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It was hotter than usual. Holding a cone of chocolate chip cookie down ice cream, I walk alongside my father down a sidewalk towards a small garden. With the sun beaming down on us, the cone in my hand malfunctioning as the sweet dessert begins to drip down the conical shape, over my fingers, I follow his lead towards a wooden bench. I bring it to my lips, tongue cleaning up the side while my father enjoys his own, both of us taking a seat. We face the exterior of a campus building, green everywhere, dotted with bright pink, blue, and lavender flowers. The brick building slowly drowns in an eternal landscape of nature's pervasive vines, shielding us from the sun and providing needed shade.

I set my bag next to me, careful to avoid spilling the melting dessert onto my graphic t-shirt. For the first time I was carelessly sporting fitted jeans and clothing that hugs by body rather than hide it from curious eyes. Being seen was not shameful, and I knew these ridiculous beliefs my mother held were rooted in traditional ones. I looked like I was twenty and not like a colonial era middle aged woman. There was a fashion sense somewhere in there, but I was too busy with figuring out the logistics of my future than fashion.

Not surprisingly, my father dresses similarly. We're both equipped with worn down sneakers, knowing our walks, particularly this one, were bound to be extensive. I lean back into the wooden bench and stare off into space, eyebrows lowering as I listen to my father speak.

"What have you been up to? Besides avoiding your mother and forcing her hand so much that she's calling me asking if I know anything of you," he asks flatly, a humor to his dry tone.

Pulling the cone from my mouth, sighing, I look down at the ice cream, and I retort, "I've been trying not to explode at everyone, if I'm honest."

"Ah, that's a side effect of living with your mother," he jokes. "But seriously, you need to call her. Do something. She is your mother."

Agitated, I remark, "And I'm her daughter. But she forgot that, though."

"Listen, she did not forget that," he corrects sternly. "She made a mistake. A big one."

"See, dad, I'd believe that. I wish I could be that understanding. But it wasn't a mistake," I sternly replied. "It was a choice. It would be a mistake if was made unknowingly. But it was not, and therefore, I refuse to believe it was a mistake."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. I can feel him looking at the side of my face, a seriousness on his that he usually reserves for the most special of occasions. Bringing the cone up to my mouth, my eyes glance sideways to catch a glimpse of him. In that moment, he sighs, "Athena...you're an incredibly smart young woman. You make decisions for yourself, so...I'm not going to tell you what to do. You're an adult, so...you handle this the way you see fit."

"Thank you," I mutter with an artificial smile, tongue gliding across my lips to clear off the sweet ice cream residue. Seeing through my forced smile, he glowered and squints his eyes at me. I turn my head to look at his displeased reaction. I get most of my physical characteristics from him. The darker, olive skin tone, warm eyes, the full lips, thick hair. We have the same smile lines and a similar frowning expression, our thick eyebrows lowering at the same time. "If you keep talking, your ice cream is going to melt," I point out, my index finger tapping the exterior of my ice cream cone, moving it towards him to indicate the state of his own.

"I know you're upset. This is not something to be taken lightly, but Athena, at some point you have to go home. Or make a decision to come stay with me in New York. But that would require that you transfer schools, and leave Georgetown, which I think...is not worth it. I don't support your mother at all, but I do support your success and your future, wherever that leads you. Just know that you have something good right now."

Sighing heavily again, I turn away from him and stare off into space again, finding a few bumblebees interesting as they fly over a variety of flowering plants. "I could transfer to Caltech," I suggest in a mumble.

"You want to go to California?" He asks with slight disbelief, surprised. I don't look at him, and instead continue to eat my ice cream in stubborn silence. "You know you have to apply as a transfer, which is tricky in itself. I mean, the fact that you were previously accepted is good, and you're doing well in Georgetown...you might have a chance. But Athena, if we're talking financially and practically..."

"I can take out the loans. And practically...I had a dream. And it was ruined. Now, I keep thinking, what if I went to Caltech. What if...I got to experience it...I could be doing a lot more than I am right now," I confess quickly, not missing a beat as I unravel the psychological trauma of this entire discovery. This was an easier discussion to have because this was my father. He was involved in my life, but not really involved. He was sometimes a parent, and sometimes a friend. Most people wouldn't think anyone could be both those things at once for their children. Oddly enough, my father seems to be a pendulum between both. He decides when he wants to be one or the other, and I can't pick which one I want to talk to.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he inhales deeply before stating, "I don't know about the loan thing. But if this is something you want to do, I'm all for it. We'll figure it out."

"I'll figure it out, dad. You know that," I remind him.

Deciding to ignore my subtle allusion to the fact that he is not a constant presence in my life regardless of his insistence on helping me, he shakes his head and questions, "Where have you been staying this entire time?"

There it was. A question that required a lie for an answer. I was not going to tell him about Harry, the internship my mother has forced me into, or the situations surrounding the two. I purse my lips and steadily replied, "I'm staying with a friend from school."

"You have a friend?" He suddenly jokes. I scoff and he chuckles as a result. "I'm just kidding. That's very kind of your friend, but you have a home that you need to go back to."

"Yeah, you're right," I conclude, shrugging my shoulders. "That's why my stuff is already at mom's."

Eyebrows raised, he frowns over at me in slight surprise. "You already moved back?"

"This morning," I nodded.

That wasn't a lie. Harry had left early, and I know he will return to his apartment seeing that all evidence of my stay is completely gone. I have decided to keep Harry out of my family drama, seeing that there were other pressing things he needed to focus on, and my problems were not a priority. Plus, I was still uncertain of what kind of boundaries we had. I know we stated our terms, and that honesty was a key takeaway from our conversation. He'd eventually figure it out, and when he does, then that conversation will follow. For now, I was confused about the direction of my life more than ever. That was my priority.

My father and I continue our walk. The ice cream now completely gone, we walk around the campus and make our way out to the surrounding streets, our conversation ranging from news in politics and recent developments in the world of science. Our usual topics. I'm not as vigilant of our surroundings as I'm listening to him talk about the curriculum he's building for STEM teachers, and we just happen to walk by the firm.

Outside pulls up a car I know belongs to Harry, simply because Johnson is in the driver's seat of the otherwise fully tinted SUV. I raise an eyebrow, slowing my pace as my father is clearly unfazed by the passing building. The door of the jet-black SUV opens and out comes Harry; his hair brushed back neatly, his light facial hair trimmed, and body encased in a black suit. A lump grows in my throat, my anxiety spiking drastically. Then another figure exits the vehicle, a woman with jet-black, pin-straight hair, almond-shaped dark eyes, and a rather stoic expression. She is dressed in a crisp white blazer and pencil skirt, the neatness and immaculate appearance of her exterior curiously flawless. I stare with growing suspicion, wondering who the middle-aged woman was. I'm lost in my wandering thoughts when I hear my father loudly scoff.

"Look at that. That was your mother's lawyer..." I hear him scoff with clear, blunt displeasure as he mutters, "Pretentious asshole."

My eyes follow his line of sight right towards Harry. I nervously inhale, blinking away the absolute terror in my eyes before forcing out a fake laugh. "Wow, you must hate him," I almost whisper, my eyes following the two figures as they walk into the firm, disappearing from sight. I find Axel walking behind them, as usual. Just as we walk in front of the firm, everyone had disappeared as quickly as they appeared. I'm surprisingly calm, suppressing my emotions very well in front of my father. Chest rising with a deep breath, I grip the strap of my bag across my shoulder tightly, until my knuckles flush white.

"He was such an asshole in the courtroom. Acted like he had better things to be doing. Makes me think, how your mother could afford a lawyer like him," he bitterly rants, shaking his head as he gazes at the exterior of the firm building.

Hesitantly, I laughed softly and mumble, "Guess she really wanted to keep the house..."

"I guess so."

. . .

My dad drops me off at my house. I brace myself for the moment my mother emerges from the kitchen, and sees me and my father entering through the front door. She wipes her hands on a rag, raising an eyebrow instantly, discontent on her face as she examines my father. They were not big fans of each other, and I felt the headache start to squeeze around my temples the second she opens her mouth to passively gnarl, "Aaron..."

"Jade..." he passively seethes right back. "How are things on the side of trickery and deceit?"

"Ha," she crosses her arms over her chest, pressing her lips together in repulsion before glancing at me. "Why did you bring him here?"

Uncaringly, I shrug my shoulders and give her an unsympathetic gaze. My silence is blatantly disrespectful, and I count on that heavily regardless of the clear agitation on her face. I was past the point of fearing her anymore, and maybe that was bravery or maybe that was exhaustion. I couldn't tell the difference.

They have a few back and forths before my father ends up agreeing to stay for dinner, simply because I ask him to. He looks unsure of whether he'd put himself through that suffering for me, but because it was me, he dissolves his own urge to flee the scene and reluctantly takes the offer. My mother doesn't say a word, although I knew she was biting her tongue. The last thing she wanted was my father to impede on the dinner she's been waiting to have with me. I wasn't interested in her apology, or discussing the matter with her. Anything, and I mean anything she says wouldn't suffice. It could never be enough until I sense the genuine effort to resolve our issues. Until then, she was my mother, and there was no warming, heartfelt aura surrounding that title. She was just that, down to the logic and the biology.

Throughout the preparation of the dinner, I hear my parents go back and forth about me, and the whole situation. It consists mostly of my father bashing her decisions, ridiculing her for her selfishness, and she does very little to retaliate, other than call him a failure of a father for his constant absence. Feeling numb and unfazed, I retreat into my bedroom upstairs and start on some assignments. Walking up the steps, I hear her yell a curse at him, and I glower at the sound of the two bickering adults.

As I'm sketching the visuals to a word problem from one of my assignments, I think deeply about the direction I wanted to take from here. While my parents nearly kill each other in the kitchen, I figured that was their business. I had a whole life that I needed to focus on. I had choices to make, and I was partly inspired by Harry's work ethic and his mannerisms. The behaviors he displays as an attorney, as a leader, were inspiring simply because his assertiveness and his confidence made him so much more successful at what he does. I wondered how he grew up, what happened to him that made him so good at his job. Apparently my father wasn't fond of his methods, but my mother was pleased that she got to keep the house, which my dad wasn't too determined to take anyway.

I lean into my desk chair, my feet that were decorated with pink socks were over the surface of my cluttered desk as I stared up at the ceiling. My head tilts all the way back and I lazily, aimlessly watch the round patterns across it.

I've never been confused about things. I pretty much knew where I stood, and I knew what was and what wasn't. As a child, I was quiet and mature, feeling that there was little room for mistakes. My parents weren't around much for emotional support, although my father was the relatively nicer one. My mother was success-obsessed and encouraged any act of fierce competition. I wanted no part in it.

Maybe I was depressed my entire life, and I do not mean clinically depressed, I mean my emotions were quite frankly physically depressed. I was robbed of feeling anything for myself, and was too concerned with fulfilling the demands of my mother, and at the same time putting up a happy smile for the sake of my father's peace of mind. I pretended I was fine, and that nothing was remotely wrong with my life because I did the right thing. I always did the right thing.

Up until now.

Eventually, my mother calls me down for dinner. I dread the moment, wondering why I asked my father to stay longer just to spite my mother. Because now, it was backfiring. And I was going to have to sit through a painful dinner with the two. I wondered just how much they loved each other before they got married, and if it was even love rather than just safety and comfort. I was a cynical thinker, and so I doubted that at any point I was conceived out of love. Leaning my elbow into the table, my fist pressed into my soft cheek, I lazily rake my fork through the spaghetti my mother made. I glower at the two adults as they discuss my future, glancing between them and wondering if at any point they would ask me about it.

"No, no, she is not going to New York with you. That's outrageous. She's here, going to Georgetown, which is an amazing school, if you've forgotten!"

"Yes, but you know what was also a good school? Caltech. I wonder what happened to that?" My father angrily, sarcastically snaps at her.

"Listen, Athena is successful here. She's at an internship where my lawyer works --"

I feel my stomach turn and I drop my fork with a loud clunk! before looking at my father's face. He's quiet and raises an eyebrow before looking to me, absolutely displeased by my mother's reveal. I know he's thinking the same thing. Why I hadn't told him. Why I didn't tell him I was interning at the firm we walked by hours ago. The knowing, stern look I receive from him is of pure disapproval, but not entirely at me, it was aimed at my mother. He huffs and shakes his head, turning to look at my mother. There was a tense silence, my father's thick eyebrows lowering and his warm eyes shutting. He was trying to calm down, and my mother simply hums out, "It was a good move. Lots of opportunity here in the city --"

"I quit."

My father's eyes snap open. My mother's widen and she parts her mouth, disbelief crossing her face for a moment before she's infuriated by my admission. "What...?" She nearly whispers.

Uncaringly and bluntly, I shrug and announce, more clearly and steadily, "I quit."

"You...quit..."

"Yes," I nod, bored with the conversation already.

With a bitter laugh, my father scowls, "Of course. No fucking wonder."

"Hey!" She yells, disliking his choice of words.

"You always put Athena in positions she doesn't want to be in. She doesn't want to be a fucking lawyer, Jade! How many times do I have to tell you that?!"

"Well, does she want to be a physicist like you?! She never said anything --"

"Because you barely let her breathe!"

"Wow, okay, don't go there --"

"Is that what you want, Athena?" I say suddenly, quietly, but it stops them from continuing their argument. I look at the table, refusing to look at their faces. "I think that's the proper thing to ask, right? Ask me what I want to do with my life, right?" My voice is surprisingly strong, steady, and unwavering. I had little patience left, and as a result, I had grown numb of all feeling. I wasn't afraid, I wasn't anxious, and I wasn't going to just sit there. "Alright, I'm done with dinner. If either of you need me, I will be upstairs. Thinking about my future, about my life, in case you forgot I'm my own person. Not a vessel you can live vicariously through."

I stand from the table and quietly shuffle out of the dining room, leaving both of them silent and stunned. 

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- Zeff