by Mike Chen
“Oh, I couldn’t do that.” Her words came out clipped, probably only on a level that she knew. “I hate being the center of attention.” She met Sunny’s gaze, though something about the girl’s bright blue eyes grounded her. “I can sing, but I’m not who you think I am. I’m Moira.” She added extra sweetness to her voice, though this wasn’t manipulation. Despite Sunny striking a nerve, the earnest question colored over her inner discomfort.
“But you look just like her.”
“Hey, Sunny.” Krista put her arms on the little girl’s shoulders. “Remember we’re here to help them talk about civil ceremonies. You know what that is?”
Sunny shook her head no.
“You can get married all sorts of places. Civil ceremonies are at City Hall.”
“Where we just were?”
They were just at City Hall also? Moira had hurried out of there so fast she didn’t pay attention to who was around, especially with that quarantine exhibit going on.
“That’s right. Different office from where you pay Residence License fees. So let’s help them out. You said you wanted to learn about weddings, right?”
“Uh-huh. Because they make people happy.”
“Yeah.” Krista’s whole demeanor changed when talking to Sunny—the professionalism softened, the smile came out more often, the tone lightened. Moira wondered if she acted this way around all children, flower girls or whatever. “Best thing you can do to help out right now is to color each of us a really cool picture. While the grown-ups talk. Sound good?”
“Okay!” Sunny turned back to her coloring, stealing an occasional glance up at Moira. Each time, Moira caught them with a smile, sometimes even a little wave.
Twenty minutes later, Krista continued to play referee between Moira and Frank, particularly when Moira revealed that she’d already booked a date for next week. “So, that’s really it, then,” Krista said. “It’s paperwork. You don’t even have to tell any vendors. Nothing changes except your status with the government. You’ll qualify for the newlywed tax credit, you’d be able to share married health care rates. It’s a formality.”
Moira kept her facade neutral, but tracked Frank’s reactions the whole time. One of the issues with being engaged to a guy who was so normal, so relatively unaffected by MGS, was that it informed his entire worldview. He sympathized but failed to empathize. He’d never been through it. “What I’d suggest is think about it for a few days. I understand your hesitation,” Krista said to Frank, “but it doesn’t have to define how you move forward. So, think it over, let me know what you’re comfortable with.”
“I checked City Hall’s cancellation policy.” Moira handed the informational sheet to Frank. “You can cancel within forty-eight hours. So think about it.”
“Well, while I am here—and assuming the ceremony is still on—is there anything you wanted to go over?”
“I had some questions about guest travel accommodations. Can you arrange the interstate permits?” Frank asked. “And we had some cancellations.”
“We” wasn’t entirely accurate, given that Moira had zero guests on her side. Frank was too polite to belabor that point. Pandemic offered a good excuse for any sort of family quirks, or lack thereof. “Lemme load up my email. Back in a few minutes.”
Frank disappeared into the bedroom, and soon the familiar beep of his laptop powering up came through. Moira waited until she heard him shuffling through some papers to grab Krista. “There’s something else I need to talk with you about.” Her voice was hushed, hurried, low enough that she knew Frank wouldn’t hear. He wasn’t anywhere close to her level of hypervigilance or awareness.
“Well, let’s give Frank—”
“No, it’s not about that. Well, it is and it isn’t.” She had to, right here and right now. Sunny not only suspected who she was, she’d identified the facial scar that could prove it. Trusting anyone was a risk, but the risk/reward calculation made sense. “It’s about everything.” She took in a breath, then glanced back at Sunny. “I am MoJo. I used to be. I ran away during the outbreak. Lived overland. I was with a Reclaimed group before I moved here. And I need to keep my dad far away from me. He’s coming. He’s looking for me, there’s a bounty, and he absolutely cannot find me. Even if he knows I’m here, even if I refuse to speak to him, he’ll turn it into some publicity thing. I will not be pulled into his orbit again. That’s why I need to get married soon. To officially establish my identity. Because Moira Gorman is fake. But if I can make her real, I have an alibi. I can deny. I can disappear.”
“Got it,” Frank announced from the bedroom.
Krista looked back and forth, bouncing between Moira and back at Sunny.
“Please don’t let Sunny tell anyone. Not even her dad. Just...contain it. Please,” Moira said.
Krista nodded, but that didn’t give Moira enough time to enjoy the tiny shift in her favor. Instead, she straightened up, giving Frank a welcoming look, her edges rounding into something softer, less on guard. She smiled, attempting a genuine expression of affection—or at least appreciative friendliness at a future of stability, security.
But it came out as it often did under duress, the same burning cheek muscles and weary jaw that came with the MoJo smile she’d learned over a decade ago.
Chapter Twenty-One
Krista
“Knock, knock,” Krista said, pushing open the front door. She didn’t see any scantily clad women hanging around the living room, though if the speed dating went well, maybe they hid upstairs. If Rob managed that, she might just beam with some level of pride.
“In the kitchen.”
“Meet anyone who needs a planner? Or babysitter?”
Sunny’s backpack landed on the floor with a light thump, and she sprinted into the kitchen before Rob answered. “Daddy, Daddy, guess what?”
“What’s that, Sun?” Rob said.
“We saw MoJo.”
Apparently, “respect Moira’s wishes” went out the window with Sunny. Though in a way, a touch of envy struck Krista. What must it be like to be able to tell your parents anything?
Rob’s skeptical look prompted Krista to respond as she entered the kitchen. “Sunny thinks that Moira looks a lot like MoJo.”
“It’s her, Daddy. I swear.”
“Now, Sunny,” Krista said, inviting her up to the stool next to the kitchen’s island, “remember what we talked about. She says that she is not MoJo, so she isn’t.”
The discussion flew over Rob, barely registering in his eyes. Good. Not that she wanted Rob to deal with the Family Stability Board, but that preoccupation did mean one fewer potential competitor. He had bigger things to worry about, leaving Krista solely with the decision of what to do with the information from tonight—not just the truth about MoJo, but the unexpected fear in Moira’s eyes. Enough for Krista to slow down and consider the situation.
“She was good?” Rob asked.
All the MoJo business pushed aside the photo exhibit for a few hours. But as Krista met Rob’s eyes, the image from the quarantine riot shot to the surface, so much so that she couldn’t look at him and instead she pulled out her phone, reloading the Metronet for no reason at all other than to buy a few seconds of reset time. “Not bad,” Krista managed to say. “How was speed...er, your thing?”
“It was...interesting. Hey, Sun,” he said, giving his daughter a squeeze on the shoulder, “I’m gonna walk Krista out, then we can talk about your big day, okay?”
Sunny hopped down from the stool she’d just got on, then gave Krista another one of her bearlike hugs. “Okay, Krista. I like it when we hang out.”
Rob’s smirk reappeared, and as they left the kitchen, her pace picked up across the living room. The front door closed behind them, the words spilled out as the latch clicked into place. “What’s with that look? You think I did a bad job with Sunny or something?”
&
nbsp; “On the contrary,” Rob said, leaning against the door frame. “I think you did an excellent job. You even talked to her like, you know, someone who cares.”
Krista realized her fingers started fidgeting, which she stemmed with tight fists while thinking up a response. “It’s fine, I mean, you’re paying me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Yeah. Right. Thanks.” Krista readjusted the purse on her shoulder and glanced back at a passing car on the street. “So, how was Love Solutions? Did you find a solution to love?”
“No. Not at all. But I got stuff to bring to the Family Stability Board.”
“Were all the people ugly or something?”
“No. It was...” Rob’s expression changed to the thoughtful opposite of his previous look. “It was actually quite...sad.”
“So the people were ugly.”
“It’s not that simple. No, these people, they were all affected by PASD. Angry. Scared. Still in mourning. It all came out in different ways. But I don’t know, maybe the world isn’t ready to date yet.” He rubbed his cheeks, his hand casting rigid shadows across his nose and chin from the dim light overhead. “Maybe you’re right. That’s the next evolution of dating. We’ve rolled backward a century or two, arranging marriages for security and safety.”
“I check that the flowers are delivered on time. Not that the bride and groom are in love.”
“And I’m sure you’ve never met the right person.”
Memories poked through, like an involuntary reflex in her cerebral cortex, those brief moments when Jas sure seemed like he fit the bill. Not just the strong cheekbones or brilliant eyes, or the impeccable taste in music or the hint of Punjabi dialect across his London accent. He got her. Even at her most explosive or defensive, he always knew how to defuse the situation, reconnect with her.
Well. Almost always. But Krista slammed the door on that memory before it could ignite any other feelings in her.
“Actually, I have met Mr. Right.”
“Your cat doesn’t count.”
“Not my cat, I’m referring to Mr. Vibrator, and he never lets me down.”
“Okay, too much information.” Rob’s hands shot up in mock protest. “Thanks for watching Sunny. You’re a far better babysitter than you think. Five stars. Well worth the money. She loves it, you know. I know we’re doing this to help us all be ‘socially normal’ but she’s having a good time with you.”
“I won’t say anytime, but...” A softness crept its way past Krista’s defenses. “You know my hourly rate.” She fought the urge to finish with something sarcastic and hustled to her car before Rob said anything further.
She had to rush because a wave of something hit her, a queasiness that sank to the pit of her stomach. Unexpected tears surfaced, and as the car roared to life, Krista struggled to ignore the question suddenly refusing to leave her mind.
If she could care for Sunny in such a short time, how come her own mother never cared the same way?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rob
Nothing was supposed to come out of speed dating. The whole thing should have been a simple checklist item, something to show the Family Stability Board that he could go out in public and engage with other adults per acceptable standards.
He wasn’t supposed to actually be interested in someone. And yet, there he was, sitting at his workstation, one of the rare high-speed connections in the San Francisco Metro, and ready to use it to look up Zoe’s law firm. For the first time since getting caught in the elevator, something else occupied his mind besides audits and consequences. He hadn’t even been to a bar since before the End of the World.
The last time, in fact, was on the night the quarantine announcements unfolded, the night New York City exploded into rioting and chaos on the other side of the country. In San Francisco, it came out at a quieter pace. That night, people stood with their drinks, TVs lit up while chatter and music formed an incomprehensible soundtrack. But the mood back then carried a different air, one of baseball fans having a post-game drink, enjoying themselves with some semblance of normalcy despite the previous weeks’ unfurling news.
Rob still felt the way Elena usually held his hand, her first three fingers gripping tight while the pinkie almost always remained loose. That afternoon, Rob’s parents watched Sunny as a belated birthday gift while he and Elena went to the interleague San Francisco Giants/Oakland A’s game.
The game was significant, not because of statistics or standings, but as the final contest before Major League Baseball went on indefinite pandemic hiatus from restrictions on travel and large events. East Coast teams had already shut down. Unofficial death tolls sprinkled through internet chatter—Rob had seen claims as low as one million and as high as forty million—but Rob and Elena agreed not to talk about it tonight. Most seemed to agree, and the game itself went on with the usual drunken revelry of watching professional sports.
Ten minutes after they walked in the bar and ordered, all the various TV networks switched to footage of a concert, that teenybopper singer that Elena liked and Rob despised. Apparently, a riot had broken out there, and while he stared at the screen and sipped his beer, his eyes squinted to read the scrolling text along the bottom.
“Government...quarantine?” Elena’s voice was barely audible over the din of the bar. At least at first; soon conversations faded out, and within a few minutes, there was only the sound of clinking glasses. One of the bartenders turned the volume up on the feed, and Elena took Rob’s hand again, except this time all her fingers squeezed hard.
“...an international quarantine with unprecedented agreement across the globe. On a national level, controlled rollouts will unfurl from East Coast to West across an eight-week period. Emergency teams have been dispatched to large remote facilities, and though quarantine specifics aren’t available yet, the preliminary list appears to include the indoor facilities of at least seven hundred thousand square feet such as large arenas, indoor shopping malls, and fulfillment warehouses, as well as standalone facilities such as airports, prisons, and military bases. Individual and corporate assets will be frozen during this indefinite period. Insiders suggest regular waves of quarantine enrollment across the next ten to twelve months. To date, the farthest west reported fatality is out of Las Vegas two days ago.”
“We should get home,” Elena said.
Rob nodded, wordless, and put his full glass on the bar. Heads down, they shuffled out with a handful of others while most remained glued to the screen. “It’s bullshit,” one woman said, “it hasn’t even touched out here.”
“Preventative measures,” her friend said.
“Still bullshit.”
Their debate continued while Rob and Elena went outside, where it appeared everyone within the San Francisco ballpark’s vicinity was trying to hail a cab. That night, they agreed to walk the five or so miles home rather than search for transportation. A light rain began sprinkling over them with their first steps, and Rob looked back at the bar, uncertain faces still visible through its front windows.
He hadn’t been back to a bar until last night. And the juxtaposition of that last night out with Elena against that brief connection with Zoe... Rob wasn’t sure if it felt right or ironic or just like some sort of karmic balance. Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it at all.
Or maybe the universe was just giving him the okay to take a step back into the world.
He stared at Zoe’s photo and law firm title on his computer screen, an image that took a good minute to load despite its low resolution; even his connection hiccuped from time to time.
The gap between Zoe’s corporate headshot and the broken, beautiful woman he’d met seemed too wide to cross. But those few minutes they talked, that felt worth the risk. He picked up the phone off the cradle, then hesitated, playing out scenarios in his mind.
Say Zoe responded. Say they went
out for coffee, lunch maybe. Say it became a proper date.
Then what would he tell Sunny? How could he possibly explain that first, her mother was dead, and second, he was dating someone new?
The phone’s receiver went from a dial tone to a recorded message asking him to please hang up the phone, and then the line went silent. Rob’s eyes drew to his calendar, a big red F marking the upcoming Family Stability Board meeting.
Worrying about all that could come later. They wanted him to be socially normal, then he’d try his best and figure out the rest when he had to.
He reset the receiver until a dial tone came back, then punched in the numbers.
“This is Zoe.”
“Zoe, hi. This is Rob.” He straightened up, as if she could see his good posture. “Rob, from the dumb speed dating thing.”
“Rob. Oh. Oh, wow. Hi. Um...” The crinkle of papers shuffling came over the phone. “Hi.”
“Look, I know things seemed a bit awkward, but I thought we had a bit of a connection. I’m hurting and you’re hurting, but that doesn’t mean we can’t, you know, take a step back into the world.”
“Rob. Listen. You seem like a really nice guy—”
“Uh-oh. You called me nice.”
“No, I mean it. It’s really just not the right time for me right now. The other day made me realize that I need to work on myself. Go to one of those Healing Hope seminars or something.”
“Would it help if I said I was a shrink?”
“I thought you were in IT.”
“I am. Bad joke. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I...” The inside of his lip stung, his teeth digging in while he considered what to say. “I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks. I hope someday I’m as strong as you. Maybe then we can get a drink. That is,” she said with a small laugh, “if some beautiful woman hasn’t scooped you up by then.”
Some beautiful woman, he thought as they said their goodbyes.
Maybe he was ready to take a step back into the world. But fate—or everyone else in the world—didn’t seem quite ready yet. Rob’s eyes set on the big F on the calendar again, not as wayward happenstance, but direct focus. Only a few days remained. And all he could do was present the best case possible, to show he didn’t fail Sunny—or Elena.