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Amphitrite had decided that if Poseidon wouldn't sort out his relationship with Percy, she would do it herself.
Percy was a Hero of Olympus, the only one actually recognized as such by Olympus itself.
There were privileges involved, and one of them was, of course, the right to spend time with one’s divine parent without any fuss from Zeus, that great melodramatic he was.
Poseidon might have felt guilty for not having been there sooner, but continuing to stay away could only cause harm in the long run.
Had Amphitrite not been so focused on repairing the damage Poseidon had caused or had she possessed a better understanding of how mortals worked, she wouldn't have appeared the way she did.
Unfortunately, the children she was accustomed to were immortal beings who knew nothing of PTSD, unlike mortals, such as demigods were.
So, when Amphitrite appeared near Percy, far too close, and without any warning, he jumped, the color draining from his face, before hurling the object he was holding, a pastry spatula, straight at her.
It all happened in a matter of seconds, the exact same time it took for Amphitrite to realize that appearing before the demigod in such a manner hadn't been a good idea, after all.
“Perseus,” Amphitrite said, her tone gentle, “I am not here to harm you.”
“Lady Amphitrite,” Percy exclaimed, calmer now than a moment before. “I… what are you doing here?”
Amphitrite smiled at the lack of formality shown toward her. If Hera or Persephone wanted to take offense at children treating them like stepmothers, so be it; but Amphitrite would not turn her back on the sea, not unless it turned poisonous (Theseus, Bellerophon, and Orion, to name a few).
“I wanted to invite you to Atlantis,” Amphitrite smiled gently. “Your father is worried and hurting after the events of the two wars you endured, and I, too, am concerned about what you’ve been through.”
Percy hesitated, but Amphitrite knew his weak spot, thanks to years of observation.
“Tyson said he missed you,” she said, almost casually.
“Can I come right now?” Percy asked, forgetting his earlier reluctance and focusing solely on Tyson’s well-being, as only a son of the sea would.
Protective and possessive, every one of them.
“Of course, little shell,” Amphitrite smiled. “You can come whenever you like.”