Clean soap?" SpongeBob looked up to give him his buck-toothed grin. Eugene closed his eyes.

"Uh, use whichever one yeh like," he said. SpongeBob made a noise of protest.

"But Mr. Krabs—"

"Fine then! The, uh, Lemon Bubble," he muttered.

SpongeBob beamed. "Thank-you sir. Won't let ya down." The sponge winked, and ran off to the back storage room. Eugene took it as his cue to leave. As he flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, a sense of dread filled him; four more days of this, he thought. Throwing on the jacket slung over his arm, he pushed open the glass doors before him and made his way to his boat mobile.

It was a quiet ride home.

Mr. Krabs shuffled awkwardly out of his vehicle, slamming the door and jogging to the front entrance of his anchor-shaped home. Hastily shoving his key into the lock, he pushed the door open.

Within, the house was dark.

"Pearl?" he called. "Pearl?"

Nothing. She was still at a friend's house then. She and her little girlfriends were probably discussing the latest style of flipper slipper and listening to some cheesy boy-band, he thought. Eugene smiled. Teenage girls were strange, but oddly loveable.

He just wished they had the decency to come home earlier on weeknights.

Eugene scuttled upstairs to fetch his robe. The colder days weren't the best on his old bones, and he winced as his legs ached in protest at the top of the staircase. In two weeks' time, he thought, he'd be somewhere far away in warmer weather. By the goo he could sit on the warm sand, relax and close his eyes as the hot sun warmed his creaky old shell, his darling daughter content and by his side. Eugene rubbed his shaking arms. Soon enough, he thought.

While his threadbare robe did little to warm him, it did provide some level of comfort. Marching back downstairs, Eugene headed towards the kitchen to get him some grub. Clicking open a can of cheap beer, he heard his front door open. Thar she blows, he thought wryly.

"Dad? I'm home!" Pearl yelled from the entrance. Eugene checked his wristwatch. It was almost ten o'clock. The wretched lass.

"And what're yeh doin' home so late?" He scuttled to meet her in the front hall. There was his daughter, carefully unlacing her damn expensive boots and not looking a single bit guilty. She looked up and rolled her eyes.

"I was studying at Jenny's house," she said. "Jeez, Dad."

Eugene frowned. "Well. Next time, yeh come back early," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she said, shrugging out of her jacket. Eugene silently watched as she grabbed her purse and stormed upstairs, never once making eye contact with her father. A hollowness formed in the pit of his stomach.

He raced off to the kitchen and heated some leftover kelp stew in the microwave. Over a late dinner he could tell Pearl all about the vacation he was planning for the two of them—maybe then he'd get a smile outta her. He set the table for two, placing his daughter's favourite smoothie drink in front of their plates.

"Pearl!" he hollered. "Pearl!"

"Yeah?" came her muted, defensive cry.

"Dinner!"

"I'm busy, Dad!" she yelled back.

"Aw, c'mon, lass, spend a little time with yer pop!"

"I said no!"

"Y'need to eat, girl!"

"I already ate!"

"PEARL!" Eugene balled his claws into fists, "GET YER ASS DOWN HERE!" he roared.

"Argh, Dad, just leave me alone!"

Eugene grunted. So be it. He cleared the table and settled in his dark living room in front of the glowing television screen, a hot plate of kelp resting on his wide stomach.

Too many nights end like this, he thought, and changed the channel.

As the evening news came on, Eugene took a swig of the cheap beer in his hand. "…And in other news," the fish news anchor droned, "Heavy weight champion Larry the Lobster has been reported missing." Eugene started as Larry's smiling profile appeared in the top right corner of his flickering screen. "The lobster was reported to have last been seen at the Bargain Mart last Friday night buying protein supplements. Any information regarding the disappearance of Larry is welcomed." Eugene took another sip of his beer. Likely the stupid lobster overdosed on canning pills again, he thought. He was probably dead in some alleyway somewhere, a needle still lodged in his muscular arm. He chuckled to himself. What a barnacle.

Eugene eventually drifted to sleep, his mind's eye fixed on the warm goo lake awaiting him and his daughter.