by David Brin
“Maddy doesn’t mind. You should see us in the park—she loves the attention we get. We pass people on the street, and they know her name. It’s like growing up as a princess.”
“And is that a good thing? Will that make her happy? I could link you to studies on kids and celebrity…”
“This isn’t really about Maddy, is it?” Alicia curled her legs up underneath her and crossed her arms. “You resent the attention I get. You’re jealous.”
“That’s not it. But yes, it’s about me, too. About us.” He reached out and touched her hand. Her skin felt cold. “We barely connect anymore.”
“It’s because I’m making more money than you, isn’t it?” Alicia said. She cocked her head, as if hit by a sudden realization. “You feel threatened. I’m providing for Maddy better than you can, and it emasculates you.”
Patrick pulled his hand away. “That’s not it at all!”
“Sexism dies hard, doesn’t it? Even in our day and age.”
He pushed the pillow aside and turned in bed so he could face her. “This is ridiculous. I don’t care how much money you make. I’m talking about what it will be like for Maddy to grow up with a mother who cares more about a thousand strangers than she does about her own daughter.”
She flushed. “That is not true, and you know it.”
“I’m not saying it’s true, just that Maddy—”
“She knows I love her. It’s you who’s having the problem here. Maddy likes what I do. If you’d only let me buy her lenses of her own—”
“No!” He spoke louder than he’d intended, and tried to temper his voice. “No lenses. You know what I think about that. I won’t have her living her whole life online. She’ll have plenty of time for that, once she’s had a real life for a while.”
Alicia’s eyes flashed. “Is that what you think of my life? As a fake?”
“You can’t tell me you don’t act differently when people are watching.”
She threw up her hands. “You live in Manhattan! There are a hundred people watching you every time you step out the door.”
“Not inside. Not in our house. I want to be able to close the door and be alone, just the three…” He trailed off, studying her face. She was angry and upset, but at the same time, the shadow of a smile played at one corner of her mouth. She glanced down and to the left, almost too fast to see, then back at him.
Patrick couldn’t believe it. “You’re still online, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t take my lenses out yet.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He jumped out of bed, wanting to hit something. He ran his fingers painfully through his hair. She had been baiting him on purpose. Turning the conversation into an argument to spike her ratings.
“You know this is who I am,” she said. She met his gaze, not repentant at all.
“We agreed, Alicia! Not in the bedroom. This is our sanctuary, where we can be alone. You promised the bedroom would be off-limits.”
“It’s not like we were making love or anything.”
He resisted the urge to raise his voice again, to get drawn into the shouting match she wanted. “It doesn’t matter what we’re doing. This is our private place. I don’t want to share it with the world.”
She raised her hands, indicating their surroundings. “This is what people want to see. This is what it’s all about, Patrick. Our relationship, our parenting, how we live and think. Do you know how many people have told me we’ve inspired them to be better parents? It’s about being connected, as a society. It’s about helping people with their lives.”
“I can’t talk like this. Take them out.”
“What?”
“Take the lenses out. Please. For me.”
Alicia sighed. For a moment, he thought she would refuse, but she did as he asked, popping out her eyejack lenses and dropping them into their case.
“Thank you.” Patrick sank back onto the bed and sat hugging his knees. He felt an intense relief, knowing they were alone. He realized the lenses gave her a kind of power. With them on, she had an army of people behind her, not all of them rooting for her—some of the comments from viewers were downright hostile—but all of them watching. No one could say anything to her or do anything to her without a thousand people knowing about it. She seemed suddenly smaller without them. More vulnerable.
“Happy now?” she said.
“It didn’t have to be like that. I didn’t want a fight.”
“What did you want? You knew all this when you married me. You knew what I wanted.”
He couldn’t deny it. Though at the time, she’d barely had any followers, and Patrick had never really expected that to change. It was a fickle business, and so few reached any kind of genuine celebrity status. “I want some limits,” he said. “I want boundaries. I want, at least, for you to stick to agreements we’ve already made.”
Alicia held up her index finger and thumb with a tiny gap in between. “I’m this close to breaking into the top hundred. Not just in one category. In the world, Patrick. The top hundred! Do you know what that will mean?”
He didn’t want to think about it. Her face glowed as she talked, though, and without the lenses, it seemed genuine. He was seeing the real Alicia. This was important to her. It made her feel alive.
And he loved her. She could be brilliant and audacious and gentle and caring all at the same time. She was still the same person he had fallen in love with ten years earlier. He wanted her to be happy.
He took a slow breath and let it out. “It’s mostly luck, isn’t it? Making the top follower lists?”
Her face soured. “A lot of it. Honestly, the best way to get into the high rankings is to have some kind of personal tragedy.”
Patrick felt a shiver run down his back. “We won’t hope for that, though. You’ll find another way.”
She gave him a genuine smile.
“I don’t want to hold you back,” he said. “But I need boundaries. I need times when I know it’s just us, and to know I can trust you to stick to those times. And I want Maddy to have times like that, too.”
The smile disappeared. “I can’t go halfway on this. Every step I take, I’m competing against other Lilos who would give anything to take my place.”
“And what are you willing to give?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”
“Only that you should think about what you’re willing to give up. And whether it’s worth it.”
* * *
Patrick’s mother had lived in her apartment for three years, but she still hadn’t accepted it as her home. Her Alzheimer’s meant newly formed memories were spotty and faint, while her memories of their house in Brooklyn were strong. She still asked him sometimes when they would go back home again.
The summer sun blazed, and heat shimmered off of the pavement. Patrick messaged AAL when he reached the apartment, and it unlocked the front door for him. AAL was a robot, after a fashion—a slow, boxy device that could roll from room to room, following his mother. In reality, though, AAL consisted of several dozen devices installed throughout the apartment, attached to all the major appliances, and a central computer that could control the lights, oven, stove, door locks, and room temperature.
Patrick found his mom in the kitchen, baking cookies and cooling herself with a bamboo fan. The rolling robot stood nearby, displaying Alicia’s feed on its large screen.
“AAL, lower the temperature to seventy-five degrees,” Patrick said.
“Understood,” a pleasant male voice answered. “Lowering temperature to seventy-five.”
His mother shook the fan at him. “You don’t have to do that. Air-conditioning is expensive.”
“I can afford it, Mom. You don’t need to suffer in the heat. I want you to use it.”
She lifted a box of baking soda and looked at AAL. “How much?”
“You added the baking soda already,” AAL replied. “The next ingredient is vanilla.”
&n
bsp; “You’re looking beautiful,” Patrick said, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
She beamed. “You’re a terrible liar.” She whacked him with the fan.
“I would never lie to you. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” she said. “Never better.” Her face clouded for a moment. “I should call Cassie. It’s her birthday today. Don’t let me forget!”
“Okay,” he said. Cassie was her sister, who had died of brain cancer the year before. Today was, however, her birthday. It baffled Patrick how his mom could remember that it was her sister’s birthday, and yet not remember that she was dead. At one point, he would have corrected her, tried to set her memory straight. He didn’t bother anymore. It would only upset her, and she would forget again in a few minutes anyway.
She studied the ingredients in front of her. “Baking soda next, I think,” she said.
“You added the baking soda already,” AAL said. “The next ingredient is vanilla.”
It repeated its instructions in exactly the same tone of voice, with no hint of impatience. It was the perfect companion for her—better, in some ways, than a human, who would grow frustrated at her constant need for reminders. It managed her daily schedule, gave her medicine at the right time, took her blood pressure, even kept track of her reading glasses.
“How’s Alicia doing?” Patrick said. He didn’t really want to know. The conversation of the night before still bothered him. But his mother loved to watch Alicia’s feed, especially since it allowed her to keep in touch with her only granddaughter.
“They’re in Central Park,” she said. “Feeding the squirrels.”
That seemed like a surprisingly tame activity for Alicia, but he was glad, certain Maddy would be delighted at the prospect. A morning relatively free from drama would be good for her.
On screen, Alicia laid out a perfect little picnic spread—all healthy and organic food, of course—on a brightly colored blanket. Maddy popped so many grapes into her mouth that her cheeks bulged. Alicia set out a box of tofu squares so that the SoyaJoy brand name was clearly visible, though he wasn’t sure anyone else would have noticed it was deliberate. Her popularity meant companies solicited her for sponsorships, offering free products so people would see her using them. Maddy wore a $200 Gaultier sundress, a gift to Alicia from Saks Fifth Avenue just for shopping there.
Dozens of other picnickers lounged across the wide expanse of grass. A few young men played football, and a vendor strolled through with a huge bunch of balloons. Behind them, the skyscrapers framed the horizon, glinting in the sunlight. Patrick wondered if Alicia had picked the spot for the view it afforded her followers, and concluded that of course she must have. It was like she was filming the movie of her life, and playing both director and star.
His mother reached for the baking soda again. Patrick moved it to the other side of the table and handed her the vanilla. “One teaspoon,” AAL told her. She measured and dropped it in.
Maddy ran through the grass, visiting other families and their picnics, while Alicia chased after her, calling her back. A feed aggregator rotated the view between Alicia’s lenses and the other cameras and lenses in range, following both of them through the field.
“She’s such a darling,” his mother said. “She’ll be breaking hearts in her day, mark my words.”
Patrick turned his back to the screen and started stirring the batter, wanting to change the subject. Which was why he wasn’t watching when Alicia started screaming.
He whirled back to see her shouting at another woman, livid, her words barely comprehensible. “What happened?” he said.
His mother looked confused. “I don’t know.”
A flurry of comments flooded the lower panel. Has anyone called 9-1-1?
What was she thinking, letting Maddy run loose like that?
It isn’t her fault. People should be more careful when they eat in public!
If Alicia had breastfed her daughter, she wouldn’t have allergies. People just don’t care enough about their children to give them what’s best.
My son had soy formula for years, and he never developed any allergies.
Why can’t chocolate factories just use different equipment to process peanuts?
All they care about is making more money …
Allergies. Maddy had a serious peanut allergy, one that had already given her a significant reaction a year ago. At the time, the doctors had warned that such reactions tended to get worse the more they occurred, that the next one could be life-threatening.
“AAL, call 9-1-1,” he said. “Give them Maddy’s coordinates and tell them she needs urgent attention for a nut reaction.”
On screen, Alicia pulled an EpiPen from her purse. She uncapped it and thrust it expertly into Maddy’s leg, still shouting at the poor mother from whose picnic Maddy had apparently stolen a chocolate. Maddy’s face was bright red with rash, and her breathing came in short gasps. A crowd started to gather.
The other mother apologized profusely, wringing her hands. She tried to say something to Maddy, but Alicia screamed at her, leaving Maddy lying in the grass while she jabbed her finger at the other woman.
“What is she doing?” Patrick said. “She needs to get to a hospital!” He tried to call her phone, but she didn’t answer.
Alicia’s follower count spiked. It surged past a hundred thousand viewers and kept growing. With a sudden chill, Patrick remembered Alicia’s comment of the night before. Honestly, the way to get into the high rankings is to have some kind of personal tragedy.
No. She couldn’t have. Could she? She wouldn’t risk Maddy’s life to boost her rankings. He couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t. With a physical effort, he pulled his eyes away from the screen.
“I have to go,” he said.
* * *
He finally caught up with them at Saint Luke’s Hospital. Maddy had vomited twice and was sinking into unconsciousness. The hospital had been ready for her when she arrived and had immediately wheeled her out of sight, blocking Alicia’s attempts to follow.
By that time, Alicia’s feed had topped a million viewers, making her the #2 most watched person in the world. It wouldn’t last—the numbers were already dropping again—but it might double her regular viewership, and would establish her as one of the top Lilos in the country, at least for a while.
When Patrick walked into the waiting room, Alicia ran to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his shoulder. He pulled her gently back, and saw that she had been crying. Her eyes were red, her makeup smeared, and there were grass stains on her white Valentino dress. He immediately dismissed any idea that she could have maneuvered this situation on purpose. This was the real Alicia, his Alicia, and her fear and worry were evident. He pressed her close to him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said.
“It’s not your fault,” he said, stroking her hair. “You can’t protect her from everything.”
And then she was crying again. Not a soft weeping, but deep sobs that shook her slim body. “I thought it. Don’t you understand? Part of me hoped for a tragedy. You were right. I’ve let it take over everything. But I didn’t mean … I didn’t want…”
He drew her tightly to him. “Of course you didn’t. No one could blame you.”
“I love her so much, Patrick. I would never, never harm her.”
They stood there, holding each other. A woman walked by and gave them a smile. “We’re praying for you,” she said. Patrick just nodded, unsure what to say. Another man, his arm wrapped in a makeshift cloth bandage, cleared his throat. “I hope your daughter’s all right,” he said. Patrick looked around the room to see that half of the people there—all of them with traumas or illnesses of their own—were looking at him and Alicia with sympathetic faces.
“They love her,” Alicia whispered.
Patrick switched his lenses to Alicia’s feed, and saw thousands upon thousands of comments wishing them well, though there were many others who que
stioned Alicia’s fitness as a mother or even accused her—as Patrick himself had thought to do—of manufacturing the situation for the ratings. Dozens of other popular feeds had picked up the story, both news suppliers and career fans who made their reputations providing summary and commentary on the lives of the super-popular. The eyes of the world were on them.
It was, Patrick thought, with sudden realization, like an extended family. These were people who cared about them, who took an interest in their lives. He thought of his mother, her world shrinking as her memories faded, reaching out through the feeds to stay connected. What was this, but the opposite of Alzheimer’s? An expanding of the self, a preservation of experience and memory in the minds of thousands? He felt, just for a moment, the rush of connectedness that meant so much to Alicia.
Eventually, a doctor came out to talk to them, accompanied by the president of the hospital. Patrick’s heart did a flip, expecting bad news, until he registered the smiles on their faces. It had been a near thing, they said, but the worst was past. Maddy was safe and would recover quickly. They followed the president to Maddy’s room, a large, single-person space with a window that looked out onto Central Park. It was already filling up with flowers and balloons.
They hugged her and kissed her and held her hand, and though her tongue was still too swollen to speak easily, she managed a weak smile. Patrick stood next to Alicia, and she leaned into him.
“I was thinking,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. “As Maddy gets older, we’re going to want to be able to keep an eye on her. And we can’t block her from technology forever.”
Alicia looked up at him, her expression intent but uncertain. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that once Maddy is ready to leave the hospital, it might be time for us to get her some eyejack lenses of her own.”
Alicia’s eyes lit up. Her mouth quirked in amusement. Then it unfolded into a smile, wide and beautiful, that he knew was just for him.
“We’re going to make this work, aren’t we?” she said.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and looked down at Maddy, who smiled back up at them. “Yes,” he said. “I believe we are.”