by K. M. Szpara
I give him a few minutes to leave. There’s nothing I want less than small talk with Dad or, heaven forbid, further discussion of my deposition. At least I’ll be reporting to Dutch rather than the doctors. Will he let me see Elisha or does that go against his plans with Empower Maryland? He’s still my friend.
I reach for the speakerphone in the middle of the conference table. The room mutes my voice from passersby, engineered to keep conversations private with its carpet and fabric paneling.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Alex,” I say, peeking out into the reception area. Only the receptionist remains, my attorneys having returned to their offices. “I need a favor.”
57
ELISHA
I sit beside Verónica, in the legal clinic, while she tells Eugenia about the deposition. How Alex disclosed information that showed he manipulated me, rather than the alleged opposite, but that he still believes in Dociline. I don’t digest most of their conversation, Alex’s words still weighing on me. I have to see him.
“Excuse me,” I say quietly, so they won’t get mad, but they keep talking. I take a deep breath and say, “Excuse me!”
They stop and look at me. Eugenia raises her eyebrows with an air of pleasant surprise. “Yes, Elisha?” she asks.
“I want to see Alex.”
“We would advise against it,” she says, any trace of pleasantness disappearing from her face. “After how much he’s hurt you—you’re making such good process.”
“Besides,” Verónica adds, “you’re opposing parties in a lawsuit. You shouldn’t communicate with each other except through your attorneys. That’s my job, to represent you. He can use your words against you, Elisha.”
“He won’t,” I say, with as much confidence as I can muster. I believe what I’m saying, but will even more once I can talk to Alex. Confirm that he didn’t mean what he said during his deposition. That he still loves me.
“Why don’t you go see what Onyx is up to, instead,” Eugenia says. “Work on deprogramming some more; your deposition is coming up, you know.”
“Okay.” I don’t mean it, but I know they won’t question it. Despite their efforts to undo what Alex did to me, they like it when I obey them. It feels wrong.
Verónica stands and opens the door for me. “We’ll check in later, Elisha.”
I say, “Okay,” again, and leave. Look over my shoulder to make sure she closes the door. Find Onyx, but not for their reasons.
He’s talking on the phone when I peek inside Dutch’s office. “Uh-huh,” he says to whomever he’s talking to, looking up at the sound of my feet. “Got it. Love you, too.” He sets the phone down and says, “Hey, how’d the deposition go?”
I would tell Onyx “okay,” too, but he’d fight me on it. “Mostly well, but Alex said some hurtful things.”
“You expected that, though.” He licks a red sauce from his finger, then bites into his sandwich.
“Yes, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.” I should go ahead and ask, now. Get it over with; Onyx would want me to. “I need to see Alex. I was wondering if you could help me. Eugenia and Verónica said I shouldn’t.”
“Why do you think I’m going to help you go against your attorney’s advice?”
“Because I’m making this decision on my own and I’m going to try with or without your help.” I fold my arms so Onyx can’t see them shaking with nerves. I can do this. “I need to know that Alex still loves me. Otherwise, what’s the point in…” going on? Continuing to wake up every day in this place that isn’t my home and put myself through the pain of trying? “I still think about hurting myself, sometimes. I don’t want to.”
“That’s good to hear. And it sounds like you know what you want.” Onyx smiles. He looks impressed and the warmth of his validation spreads through my chest.
“I do.”
* * *
Turns out, Dutch had called Onyx, while I was talking to Eugenia and Verónica. Alex wanted to see me, too, but it was my conversation with Onyx that finally convinced them to help us. Dutch, Onyx explains, has been appointed Alex’s conservator, so he’s the only one who can arrange for us to meet.
Together, we walk down the road from Empower Maryland, past the row houses, and into the parking lot of a coffee shop. People walk in with laptops tucked under their arms and out with sweaty plastic cups of iced coffee. Onyx looks from his phone to me and says, “Well, this isn’t weird at all. Meeting up in a parking lot, behind your attorneys’ backs.”
“Thank you for helping me,” I say, hoping he isn’t doubting his decision.
“Of course,” he says, but that wouldn’t always have been his answer. Onyx watches the black car that pulls into the parking space beside us.
Dutch steps out, looks around, holds the door open for Alex. As soon as he has two feet on the ground, I throw myself into his arms. He stumbles back as I bury myself in the dark of his hold.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” I say. “I hoped.”
“I can’t stay long.” When I pull back, Alex is looking around as if there might be snipers posted on the coffee shop. “Could we talk in the car, maybe?”
I follow Alex into the car and close the door. Reach out and press the lock. The action is simple, but still feels strange. Not my place to lock us in. But I’ve done it and it’s done and I’m not undoing it.
“I lock doors now.” I regret my words immediately. How pathetic. Who’s proud of locking a door? Couldn’t I have started with something more impressive?
Alex shifts, inside the dark car, so that we’re facing each other. Our legs overlap. Fingers touch. He takes my hand in his. “I’m proud of you.”
“You don’t have to be. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” he says, quickly. “People deserve privacy, space, control over who can access them and when.”
I shake my head. “You’re right. You’re always right.”
“Please don’t—that’s—I’m not always right,” Alex says. “Rarely so, evidently. And look at you.”
He glides his hands over my button-down; it’s my favorite. The bright floral pattern reminded me of him; that’s why I picked it out of the donations closet. If I’d known Alex was coming, I’d have put on jeans at least, but I was too anxious when I got back to put on anything but leggings, tight and comforting.
“I picked these out myself,” I say.
“They’re perfect.” He runs his hand through my hair and leans closer until we’re both staring at each other’s lips.
I bite mine.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Our foreheads touch, warm against each other, when we kiss. Alex’s lips are as smooth as I remember, but he stiffens against me. Our eyes open, mouths part. Kissing him feels as good as I remember, and yet he feels tense. Off.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Alex looks at his lap.
“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want,” I say, “but you seem different. I know I’m different, too, so I understand, but I—I want to make sure you’re okay.” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. He’d tell me if he wanted me to know, right?
“I, uh.” Alex flattens his palm against his forehead and presses. Lines crease his face. “It’s embarrassing.”
I don’t know how to reassure Alex that he doesn’t need to feel embarrassed in front of me, that I’ll love him no matter what happened, and that my feelings are probably just as stupid. Onyx isn’t the best instiller of self-confidence.
“I’m afraid you won’t like who I am,” I blurt out. One of us has to take the first step. Maybe mine will help Alex. “I’m afraid you only loved the person I was and that without the clothes and the comfortable bed and fancy parties or hobbies, you’ll think I’m boring or … I don’t know. I miss a lot of who I was before. I’m worried you’ll miss it, too—so much that you realize you don’t love me, now.”
“Well, I’m afraid you won’t like who I am, now that you have a choice.” Alex squeezes my hand. “I’m afraid you only loved the person who could pay for your tutors, dress you in nice clothes, and teach you piano. I can’t do anything for you, anymore.” He holds his open palms out as if his money is slipping through his fingers, right before him. “I don’t know who I am without it.” Alex is looking past me.
I open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong. That stuff makes life easier and softer and more comfortable. That money allows you to work out for fun, make art, and try food you can’t grow in your backyard. But he’s more than his bank account; he’s smart and caring and creative. I love Alex because of who he is, not his ability to throw money at things.
“I’m not allowed to go home—not sure I have a home, anymore.” He snaps out of his daze, then, looking directly into my eyes. His are so green. “My family placed me under a conservatorship. I don’t have access to my own money, can’t leave my quarters at the Silo without Dutch’s permission, or see anyone he doesn’t want me to. He’s my friend, but he still answers to the Board; there’s only so much he can cover up.”
I force myself to swallow. To imagine life without Alex. Only Empower Maryland. Only working and fighting. Always tired, always alone. I remember what it felt like to give in. Close my eyes, and fall asleep, unsure if I’d wake back up. To stop swimming and sink. For the water to swallow me up.
No, I am here with Alex. He still loves me. I have to keep working so I can be better, for him, and fighting so that we win this lawsuit. So I can keep my family out of debt and out of prison.
“You can fix things without money,” I say. “You have a really good education and have spent your whole life around and working with Dociline. Didn’t you just say you’re staying in the Silo?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you said during your deposition that you offered to help my mother.” I bite my lip. He’s hurt me multiple times, on this front. He can’t, again. “Did you mean that?”
“Of course I did.” Sincerity lines his forehead as he sits forward.
I am so nervous to revive his idea, but I’m on the path now. I’m going to say it. “What if I could get her into the city?”
“You would do that?” Alex’s face lights up with an eagerness I haven’t seen in a long time. “I’m sure Dutch would figure out a way for me to see her—help her.”
“Alex, wait!” I take a deep breath. “I need a minute.” And I take it, closing my eyes and going through the breathing exercises Onyx taught me.
In, two, three, four, five.
Out, two, three, four, five.
“I know I brought up the idea, but I need you to tell me that you believe me and I need you to mean it. Tell me you believe that Dociline hurt my mother.” Of course I want my mother back to the way she was before Dociline took her, but Alex needs to prove himself to me, first. He’s never believed me. Why should I believe, now, that he’s genuine? That he’s not going to treat her like a science project?
Alex purses his lips. “I believe it is likely that Dociline contributed to your mother’s disability.”
“That’s not enough. Is that enough? I don’t know. I’m supposed to be decisive. Alex isn’t always right. This—”
Alex’s lips press gently against mine, stilling them. Calming my thoughts.
He’s barely an inch away when I whisper, “I said all that out loud, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re working through a lot, but I’m not going to lie to you. Partners don’t lie to each other.”
Did he just call us partners? I don’t dare repeat it, in case he decides to take it back.
“I want to help, but I won’t draw any conclusions without examining your mother. I think that’s fair.”
I’m nodding my head before I can get the words out. Onyx would tell me to stand my ground, but maybe Alex is right. If he and I are going to be equals, I can’t demand things from him any more than he can of me. Onyx doesn’t know everything any more than Alex does.
“Okay,” I say.
Alex sighs relief, then glances at his watch. “I have to go. Already stayed longer than I should have, but I needed to see you. To apologize.”
“It’s okay,” I say because I mean it, not because I think I’m supposed to. “And I think this is a good idea. I’ll see if I can convince Dad and Nora to let Mom come visit me in the city.”
Alex nods along, enthusiastically. I’ve only ever seen him this driven at the lab. “Ask”—he holds his breath while he thinks—“someone you trust if there’s somewhere private, in the city, where we could set up a miniature lab. Nothing fancy. Somewhere to draw blood, administer trial drugs to counter the effects of Dociline.”
“Okay.” I can do this. I like this—this having something to do. Alex used to be my purpose. Maybe helping Mom can be, instead. “I will.”
“Good.” Alex bites his lip. Hard. As if he’s stopping himself saying something. Then repeats, “Good.”
With that, I pull the door handle. It doesn’t open.
Alex presses a button and a soft click sounds in the car. “You lock doors, now.”
“Yeah.” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I pull the handle successfully. “I lock doors.”
58
ALEX
When the door to the Silo closes behind me, I know I won’t be leaving any time soon. My palm sweats where I grip the handle of a suitcase we stopped to buy on the way here. Dutch needed a cover story for our outing and I needed clothes and a new phone, after Ellicott Hart confiscated mine. I regret the impulse to throw everything away. Would’ve been nice to bring a little bit of home with me to the Silo. Here, everyone looks at me. They know I was sent to a mental health facility. That I’m incompetent.
Without looking anyone in the eye, I take the catwalk over to the elevator and ride it down to the third floor. At least I have some privacy here. Some space to breathe and be alone.
Panels on the walls light up as I roll my suitcase through my office and past the workstation where Elisha wrote a hundred times that he would control his attitude, that he wouldn’t lie to me. He didn’t. I was the one who lashed out because I didn’t want to hear his truth. No one had ever challenged Dociline to my face, before, except Empower Marylanders, and I’d always been taught they were rabble-rousers. Elisha wasn’t one of them. Hearing it from him? How could I not feel defensive?
I still remember what he wrote in his notebook when I asked what relaxed him: being alone, the outdoors, and stars. I hope he’s getting them, now. I’m the one who took them away from him, to begin with.
As soon as I start hanging my new clothes up in the armoire, someone knocks on the open door. “Hey, you.” Jess pokes her head in. “Need any help moving in?”
“You heard, then?” I say with a halfhearted smile.
“Yeah, along with the entire state.” She returns my smile. “But I’m glad you’re back. Is Lex letting you do real work while you’re here?”
I scoff. “No. I’ll be chained to a desk, all day. They might as well stick me with Dociline.” I pause, my suitcase half-zipped.
Jess stares at me with familiar anticipation; after years of working together, she knows when I’ve had an idea. “What?”
I want to ask Jess to help me with Abigail. Jess was on Dociline, as a child, and is one of the few people I trust, anymore. I look out over the Silo, at Dociles and researchers sitting opposite one another at workstations—at the hundreds of doors—and it hits me all at once that there’s a person behind each one with a whole life before this, with a story like Elisha’s, and people who miss them, and it makes my skin crawl.
I touch the glass wall and it frosts over, hiding my discomfort. “Do you have a minute? Will you sit with me?”
“I’m kind of busy, but…”
“Please.”
She looks at her watch. “I haven’t eaten lunch, yet.”
Jess sits at the small dining table in the corner. “Lunch with Dociles? You really have turned over a new leaf.”
I roll my eyes while I join her. “I—You’ll see. Before she arrives, I need to apologize to you.”
“Okay.” She looks skeptical.
“I’ve always thought of you as my friend—one of my three best friends—but that’s not entirely earned. Dutch visited me while I was at Ellicott Hart—”
Jess’ face flushes with guilt. “I would’ve but—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “I’m not chastising you. I wasn’t keen to have visitors in that state, anyway. Dutch came to help me with this fucking lawsuit—teach me how to help Elisha, while also avoiding a permanent stay at Ellicott Hart.
“He reminded me that you and he were on Dociline for several years, when you were kids and I”—my eyes fall to my lap—“wasn’t even really aware. Not until now. I knew, when I was a kid, but I never stopped to think about it and no one encouraged me to. I didn’t realize you never chose my friendship. Didn’t realize the difference between me working in the lab for fun and you two working so Dad would pay your university tuition. Through high school and college and graduate school, while we were getting our doctorates, I never stopped to think that we were different.
“I’m sorry for assuming we were friends, when you didn’t have a choice in the matter. For never checking in with you or recognizing that our childhoods were completely different. I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to be my friend, any longer. If you’ve felt”—I dread saying it—“obligated.”