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Sally’s favourite colour was blue. It had been as long as she remembered. She liked the sky; she liked the sea. And she’d really liked the blue-black shade of Poseidon’s hair, but she tried not to think about that.
She even liked the blue and white colour scheme the product designer had given this pregnancy test, despite the chaos it was about to bring to her life. The test, of course, read positive.
This shouldn’t be happening. Sally used protection. She could be a bit… adventurous… yes, but she was sensible. Most of the time. This shouldn’t be happening.
But it was. The next three tests proved it.
A baby would be like a wrecking ball through Sally’s life. Not that there was much to wreck, given that she more or less bounced between whatever odd jobs she could find, wrote whatever she could on scraps of paper, and distracted herself in the evenings when what she wrote ended up a little too close to erotica. Erotica that she had personally experienced. Erotica that she wanted back.
Sally had left Poseidon. It had been mutual, sure, but he’d been clear that he couldn’t stay with her so long as she was mortal, in case they had a child—that oath did sound important—and she’d informed him that she did not want to be made immortal and live in Atlantis. True, life as a mortal kind of sucked. Life as a clear-sighted mortal was worse. But it was still her life. She was going to make something of it.
Like a novel. She really, really wanted to write a novel. So long as that novel didn’t keep trying to turn into an explicit memoir about her time with the god of the sea.
She pushed onward. Poseidon had been a fun summer, and she’d treasure him for the joy she’d brought her when she’d been starting to feel like there was no joy to be had. Attracting a god had been a much-needed self-esteem boost, to be honest, not to mention the lovely things he’d said. But now it was time for her to move forward with her life. She needed to know what she wanted to make of it.
Pregnancy hadn’t been part of the plan. But to be honest, there hadn’t been much plan with most of the people Sally had slept with since leaving her sparkling summer behind at Montauk, and Poseidon with it. There had just been urges. And now here they were.
Whose kid was this?
Hers, obviously. That was the most important thing. Though the realisation that she was pregnant had been a shock… it wasn’t an unwelcome one. Sally liked kids. She wanted kids. Now there was a little kid in her belly. She would’ve preferred it to be Poseidon’s kid, damn what he said about the dangers of demigod lives. She would’ve preferred the kid to be born of love, not rebounded lust. But the kid would be born of love. She would love them. That was all that mattered.
The other options flitted in her brain—she knew where the nearest abortion clinic was—but after a few minutes of consideration, she shook her head and threw the pregnancy test in the trash. This was her baby. Hers. She wanted it.
It was an insane decision to make so quickly. Sally Jackson couldn’t look after a baby. Sally Jackson could barely look after herself. She’d been dismissed from that Greek café in Astoria because she’d dropped hot coffee down a customer’s front after he flicked a forked tongue at her. And there was the souvenir shop that had fired her because when one of those horrible large dogs—a hellhound, Poseidon had called it—had crashed through the windows to snap at a waddling toddler, Sally had speared an NYC-themed umbrella through its eye. It had done nothing to the hellhound, but it had made it look like Sally was the one who’d caused the chaos it had left behind. She was lucky they hadn’t pressed charges. Then there’d been the tour guide gig. Apparently joking about seeing monsters around every corner wasn’t as funny as Sally had thought it would be.
She had no money. No future ahead of her. There was nothing she had to offer a child. But she wanted them anyway.
So, she’d figure it out. She had to. Poseidon had said she was the most impressive woman he’d met in centuries, right? That meant she could look after a child.
She needed to stop thinking about Poseidon.
This child definitely wasn’t his. She hadn’t seen him since August, when they’d had a very passionate farewell in Montauk. Poseidon had said that he’d been taking care not to impregnate her, because gods could decide how they made babies apparently, and that had been three months ago. She would’ve noticed earlier if he had.
But since then… Well.
The roster of potential sires for her child was a little embarrassing.
The first ex-lover Sally approached was not a candidate. Mira Markos, one of the waitresses from the café Sally had been fired from, was a beautiful woman with a Mediterranean tan, dark hair, and darker eyes. Her accent was soft and soothing. She’d approached Sally to comfort her after she’d lost her job, and then she’d done a different form of comforting altogether, but she didn’t have the right apparatus to be the cause of this.
Mira did help her though. It was awkward. They barely knew each other, and then they’d had sex a few times, but it wasn’t like Sally knew many people in New York. Old neighbours? She had to move to cheaper apartments too many times to keep in touch. High school friends? That was years ago, and she’d unwittingly isolated herself when she’d dropped out to look after her uncle. Mira was all she had.
She was the one who said, tactfully: “Have you tried approaching the father? Perhaps he could provide… financial support.”
“I don’t know where to look for half of them,” Sally muttered.
Mira winced. “You didn’t… No. You did.” Her voice was so resigned.
“I know some of their names,” Sally said. “I didn’t meet all of them on nights out.” She honestly couldn’t afford to party too much anyway, so her nights out were acts of total, lustful desperation.
“Then we can find them and speak to them! Surely…” Mira paused. “There cannot be too many of them. Once the child is born, you could have a paternity test…”
“Yeah.” Sally rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”
Mira smiled at her. Sally was abruptly confronted with the reason she’d been attracted to her. Her smile, though genuine, was crooked and cheeky, and her white teeth glowed against her tanned skin. Sally knew a smile a lot like it.
Tracking down the potential fathers was easy, because Sally had no job. It was also urgent—because Sally had no job. She needed support and soon.
Chris Cox was on the embarrassing end of her rebounds. He was a Montauk surfer, and she’d found him before the lease was even up on her cabin for the summer. Forty-eight hours after watching Poseidon disappear into the waves for the last time, he’d been there, and Sally had felt lonely. One thing had led to another. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen so easily for a blond guy who said dude that much. It was like he’d walked out of some cheesy movie. She also couldn’t believe she’d gone back enough times that he was one of the possible sires for a baby she’d only noticed in November.
It was out of season, but she remembered he’d said he lived in Montauk year-round. She got the Long Island Railroad into the town and went snooping. He wasn’t hard to find. It was a small town, and a kindly lady in the yarn store pointed him to the surfboard shop where he worked. Weird that it was still open at this time of year, but whatever. They stocked Christmas-themed surfboards, so maybe they were expecting an influx of patronage.
Sally waited until his shift was over, because she was nice like that, then pounced on him as he was locking up. “Chris!” she said.
Chris glanced over at her, brow furrowed. She smiled winningly until he remembered her. She was sure he’d taken a lot of girls to bed this summer, but she’d been pretty consistent.
Sure enough, his customer service smile melted into something smugger when he said, “Sally! Back again?”
“Yes and no,” she said. Unconsciously, she put her hand over her belly. His gaze tracked the motion. “I’m—”
“It’s not mine,” Chris said. Sally dropped her hand. “No. No way. Not again. It’s been months!”
She frowned. Again? “Yeah, but—”
He ran away.
Great. Exactly what she needed. She tried to track him down more thoroughly—if he lived locally, she could find him, especially if he already had a reputation for knocking girls up—but after the first few phone calls, she just hung up.
She knew where to find him. And if her baby was born blond, she’d have questions.
Sally got smarter after that, though. No more approaching people in their own time. If she could corner them at work, she did.
Brian Rivera was a nice enough guy. He had broad shoulders, strong hands, and a New York accent thicker than the pigeon droppings on her windowsill. Enthusiastic, gentle, with a sardonic sense of humour and the tendency to banter during sex, he also filled more holes than she’d realised needed filling. He was wasted in the ticket booth of the subway where he worked. But Sally took the subway every day. It was how she’d first met him, and it was how she found him now.
He grinned at her, teeth a little yellow from cigarettes. “Sally! Beautiful as ever. Where you headed?”
“To you.”
His grin widened. “Again?”
No beating around the bush, this time. And no giving the game away with suspiciously fond hand gestures. Ignoring the cursing of the people behind her in line, Sally said, “I’m pregnant.”
Brian froze. His eyes widened in shock. “What?”
“I’m pregnant. And I think the kid is—”
“Very romantic,” a guy in line behind Sally said. “Can you two have this conversation off the clock? I got places to be.”
Brian was shaking his head. “I mean, shit, Sally. I got… I don’t have enough to take care of a kid. I’ll try to help, but—”
“Seriously!” another woman in line piped up. “I’m already late for work.”
“Then wake up earlier,” Sally snapped back.
“What’s the hold up?” someone bellowed across the concourse. A guy in a uniform, Sally noticed.
Brian swore again, grabbed a piece of paper, then scribbled his address and number on it. “Come talk to me later,” he pleaded.
Taking pity on him, she did. They came to an agreement: Brian had no money. Sally had no money. Seeing as Brian was nice enough that Sally didn’t want to hide the fact that she didn’t know who, exactly, the father was, he was even more hesitant to give her anything.
“I’ll help!” he insisted, flapping his hands like a bird its wings. “I got… I dunno… I’ll ask my sister, see if she has any pregnancy tips. Old baby stuff. That shit’s expensive.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.”
“I don’t got any money, Sally. Nothing.”
With a sigh, Sally let him go.
In contrast, Micky Diaz had money. He was a finance guy and, frankly, the scum of the earth, but he did have money. She’d met him on a night out, so he should’ve been anonymous to her. But he’d made the mistake of bragging about his job, so she tracked him down to it. He didn’t appreciate that.
“I’m just getting my career started!” he shouted on the sidewalk outside his skyscraper office. His suit was sharp, his jacket tossed over his shoulder with a casualness he no longer felt, and his tie—red, for passion, he’d once told her solemnly—was collecting all the stress sweat his shirt collar couldn’t absorb. “I can’t be a father! You can’t do this to me!”
He wasn’t even that attractive, Sally thought. But his hair was blue-black. Her life was a joke.
“I’m not getting rid of the baby,” she said, putting her hand protectively over her belly. She said it loudly enough that she hoped some of his coworkers, coming out of the building as they finished their day, would hear and judge him.
Micky clearly noticed. “It’s not mine,” he insisted hotly, spinning around and declaring it for the world to hear. “It’s not mine! We slept together once!”
Sally cleared her throat. “Well—”
With a noise she couldn’t mimic if she tried, Micky pulled out his wallet, tore about a dozen bills from it, and stuffed them into her hands. “There!” he said. “Go away! It’s not mine! If you’re just looking for money, take it and go!”
Affronted, she made to argue, but then she glanced down at the bills in her hand. They were all fifties. He’d handed her six hundred dollars.
She should’ve stolen his wallet instead of sleeping with him, apparently.
Going through her sex life over the last couple of months wasn’t the first time she’d noticed the pattern in what sort of person she’d been gravitating toward. It had hit her like a bolt of lightning at some point in October, after she’d had a wonderful night with a Dr Ashlee Flores. Ashlee had been giving a talk about the subject she’d done her PhD on—something to do with coastal modelling—and Sally had gone along because she missed the ocean. And then, seeing Ashlee’s green eyes, she’d missed it even more.
She didn’t regret the fun they’d had, but it had led to some realisations.
Naturally, she’d immediately tried to prove to herself that she was not pining after Poseidon that much. She’d chosen to leave him, after all. She couldn’t be that cut up about it.
Which was why she’d slept with Hayden Brooks, a musician with dull brown hair, a thin, sickly face, and whose fingers were only clever on his guitar strings. He had a lot in common with Sally, but they were all the wrong things. Like big, unrealistic dreams.
“I’ll make it big soon,” he promised. “There’s this audition my band have coming up…”
He kept talking about it. Sally wondered if he’d even registered what she’d said when she’d told him she was pregnant.
Either way, he didn’t have any money. If the audition went well—which it wouldn’t, but hey, Sally didn’t know anything about music—then he might in the future. And maybe in the future, if Sally’s child was born with those creepily large grey eyes of his, she knew where they’d come from and who to turn to. But until then, there was nothing to squeeze him for—and really, no ironclad proof that she had any right to squeeze.
Hayden kept rambling about his band’s latest sound. Sally decided that if Chris could run away from her, she could run away from this. She wondered later how long it took Hayden to notice.
Alex Georgiou was perhaps the most egregious example of Sally’s sexual fixations. A Greek man who’d worked on cargo ships and ended up stranded in New York for a few months while he was in between jobs, he had that Mediterranean tan, loved the ocean, and—most importantly—whispered to her in Greek when they slept together. Maybe it wasn’t Ancient Greek, but it wasn’t like Sally could tell the difference. She’d gone out with him quite sincerely and enthusiastically for weeks even after the realisation had clicked, safe in the knowledge that he’d be leaving New York soon, and neither of them were looking for anything long term.
He was also the sweetest man she’d ever met.
“This is wonderful news!” he exclaimed. He was on his ship, somewhere out in the Atlantic, and she could hear the wind howling over the phone. “You want this child?”
Sally nodded, before she realised he couldn’t see her over the phone. “I do,” she said aloud. She let herself smile. “I’m really happy about it.”
“I am glad! You are sure it is mine?”
“Well.” Sally didn’t have it in her to lie to Alex. “No. There might’ve been… other candidates. I won’t be sure until the child is born. I wanted to let you know—”
“I will send you some money,” Alex said. “Keep it. Even if the child is not mine. It will not be much, you understand, but you are a good woman, Sally Jackson. This baby will be glad to have you for a mother.”
He was so sweet.
“Thank you,” she said, a little choked up. “I’ll… um… I’ll let you know. When the baby’s born. What they look like.”
“Do you have any ideas for names?”
She shook her head, even knowing he couldn’t see her. “I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet. Do you have any names you like? I’m taking suggestions.”
Alex hummed. “It is old-fashioned,” he admitted. “And if he is not my son, perhaps you do not want to give him a Greek name. But I have always liked Perseus. You know the story of Perseus?”
“Yeah,” Sally admitted. She hadn’t told Alex she could see through the Mist, but she had told him that she liked Greek mythology. “It feels like he’s the only Greek myth that didn’t end in tragedy.”
“I never considered that,” Alex said thoughtfully. “I just like the name. It is a cool name.”
Sally smiled. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”
Alex’s money wasn’t much, but once Sally found another job and worked for as long as she could still be productively on her feet, it was enough to tide her over. When her son was born, and the nurse told her it was a boy, she knew what she was going to call him.
She’d been thinking about it ever since that conversation. Perseus. Shortened to Percy, which was more useful in an Anglophone country. He was a son of Zeus in the myths, which did sour it for her, but the idea of his happy ending was tempting. Sally had left Poseidon because she wanted to make her own decisions, her own life. And what had Poseidon always told her? Names had power. Her son felt like a good omen in himself.
So, she wrote Perseus down on the birth certificate. That was before she even saw Percy’s eyes.
She was pretty sure she’d read that baby’s eyes change colour after they’re born. If a baby is born with blue eyes, they won’t necessarily stay that way. But apparently, children of the gods didn’t abide by the normal rules of biology—a statement that explained this whole situation she was in. Because when he opened them for the first time, pressed into her arms and staring up at her, Percy’s eyes were already a vivid sea green.
It made Sally smile.
She waited until she was home to pray. In the meantime, she phoned Alex. He didn’t pick up, but she left him a voicemail giving her thanks, that she was sure this child wasn’t his, and that she’d named him Perseus anyway. Then that evening, she put Percy down in his crib and left Poseidon his own voicemail, of a sort.
“How is this possible, Poseidon?” she asked aloud, making sure to enunciate his name. “I haven’t seen you in nearly a year. But my son has your eyes.”
There was a moment of silence. She rested her hands on the side of the crib Brian’s sister had gifted her, looking down at Percy. Then, she admitted: “However it works… I’m glad he’s yours.”
“Are you?”
She turned.
Poseidon materialised right behind her. She hadn’t even sent him an offering, so she wondered if he’d been listening for her voice in his head as keenly as she’d been looking for his features in random passersby. He looked exactly as she remembered, with his green eyes and blue-black hair and strong hands and cheeky grin, even if that grin was now more ironic. There was a solemnity to him that was almost as attractive as his wildness.
“Yes,” she said. “I missed you.”
He stepped up beside her and looked down at their son. The caution in his eyes softened when Percy yawned in his sleep.
“I did not know you were pregnant,” he said.
“Realised it in November,” she said wryly. “I didn’t know that a pregnancy could sneak under the radar for that long. Do demigods need longer to gestate?”
“Not usually.” Poseidon reached down to pick Percy up. Percy snuffled something, but he settled in his father’s arms easily enough. “When last we saw each other, you were certainly not pregnant. I checked.”
Sally wondered what checking entailed. She decided she didn’t want to know. “Then how…?”
Poseidon closed his eyes. “This is my fault,” he said. “I usually have more self-control.”
“I think it takes two to—”
“Not in this case.” He sighed. “Gods can make children… from thoughts. From love. Sex is not required. Just look at my niece’s army of brain children.” Sally nodded. He’d complained to her about Athena before. “I was thinking… It was reckless. But for many months after we last saw each other, I was still thinking how much I would have liked to have a child with you.”
The quiet words settled in her heart, glowing like embers in ashes. Sally felt warmed through.
“So was I,” she admitted.
How much had he pined? She had gone mad with it, at times, as much as she resented herself for it. Every time she’d backtracked, hoping to see glimpses of him in the faces around her, had he been thinking of her too? Had their son been born of a mutual devotion strong enough to endure even long after they had agreed to part ways?
“It seems that was enough.” Poseidon cradled Percy so gently, it made her want to have another child with him. “I am sorry for my mistake.”
Her tone hardened. “Excuse me?”
“His life will not be easy,” Poseidon said. “Nor yours. Unless you have changed your mind about my offer.”
“I haven’t.”
“Not even for him?” Poseidon glanced down at him. “His life will be a cursed one, if he remains mortal.”
“His name is Perseus.”
Poseidon stiffened. Even as he did, he made sure his grip on Percy remained soft. “Why?”
“He will have a happy ending.” She said the words like a fact—like this was the ending to the novel she’d been struggling to write. “I will make sure of it. Neither of us will do well caged in your court. You know that. I want him to…”
She trailed off, unsure what she was even going to say. Poseidon was watching her as intently as he always did, hanging onto every word.
“I want him,” she finished.
“I tried to spare you this grief,” he said. “I warn you what is coming. In doing this, I have broken an oath. He will suffer for it—and there is worse to come, worse than any demigod should face—”
“You tried to spare me all grief,” Sally said. “In offering me immortality and in trying to stop this from happening. I understand why you’re scared, Poseidon. But I don’t need you to look after me. I want him, no matter how difficult his life will be. We will figure it out.”
“I cannot help you. If I do, it will only hasten disaster. You will have to—”
“I don’t need you,” Sally broke out. “You don’t— you don’t need to solve all my problems for me. I’ll figure this out.” She looked down at Percy. “We will figure it out.”
She knew that Poseidon believed her.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Sally tried to think of more to say—something that would encompass what she felt. How much Poseidon meant to her. The ferocity with which she’d missed him.
Or something to do with the way that loving a god meant she looked for pieces of him everywhere. In friends and strangers who reminded her of him, yes, but also in the fabric of the world itself. He was in the water and in the rivers and in the seas. Even in built-up Manhattan, his rage was felt in the rain and the storms that buffeted her apartment—her life. As an aspiring author, she was supposed to be good with words. But she had none to describe how happy she was to have a piece of him to hold in her arms, like this.
“Thank you,” she said. “For your lack of control. For your love. It gave me hope when I needed it. And now it’s given me my future.”
“You do not want any more,” he said.
The pull in her heart made it painful, but she shook her head.
Poseidon met her eyes, then looked down at Percy. Slowly, he kissed his forehead. When Percy snuggled against his chest, his breathing hitched, and he closed his eyes for a long, painful moment.
Then he put him back down in the crib.
“You have always had hope. That is one of the many luminous things about you.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “If anyone can make the best of this situation, it is you.”
She recognised the farewell for what it was. “I guess I’ll see you around,” she muttered.
“And I you.”
He brushed his lips to hers, so gently that her eyes fluttered closed. When she opened them again, he was gone.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She knelt next to Percy and watched him through the bars.
“Hey, Percy. It’s you and me now,” she whispered. If the salt on her lips was from her tears or from him, she didn’t know. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Percy didn’t respond except to snuffle again, kicking one of his sock-clad feet. She’d dressed him in a cerulean onesie. It made him look sweeter and calmer than he was when he was awake.
And it brought out the blue sheen in his hair.