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The Empire State Building was a brilliant blue, its light burning a straight line through the dim sky like a shot. Even from standing atop the cloudy palace on Olympus, Percy could see the way the wispy mist was illuminated in the night. It reminded him of the glow of a television screen in a dark living room and how the furniture reflected the light of a late-night show.
“Um, thanks,” he muttered to no one in particular, though he was sure that Zues acknowledged his uncertain gratitude in that holier-than-thou way of his.
The shimmering forms of many of the gods had already dissipated. Onto the next big thing, he guessed, or another immortal conflict he did not dare try to comprehend.
The meeting had adjourned not long ago, and the gods’ throne room echoed in near emptiness like a baseball field with no spectators. Lingering magic speckled the air to the point that Percy was not sure where it might end.
For some reason, the other demigods had disappeared, even Annabeth, and he felt her absence acutely. Just minutes ago, the room was brimming with life. Yet here he stood at the base of a crackling hearth ten times taller than he was and propped up on a marble pillar. He felt like a rather pathetic ant in the grand scheme of things.
Which was a dumb thing to feel when the rest of him was also bone tired with every single nerve ending in his body still screaming to run little half-blood run because Kronos will kill you—
Someone cleared his throat.
Percy swiveled around on his heels, breath escaping his lips too fast, and his heart pumping like mad.
Poseidon stood there with one of his hands raised. “Peace, Percy,” he said placatingly. “No one else is here.”
He forced himself to relax. However, he had to admit that it was a challenge when not only was the throne room mostly empty, but the remnants of the battle that had just taken place there remained. The overturned tiles, the piles of debris.
The red stain on the ground where Luke used to be.
“Right,” Percy said, breath caught in his throat for the briefest of moments.
He glanced at his father who was still clad in celestial bronze armor. His hair and beard had regained most of its black color, but here and there he spotted strands of white. The scuffs on his chest plate were prominent, and the trident in his hand pulsed a quietly powerful turquoise glow. The sea was recovering.
A look Percy did not recognize flitted across Poseidon’s face. Then, he found himself caught up in his father’s embrace. He stiffened in his arms, too stunned to move.
“Happy sixteenth birthday, son,” Poseidon whispered. And the words tingled against the shell of his ear. Warm as a sea breeze along a tropical coast. He held Percy tighter.
Hesitantly, Percy raised his arms and hugged him back. When he pressed his nose into his shoulder, he smelled like both loaming after a storm and sea salt.
They pulled away.
For a moment, an awkward silence stretched between them. Percy did not have his father present for most of his life, and even if he did, he thought it would be different considering Poseidon was not even human. What this was that burgeoned between them was delicate but had been brewing slowly. He did not know what any of it meant. He did not know how to be a father’s son.
It was Poseidon who spoke again first.
“I wanted to ask you something,” the god remarked haltingly. He pressed his lips together as if waiting for a negative response. He made a vague gesture with his trident to the empty room.
Oh, Percy realized. The two of them were left there alone because Poseidon had willed it so. If the other gods had been willing to leave, then…
As if reading his mind, Poseidon inclined his head and said, “They owe it to me, of course, because I am your father. You have made Olympus proud and most of all you have made me proud.”
“I didn’t fight this war to make anyone proud of me.”
Whatever this was, it was starting to feel like they were making him out to be some protagonist in a superhero movie.
Poseidon chuckled. “I know you didn’t.” He paused, more serious now as he implored him. “But they don’t know that.”
The air around the thrones stilled.
“Percy,” his father started again. “Zeus has given you your reward. You have asked the gods for a reward, something we will do our best to honor. But,” and he continued with that look again, the one that confused Percy, “you have not yet asked me for something.”
Percy blinked. “What?”
“Will you allow your father to give you a gift?”
Percy reached for this Camp Half-Blood necklace, but the space where his father’s sand dollar had been was now empty. Instead, the rest of his clay beads clinked together. He had forgotten that he had used it, broken it in half to clean the East River and the Hudson River.
“I…”
Poseidon did not speak, watching him with a gaze that prodded him to think.
They were a foot away from each other, but something shifted. Something changed. He wanted whatever metaphorical space that was still between them to close, snap shut. Anything that would stop the ridiculous itch he had to figure out what having a father meant.
Percy wondered what it would be like if his father patted his head whenever he did something he was proud of. He wondered how different life would have been if Poseidon had been there at home to greet him when he returned from school, or even if he had one of those memories his mortal classmates sometimes had of their dads embarrassing them with terrible nicknames in front of their friends.
Before Percy could think too hard about it, he blurted out, “I want some of your time.” He gulped, realizing in a second that he needed to clarify. “Can I have…some of your time? Maybe we could hang out on a weekend or something. Just a day or a few hours. It doesn’t have to be long. We can walk around the city, or I don’t know…eat some pizza. Whatever works.”
Percy tightened his hands into fists. The back of his neck was hot with embarrassment. He had no idea why he said that. He had no idea why all of that just came out and—
Poseidon dropped his free hand on Percy’s shoulder.
“Saturday,” he said. As if it was the easiest thing in the world. “I will meet you at noon to try this pizza.”
Percy’s heart stuttered. “R-right,” he stammered. “Um. How about at Prince Street Pizza?” he suggested before he lost his nerve. “Towards Lower Manhattan. On the corner of Prince Street and Mott Street.”
His father grinned.
-
The heat was sweltering, and beyond that, Percy did not know what to expect when he finally made it to Prince Street Pizza. He let out a nervous breath and fingered the hem of his orange camp shirt, the loose threads at the end brushing on his fingertips. He really needed to get a new one from Chiron soon.
Still, he glanced at the digital watch on his wrist. The black numbers were easier for him to read than trying to figure out time on an analog watch. He was never one to wear a watch, but the overwhelming paranoia of being late to his appointment with his father was so great that his mother snagged him a cheap watch off Amazon. The package had arrived in their building’s mailroom the night before, much to Percy’s relief. He thanked the gods for next-day delivery. He could not risk going around with a cell phone just to look at the time anyway.
11:57 AM glared against a white background on the clock face. The little colon between the hour and the minute numbers blinked as if taunting him.
Three more minutes. He could do this. He tapped his foot.
The line leading to the pizzeria was getting longer by the minute. It was a popular eatery after all.
He leaned against the brick wall at the storefront, painted black to match the doorframe color, and complimented the green and gold sign hanging above. Some kid slapped a neon-colored sticker onto the door, just one among the hordes of other stickers that decorated the entrance.
“I hope I am not late,” someone spoke.
Percy jumped. Poseidon stood in front of him, tilting his head to the side. He wore his fishing hat, blue button-up linen shirt, a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts, and sandals. If he were a human, Percy would reprimand him for wearing such a poor choice of walking shoes in the city.
“You’re just on time,” Percy said. The clockface read 12:00 PM on the dot. Leave it to a god to be punctual to the millisecond.
Poseidon nodded with enthusiasm. “Well, let us try what you mortals call ‘pizza.’”
Percy grimaced. “Maybe you shouldn’t say things like ‘you mortals’ out loud.”
As a response, his father only laughed, and something inside Percy’s chest untangled. He followed Percy’s lead as they fell in line. Even as they stood moments from the front where they’d choose their pizza, Poseidon never attempted to make things go faster. That most of all was a surprise.
It felt so jarringly normal that Percy was breathless by the time the person at the front asked what type of slices they wanted.
“I defer to my son,” Poseidon said, puffing out his chest. "He is the expert in this area. Although I’d not prefer anchovies because the humpback whales on the West Coast might be annoyed with me again and we—”
“Two pepperonis, please,” interjected Percy before his father said something too weird for him to explain without getting a few looks.
At the register, Percy palmed his wallet for a twenty, but Poseidon pushed a golden drachma on the counter first.
The girl ringing them up frowned. “Sir, I don’t think we can take foreign currency.”
“It is the exact change you need,” Poseidon stated with confidence. But his voice sounded different, a little warbled as if he was speaking underwater.
The girl perked up. Her eyes glazed over. “It is the exact change I need,” she repeated robotically. Then she added under her breath, “What a miracle that I don’t have to break a fifty when I’m running out of ones again.”
Shaking his head, Percy sighed. He led them to the outside tables where they would have more room to eat. It was stuffy eating from the narrow countertops along the wall. He took a shaker full of parmesan with him though.
Percy slid the pizza box onto the table and popped open the lid. Two steaming slices of square pepperoni pizzas sat inside, and boy did it smell better than ambrosia.
“This is the best pizza in the city,” declared Percy with a grin. He shook some parmesan on top of it, then lifted his slice, tilting it just so that Poseidon could see it over the box. “In my opinion anyway.” He took an eager bite. “Depends on who you ask.”
Poseidon hovered over his slice, for once looking a bit unsure. He nodded, a determined line forming between his brows, and copied what Percy did. He held the pizza away from his lips for a few seconds, eyes roaming over the sprinkled parmesan that coated the curled, thick cups of pepperoni.
“What makes it the best?” he asked.
Percy swallowed. “The crust and the way all the oil collects inside that crispy pepperoni,” he replied. “Can’t get more delicious than that.” For some reason, talking as if he were just showing a visitor around town calmed his nerves. Still, that did not stop him from looking at his father cautiously when he finally tried the pizza.
Poseidon blinked, his eyes widening. “This is quite good.” Some of the oil caught onto his beard.
Percy felt himself smile.
When they finished their meal, he was certain Poseidon would leave. After all, a god was busy. Instead, his father helped clear the table and looked at him expectantly.
“So,” he remarked when the trash was put away, “Where would you like to go next, son?”
Percy stared, his mouth hanging open.
“Perhaps an establishment selling dessert? I do recall you have a sweet tooth occasionally.”
For what felt longer than it probably was, he could not speak. Everything he thought he wanted to say weighed on his tongue like a heavy barbell.
“How about…how about Sweet on America?” he sputtered out at last. “We just have to take the 4 or 6 train uptown. Unless you wanted to travel some other way?”
He almost smacked himself in the face. What was he thinking? A god riding public transportation? Specifically, the subway system? He might as well staple a sign on the back of his shirt that said I’m only half human!
“Ah, yes, the train!” exclaimed Poseidon. “I have wondered how it works.”
Percy winced. “What do you know about New York City anyway?” If he was about to take an all-powerful immortal being on the subway with him, he needed to be prepared on all fronts.
"I know New York City, even the four boroughs! Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Astoria!"
"Dad there are five boroughs, and Astoria isn't one of them."
"How could Astoria not be?” To his credit, Poseidon appeared genuinely confused. That only aided in concerning Percy more. “It's where the Greeks live. And they have Neptune Diner. 4.2 stars!"
"Astoria's a neighborhood in Queens...which actually is a borough."
Poseidon frowned in thought. "What is the fifth one anyway?"
"Staten Island."
"Ah, that's why I don't remember. I think I heard the mortals saying that it does not count."
"It's a borough. But we don't claim it."
Percy rubbed his forehead. Well, what he knew had to be enough. His father had leaned forward, mirth sparkling in his eyes in a way that told him that there would be no backing out of this. As skeptical as Percy was, Poseidon was serious. Though it was baffling.
The excitement that built inside Percy started as a shock though. He brought them on a path through the streets toward the Spring Street station, dodging traffic and other jaywalkers. With every step he took, every glimpse over his shoulder to see if Poseidon was still following him, anticipation burbled pleasantly to the surface.
He knew it was stupid, especially as they walked down the steps into the subway station, to be so thrilled at the thought of taking the train with his father. It was mundane, it was easy—tapping his MetroCard at the turnstile and waiting on the platform that smelled like sewage and baked urine in the summer—all of it was simply part of another day.
Yet, tugging his father onto a train car filled with people and not the empty one made him happy for some reason.
“But the other car had so many seats available!” Poseidon said.
“You go into an empty car if you don’t want air conditioning!”
And yeah. Maybe summertime was not the best season to bring someone on their first trip on the subway, especially when tunnels got so hot that it was miserable. Maybe the scuttling rats along the tracks as they stole someone’s lunch could be shocking to a god who was not used to it. The random guy dragging an entire futon from Ikea into an already crowded car did not help matters either.
But Poseidon held onto the handrails, wide-eyed when the unintelligible words spat out of the speaker announcing every stop. He clapped for a performer who walked onto the car strumming “Beyond the Sea” by Bobby Darin on guitar and tossed him a drachma that Percy hoped the Mist would disguise.
Then they were pouring out into their stop.
He had no idea how it happened, but Percy grabbed his father’s hand and pulled him through the rush of people, up the stairs, and into the much cooler halls of Grand Central Station. He only let go when they paused in front of Sweet on America.
“The candy shop your mother worked at,” commented Poseidon. “I hear they have good saltwater taffy.”
Percy laughed. “Yeah, they do.”
Somehow it was the simplest thing to go into the shop after that. Wading around the throng of people, the plastic towers of candy dispensers, and the walls of jellybeans, he felt like a five-year-old again on his way home after school and choosing sweets with his mom.
They tossed each other blue hard candies to try, even blue Twizzlers which were harder to catch. One of the attendants yelled at them, but neither of them let getting into a little trouble bother them. The whole time, Percy could not stop himself from grinning. It was like a game. It was fun.
It was his dad.
He was sure they spent nearly an hour in the store before somehow, they were taking the train up to Queens because Poseidon could not stop talking about the gyros in Astoria that a naiad from the East River was raving about.
Then, after a while of wandering around Astoria itself—picking through a Greek food truck off the Broadway stop included—Percy noticed the sun was beginning to set.
“Hey,” Percy said, “I know a great place to go next.”
“Lead the way, son,” Poseidon replied. The corners of his eyes crinkled.
So, Percy found himself at the end of a whirlwind of a day standing at the poolside of the gigantic 60-acre pool in Astoria Park, watching the sky deepen into fiery orange and red. His father remained at his side also admiring the sight.
Behind them, kids splashed in the water and parents called for their unruly children to settle down. On either side of the park, the Triborough Bridge and the Hell Gate Bridge bordered them, massive sentinels acting as shade. The East River flowed just a stretch of a road away from the park, its surface mirroring the sun's rays.
The smell of chlorine was familiar, as was the sound of the lifeguard’s whistle.
“Mom taught me to swim here,” Percy said, glancing over at his father. “At first…I didn’t really like it. I was afraid of the water.”
Poseidon chuckled. “My own child, afraid of water?”
“Believe it or not.”
The lampposts started to flicker on.
“But,” Percy continued, “I did learn to love the water.” He turned to Poseidon.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. The wind rustled through the trees, humid and warm, and Percy smelled salt in the air.
“You are getting older, aren’t you?” said Poseidon. His lips angled into a peculiar kind of smile. “It’s only a matter of time.” He had an unreadable look in his eye that Percy could not pinpoint. The color of his irises shifted from the color of light skimming the surface of the sea to the green of brackish water. Changing in hue like the churning depths. “I do not intend to squander time.”
Percy raised his eyebrows, not understanding. He itched at the watch on his wrist.
Poseidon placed a hand atop Percy’s head. “You mortals truly amaze me,” he stated. Yet, something flickered across his face. Something sad.
“We can’t do all the crazy stuff you can though.”
“You remind us of what is most important.”
Poseidon let go. His touch began to fade with a coming sea breeze. The East River bubbled and the waters twirled, waiting. He stepped forward, just ahead of Percy.
The god looked back. “Next time maybe…Washington Square Park?”
Percy beamed. “Yeah, dad,” he agreed. “Let me know which weekend you’re free next. I’m open.”
“The weekend after next? Saturday at the same time?”
“I’ll meet you next to the lady selling crocheted pigeons.”
“It’s a promise.”
Poseidon disappeared into the sunset with a flash of blue light. No one else at the park seemed to notice. As the sun dipped lower behind the horizon, Percy stood alone on the bank of the East River humming “Beyond the Sea.”