Annabeth's clearer memory of her mother was the earliest memory she remembers ever having.
She was a little girl, four years old at most, and she was smiling widely after her mother, for the first time in forever, probably, took time off her incredibly busy schedule to brush Annabeth's hair and make the hairstyle she had seen on someone's hair on the street and wanted desperately to have — bantu knots, that she couldn't get right no matter how many times her little hands had tried.
It was a wonder when Athena Wisen, great architect and, surprisingly, a mother, had woken her daughter up and offered to try and do the hairstyle she had noticed Annabeth had been struggling with. There was an odd glint to her eyes, something Annabeth could never have noticed in her childish excitement to have her mother suggesting and wanting to spend some time with her, that would only make sense later.
Much later than that day, for Athena had also suggested, after Annabeth's hair was done and the girl was completely in love with her own reflection in the mirror, they would go out and do something together. 'Something', she had used, for the woman didn't quite know what to do with a four year old that depended on her and was delighted to spend time with her alone.
Annabeth didn't think much when her first suggestion to go to an aquarium was accepted without 'buts' and 'whatoevers', her mother simply picking up the car keys and hushing her to the car with a backpack Annabeth hadn't even noticed she was carrying. The bag was stuffed with whatever it was that the girl didn't know, and it stayed in the front seat beside her mother other than the trunk.
The thing she most remembered about that day was the sharks, and the soft disliking of Athena to anything sea-related, apparently. It didn't stop Annabeth from walking around, always pulling her mother along, and asking questions and pointing fingers and laughing and smiling. She should've noticed that her mother didn't once berate her for her childish behavior. She should've noticed that Athena's eyes were cloudy and distant, and that the smile on her face whenever Annabeth squealed in delight was relieved.
Over what, though, Annabeth would only realize years down the line. That day, though, her mother took her to eat popcorn and bought her cheeseburgers without much of a question, though with a little frown. They walked together along the pier outside the aquarium, and Athena let Annabeth snap a picture with a woman dressed as a princess. She didn't stop the girl's rambling, and didn't try to correct her faulty English when the words were too complicated for her tongue to get it right.
That day, Annabeth's happiest so far, and by a mile, the girl had really thought that, somehow, her mother had come around and they would now be like the girls she saw on TV, those who had a best friend that also happened to be the person who called them 'daughter'.
She should've known better, because that was what her mother always told her whenever she was mistaken. She should've known better, because that smile on her mother's lips was never directed to Annabeth. She should've known better, because she knew her way around town, and she could recognize the streets that led to her father's house.
Athena had said that something important came up, and so Annabeth would have to stay with her father for now because the event didn't allow children. The woman placed the way-too-filled backpack beside Annabeth's confused frame — she should've known better because there were too many things inside that bag for only a while —, patted the top of Annabeth's head — she should've know because her mother's smile had never been that wide —, and rushed to the car, driving off before Helen could open the door and stare at the child that still stared at the street where her mother's car had been a second before.
She stayed in place until Helen's voice was too annoying, inquiring why she was there, where her mother was, and claiming that it wasn't the weekend yet, and Frederick only had the last weekend of the month.
