Russell Ware Jr. was near tears. Every time his fingers touched the keyboard of his computer the machine emitted a loud, shrill noise. He thought he detected the scent of smoke. Of course his luck would cause the computer to blow up on his desk and burn down the building. He ended his pity party of one and tried to fight his way through the assignment. Nita Floyd had run out of the office an hour before and had not returned. He was stuck, with a five o'clock deadline he needed to meet. He was doomed.

"Need some help?"

His gaze drifted upwards to find Walter Yates standing in his doorway, "No, everything is under control." He straightened his tie and returned to the screen before him.

"There's no shame in asking for much needed assistance," The man was persistent, "Nita took personal time for the rest of the afternoon," Yates slowly moved towards his desk and eased his way into the chair, "Now or never young buck, you need some help?"

Russ nodded, "I can't get my formulas to transfer to the other cells and I haven't made the graphics for the morning presentation." He waited for the pending insults but none came, "I don't want anyone to do the work for me I just need..."

Walter Yates walked around the desk, "Scoot over," He turned the monitor to face him and studied the spreadsheet before him, "I don't approve of how your father has handled this little situation," He grabbed the mouse and highlighted the necessary icon on the toolbar, "It's not far to Nita or you."

Over the span of an hour, Yates gave Russ a crash course on the entire office suite. He had enough knowledge to complete his overdue report and prep his portion of the department presentation, "Thank you Mr. Yates."

The man waved off the appreciation, "None necessary."

Russ could tell there was more he wanted to say but the man avoided further discussion, "Have a good evening Mr. Ware." Nothing further was said. He watched the man retreat from his office back to his own. He was thankful for the help and even more appreciative of the words he shared. Maybe he wasn't crazy for feeling like his father set him up for failure.

Russ shut down his computer and gathered his things. When he passed by the small area of cubicles his eyes drifted to Nita's desk. He saw the screen of her cell phone flashing. He grabbed the slim device and answered the call, "Hello."

"Mom?"

A tiny male voice greeted him, "No this is Mr. Ware?"

There was a deep sigh and something vaguely resembling a curse from the child's mouth, "Have you seen my mom?"

Russ looked around the office. He hadn't seen Nita since she rushed out hours before. Walter did inform him that she took personal time for the remainder of the day and he thought her absence was child related. Apparently he thought wrong, he was angry and infected by something reminiscent of jealousy, "I'm sorry," The child sniffled and Russ' heart broke. He stared at the frames lining her desk and immediately picked out her son in various stages of his life; infancy, preschool, and the years leading to puberty. He struggled to recall his name, Jackson that was it, "Is something wrong Jackson?"

"My mom forgot to pick me up from my art class."

What was really going on with Nita, "Where are you?" Russ knew he was setting himself up for epic retaliation but he couldn't leave the child stranded. He listened as the boy gave him directions to the gallery where the class was held, "Give me five minutes and I'm on my way."

~`~

Talking to her daughter proved more difficult than Nita expected. Deja was virtually non responsive. Every avenue the mother tried to reach her baby girl was shot down with the roll of the teen's eyes or an over exaggerated sigh. When she attempted to engage her in a discussion about her supposed older boyfriend, Clark, Nita was met with resistance, and a threat to leave the table. She gave up. She sipped on her macchiato and contemplated where things went terribly wrong between the two.

They used to have mommy and me days; visits to the spa for matching manicures and pedicures, hours spent in the salon while they both had their hair washed, conditioned, and flat ironed, and nights where they giggled like two best friends beneath a makeshift tent created from her sheets. Things needed to change, "Deja I need help understanding what's going on with you," She measured her words carefully, "Mr. Henry is concerned, your uncle is worried, and I'm..."

"Too damn busy to give a fuck," Deja jumped from her seat, "Jackson and I take a backseat to everything; work, school, and your life." She grabbed her bag and leveled her final blow, "I'd rather live with dad, at least I only have to compete with his girlfriends, not the entire world."

Nita had failed miserably as a mother, her mouth opened, and tears slowly began to fall from her eyes.

"Enough with the crying already," Deja collapsed back in her seat, "It doesn't make me feel sorry for you, in fact I only want to laugh in your face, it's ridiculous and you wonder why dad got tired of you."

Nita had two options, she could respond in typical fashion, or try and meet her daughter somewhere in between, "Deja I realize your upset," She held her hands up as a sign of peace when the pre-teen made a vocal representation of her frustration, "However, cursing and disrespect will not be tolerated during this conversation," She continued, "I apologize for the mistakes I've made and the ones I'm going to make," Her lowered her lashes shielding her eyes from the heartbroken look on her daughter's face, "I love you, everything I've done is for you and Jackson and I'm sorry..."

"I just wanted you to be there for me." The resentment gave way to hurt, "Dad left and you threw yourself into school and work, then there was Mario, and when he died," Deja stared at her until Nita had no choice but to meet her gaze head on, "I just wanted you."

It was an opening and Nita took it, stretching her hand across the table and entwining her fingers with Deja's, "Let's start over."

For the first time in years, mother and daughter shared a genuine moment, then the dread set in when Nita caught a glimpse of the clock behind the counter, and realized what and who she had forgotten.