Vi Presento a Athea (Introducing Athea)

VII

Athea jolted upright in her bed, eyes wide open, the beating of anticipation in her chest even louder than yesterday. Today was the day. It had actually come. She turned over to her bedside table to check the time: 7 a.m. She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to get more sleep even if she tried.

She hopped her way over to downstairs, not able to contain her excitement. Once she reached the kitchen, her father was having a moment under the spotlight, singing Michael Bublé's "It's a Beautiful Day" at the top of his lungs as it played on the radio whilst making coffee. He spun on his feet, jamming his way to the small, three-chair table they used for their general meals when he spotted his daughter. He was startled so badly, he took a few steps back and had his voice crack at the end of a high-note, almost dropping the coffee bottle.

"A-Athea!" He stuttered, cleaning his throat. "You're up. Early. Very." He cleaned his throat again, turning off the radio. "Uhm. I wasn't expecting you to be up so soon." He tried to look like a stern, responsible dad, placing the coffee by the mugs and plates already set on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. She just couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Yeah." She muffled back the laughter as Patrick started to turn red through his serious gaze. "Me neither."

"Ookay! Well, since you're up..." He seemed to recover himself – despite the fact his face was still tomato-red –, rubbing his hands together ferociously. "It's Saturday. You know what that means!" He pointed at Athea, who was already seated at the table.

"It's Papacake Day!" They shouted in unison, Athea throwing her hands in the air.

"Hoo-ray!" He shoved his fist up. "Let's do this!" He turned back to the stove and started working on his special apple pancakes.

"Need help?" Athea offered but he denied, saying today was 'her special day'. The girl laughed, letting out a long sigh after the memories of Saturday's past overcame her. She looked across the table to the empty chairs and could almost see Brie and her mom talking over their coffee mugs about Brie's plans for the weekend with Dante.

Dante. That name lingered in her head for a while. Mom and dad never approved. They tolerated, to be honest, but only because Brie was so head-over-heels in love with him. He was reckless, and never really proved himself trustworthy. More than once had her sister come home crying after an overheated fight and another breakup. They got back together the next day, as it was usual (neither one of them could stay apart from the other for too long), but his carelessness put her in far too many uncomfortable situations – such as taking her own money to pay his fine after Dante was held up for bar brawls, party fights, drunk-driving, and many others. He was impulsive, careless, and temperamental – dreamy, as she would say.

Once, Athea had asked her why she put up with him when she could do so much better.

"Ah, sorellina... you'll understand when you grow up that your heart has no boundaries, and that it'll beat for someone regardless of who they are or where they come from." Was what she had said, using her Italian nickname for Athea as a way to soften the conversation that was way too serious for an 11-year-old – 'little sis', it meant. That same night, they went out together. That same night they got into a car crash. A week after that same night, she passed away. Dante was driving. Athea's parents could only bear to forgive him when the official police statement came out, proving that the other driver was drunk and speeding. Dante had pledged and swore he was sober and they were safely driving around town. He came to the service and the funeral and things ended up settling down after a while.

Dante never really forgave himself, though. He ended up feeling guilty – it was his idea to ride around at 2 a.m. He visited her grave every week for a good two years,and every time Athea and her parents went there, the flowers were fresh and new – dahlias, her all-time favorite.