Blueprint

Part 13 - Budding

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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."