by SF Benson
Zared holds up the stick. “This is yours, right?”
My boyfriend is holding onto something I pissed on. Eeeewwww….
I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah. It is.”
Zared smiles, tosses the stick in the trash, and washes his hands. He takes a seat on the lowered toilet lid and rests his elbows on his knees. “When were you planning on telling me?”
“Later.” I hang my head. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me onto his lap. Zared lowers his lips to mine. It’s a surprising, heartfelt kiss. One that reaches the dark parts of my soul and makes me forget my worries. It’s a kiss full of hope, a promise for brighter days. Lord knows, I want to cling to that dream.
Zared whispers against my mouth, “How you choose to tell me isn’t important.”
“No?” My eyes stay down.
“No. Trust me when I say it’s the best news I’ve ever gotten.”
I glance up. His reaction shocks me. I assumed he wouldn’t want to be saddled with a child. “Seriously?”
“Seriously, babe.” He plants a kiss on my temple. “This does change things for us.”
“That’s an understatement. I thought you might not want it.” I place my hand over my flat stomach. It mesmerizes me when I realize there’s a life growing inside.
Zared’s arms slacken around me. He places a finger under my chin and tilts my face up, forcing eye contact between us. “Why wouldn’t I want it? I love you. A child with you is a blessing.”
“I love you, too.” Fear and common sense disrupt the joy I should be feeling. “But how will we raise a baby, Zared? We don’t have jobs or even a place to live. Our lives are too screwed up for this right now. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“Don’t you dare think about abortion. We’ll find a way to raise him or her. As long as we love each other,” he says in a hushed tone, “that’s what matters.”
I try to look away, but Zared won’t let me.
“Tru, I have no doubts about this.” He places his hand on my stomach. “I want both of you. But there is one thing we…um…need to do.”
I lean away from Zared and squint. “What’s that?”
He takes my left hand in his and rubs my ring finger. “I don’t have a ring for you, but I promise I’ll get you one. And I know we didn’t plan it, but, babe… Will you marry me?”
My breath catches. No, we didn’t plan on this. Marriage was something relegated to a distant future. One without the constraints of life in the AR. Butterflies move in my stomach. What am I supposed to say?
Zared squeezes my hand. “No pressure, babe. You don’t even have to answer right now. The baby’s not due for a while. As long as we do it before he or she arrives.”
I open my mouth.
He places a finger over my lips. “I want to do this right, and that includes my child having my name. It’s important to me.”
Doing things right. How do we do that? Zared’s parents are virtual monsters. My mother, bless her soul, didn’t do enough of the right things to keep me safe. Me as a parent? Given the examples in my life, I’ll probably suck at it.
“You’re not worried?” Honestly, I got scared as soon as I saw the test result. This isn’t something I wanted at my age. Unfortunately, the world we live in doesn’t offer a lot of options. If I had never agreed to help Zared, I would have married Holden. My only goal would have been having and raising respectful children and being a perfect wife. Helping Zared expose the truth was supposed to improve my odds in life.
They did. You get to choose who you marry.
Zared lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. “I know you’re scared, babe. I’ll admit it. So am I. But this baby will have the most important thing every child should have.”
“What’s that?” I utter.
“Love. Overwhelming love from great parents.” He rubs my arm with his free hand. “I know we haven’t had the best role models, but we will be better than all of them.”
I tilt my head to the side. “How do you know we’ll be any better? We could be worse than our parents.”
“Babe, we know lying and keeping kids in the dark doesn’t work.” There’s a gleam in Zared’s eyes as he speaks. “We also know what we wanted from our parents—open and honest dialogue. As long as we give our child what we needed in life, he or she will be just fine.”
“I don’t know,” I say. Zared sounds so full of hope. I want to embrace that feeling.
The corners of his mouth lift. “Tell me, babe. Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
Out of all the jumbled emotions and feelings I’m having of late, the only solid one I possess is my love for Zared. Granted, our relationship progressed way too fast for most people. But in this fractured world we live in, there’s no time for dating and taking things slow. We’re forced to grow up sooner, face responsibilities quicker, and do the “adult thing” before we’re ready emotionally. I’d love to have a moment of normalcy.
Maybe this baby will be my chance.
Our chance—Zared’s and mine.
I close my eyes and try to picture the three of us as a family. A chubby-faced, little boy with Zared’s handsome features would be nice. Or a talkative, little girl who would be her daddy’s little princess. The start of an ordinary life for us complete with a small home and a dog. Something I’ve wanted for a long time, and something Zared and I need.
“Then let me worry about how we’ll raise our child.” Zared rubs my lower back. “When this stupid-ass mission is over… When we no longer have to worry about fighting to stay alive, we’re leaving Michigan. We’ll go some place out west. I’ll find work and a place for us to live.”
He’s tapped into my wonderful dream.
It’s been a long, long time since I entertained the idea of leaving New Detroit. When the government first banned creativity, I imagined leaving the country. It became an obsession until the man who raised me pointed out I lacked the means to leave.
Mom let me know the main reason I couldn’t go. Citizens needed permission to travel outside the AR. Getting permission meant stating the reason for the trip. The Advisory Department of International Travel would have learned of my creativity and reported it. Our every action—buying non-food items, going to work, seeing our friends, even the time I spent at the learning center—would have been monitored by the Centers for Human Advancement. Any type of creative pursuit would have tipped them off. It wasn’t how I wanted my family to live. In time, I gave up the dream and settled for hiding my talent.
In all honesty, though, there isn’t anything holding me in Michigan now. My family is gone, and my friends are with me. But moving out west?
Thanks to the Third Estate Revolution, an insurrection by the middle class, the states no longer exist. Citizens embrace a way of life which harkens back to the days of the wild, wild west—territories run by militia and outlaws. They make their own laws, and the government allows them to do whatever they please. The thought of starting a family in such a turbulent atmosphere scares me.
I shift my position on Zared’s lap and wrap my arms around his neck. Negative thinking isn’t going to help us out. It’s time for me to believe a brighter future is possible. I plaster a smile on my face. “What type of work do you think you can find?”
Zared mumbles against my skin, “I’ve got computer skills, babe. Someone will pay well for my services. You’ll see. Don’t worry.”
I remain silent, continuing to ponder a future with a man who still lives on pipe dreams. No one can blame Zared for keeping his head in the clouds though. It’s a nice little break from the chaos. Maybe it’s something I can learn.
He takes my silence as permission to continue speaking. “Hell, if I can get us out of the country, we’re leaving. Maybe find us a pied-à-terre in Paris. Some place you can create freely without fear of imprisonment or worse. I can picture you drawing and painting with our child by your side.”
Those word
s light a liberating spark in me. When did I tell him I once thought of living in France? “You’d go to Paris for me?”
He rests his hand on my hip. “I’d go anywhere to see you happy. You and our child deserve the best. If it can’t be done in America, then we’ll go someplace that offers a better life for us.”
And for once, I’m in total agreement with this man. I realize my picture-perfect family won’t happen in the AR, not as long as the New Order rules. This is a country where happiness can no longer thrive, where people struggle just to make it each day. It isn’t living—not by a long shot. I’m overdue for some optimism.
I place my hand on my stomach. Little one. Your mommy and daddy will make sure nothing and no one harms you. We’ll protect you no matter what it takes. You will be loved and secure.
A knock on the door interrupts our moment of solitude. Asher sticks his head in.
“I, like, need you two in the living room. We’ve got some important things to discuss.”
Once again, someone is forcing me to do the “adult thing.” I’d love to ignore it all just for a little while longer.
Your best offense in any turbulent situation is to learn your enemy’s defense.
—from “An Introspective on Combative Strategies” by Dawa Zhu
Tru
Zared and I enter the living room. The midday sun casts a bright light on the dismal décor—lumpy, dark furniture draped in handmade throws. Mark sits in the chair near the window. I study him for a moment—all brawn, dark features, obvious chip on his shoulder—and decide I don’t like him. He’s definitely hiding something. I glance over at Ko. She’s on the sofa with her arms and legs crossed. Her cheeks are puffed out. What’s pissing her off?
Asher clears his throat signaling he’s ready to begin. Zared and I take a seat beside Ko.
“We need to go over some things,” Asher starts. “There’s activity brewing at North Woods.”
I ask, “You think Taa’s ready to make her move?”
Asher bobs his head up and down. “Yeah. Mark and I are sure she’s, like, coming for the SIM card, Tru.”
And there it is. We’re back at square one—protecting the card. I know where this conversation is going even before Asher says it. I swore to my brother I’d keep it safe. When he died, it became even more important for me to honor my words. The SIM card stays in my possession.
Zared wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close. “Tru, I know you don’t want to hear it, but he’s right.”
“Of course, Asher’s right,” Mark jumps in. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t put a gun to Tru’s head and taken the damned thing by now.”
Zared’s gaze swings toward Mark. “Was that necessary?”
Asher holds his palms up. “Enough! We don’t have time for arguing. Tru, the only choice you have is deciding who holds the card. Either me or Mark. Like, take your pick.”
I don’t appreciate Asher’s tone. Until now, I considered him a friend. Someone who had my back when darkness threatened to overtake me. Has he forgotten I know how to use a gun? I’ve protected the card this long. I can still do it.
“Dammit, woman! Make a fucking choice!” Mark shouts.
“If you scream at her one more time, I’m gonna make you eat those words,” Zared warns.
Mark’s jaw clenches as he moves to the edge of the chair. His lip curls. “Why wait? We can settle this now.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ko says, her nostrils flaring.
She rarely swears. When she does, people take notice. All eyes land on her.
“If you two want to brawl like a couple of animals, have at it later. Right now, we have business to handle.” Ko scrutinizes me. “Tru, stop stalling. Give up the damned card. Think about what’s best for you and your baby.”
“She’s pregnant?” Mark blinks rapidly and shakes his head. “That’s it. Either give me the card, or I’m gonna find it my damned self.” He pushes off the chair.
Asher blocks Mark. “Wait, dude.”
“For what?” Mark says.
“Tru,” Asher begins, “I understand you, like, made a promise to protect the card. Being pregnant…well, it, like, changes things. I don’t think your brother would have wanted you to jeopardize his niece or nephew. We need you to turn it over.”
This really sucks.
I purse my lips and cross my arms over my chest. Yes, they all have made the only valid point. Protecting my unborn child. I exhale deeply, reach down to my boot, and remove the SIM reader with the card in it. My fingers rub the surface contemplating what I should do. There’s only one person I’m trusting with this tech. If the wrong person gets it, we’ll all pay the price.
I grasp Zared’s hand and press the device into it. “You keep it. You’re the only one I can trust. Do this for Cris.”
Mark blows up. “Are you fucking serious?”
“It’s done,” Asher tells him. “Stand down, Mark.”
“Shit! Are you pulling rank on me? I don’t need this!” The man storms out the room toward the kitchen. Mark closes the sliding door so hard it bounces on its tracks. I don’t think it actually closed.
Asher rakes a hand through his sandy-blond hair. “Don’t worry about Mark. I’ll, like, speak to him when he’s had a chance to calm down. We need to talk about more than the SIM card.”
“What else?” Zared says through his teeth. His eyes drop to the device in his hand before placing it in the pocket of his button-down shirt.
“Mark and I, like, did some digging while we were out. We needed to confirm something.”
Ko asks, “What?”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “Zared, weren’t you with them?”
Asher answers, “We sent Zared to pick up groceries so we could investigate without him.”
Zared silently sulks, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“We have, like, new reasons not to trust Taaliba Aoki.” Asher takes Mark’s seat. “Z, did you know your mother was married to someone in politics? Someone with a lot of power?”
“I’m not playing cryptic games with you, Ash,” Zared says. “What the hell are you trying to tell us?”
Asher frowns and rubs his eyes. “Mark and I found a place to run a DNA test. We just got the results today. Katsuo Aoki wasn’t your biological father. He was your step-dad.”
Zared’s jaw moves, but he doesn’t say a word. Silence fills the room like an unwanted visitor. Just when it reaches the point of overstaying its welcome, Zared speaks. “Good to know I share no blood with the bastard.”
Asher exhales and sits back in the chair. “I was hoping you might see it that way.”
“So who’s my father?”
Asher presses his lips together. His eyebrows bunch up.
“Spill it, Jones!” Zared snaps.
“Jacob Venter,” Asher announces.
I gasp. Surely, we heard Asher wrong.
“What the fuck?” Zared shouts.
“From your reaction,” Asher says, “I take it you had no idea.”
“Of course I didn’t. Katsuo is the only father I’ve ever known.” Zared scrubs a hand across his face and stares ahead with unfocused eyes. It takes a minute before he finally speaks, but the words come out slow and somewhat distant. “When I was a kid, I asked my mother about my middle name. You know, it didn’t seem to fit—a Hebrew name and we aren’t Jewish. Mom told me it was a family name, and I believed her like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot.” I place my hand on Zared’s forearm. How could that man be his father? Leader Venter is a cold-hearted, calculating dictator who doesn’t care about others. He’s nothing like Zared. Suddenly, reality slaps me in the face. I thought the same thing about Katsuo Aoki. Taa must have a predilection for powerful, callous men.
“Yes, I am. I read somewhere, think it was an Alliance file, that Jacoby is Venter’s given name. He only goes by Jacob.”
Zared drops his head in his hands.
“Asher, do you have any ot
her details?” I prompt. “How did Taa keep this hidden?”
“I can’t answer the second question. As far as the first one goes, Mark hacked into a private server for Venter. We discovered emails between Z’s parents.” Asher pulls out his phone and scrolls through the contents. He passes it to Zared.
I nudge his shoulder, and Zared takes the phone. While reading the screen I realize it’s one of the communiqués Asher mentioned weeks ago.
LOTAR: I’m advising you to turn yourself in, Taaliba. Make things easier.
FLOTAR: I am not worried. You will not do a thing to me as long as I have our little insurance policy.
LOTAR: Hiding behind a title won’t keep you from an execution.
FLOTAR: I am not talking about a title. Would you have me killed knowing that I control whether your son lives or dies?
LOTAR: Don’t you dare harm him. This is between us, sheereen-am.
FLOTAR: I have not been your “sweet” in quite a long time.
LOTAR: Not my doing. Walking away was your choice.
FLOTAR: No. I never had a choice. I am warning you. Do not toy with me. I decide whether Zared recovers.
LOTAR: You’re still a cruel bitch.
FLOTAR: And you still love me in spite of it.
LOTAR: Can you blame me?
This explains why Zared was bedridden for weeks. His mother, of all people, hampered his recovery. For what? Some secret between her and one of this country’s leaders? Unbelievable.
I ask Asher, “What do the abbreviations stand for?”
“Leader of the American Republic and First Lady of the American Republic,” Asher says.
“Wait.” I scratch my head. “I thought Taa was married to Katsuo.”
“Common law marriage,” Asher points out. “Katsuo, like, legally adopted Zared. Taa simply attached the last name to hers. Mark and I searched. We couldn’t find any records of their marriage.”
“So, what? Why would Venter give up his parental rights?” I ask.
“It gets worse, Tru.” Asher extends his hand and takes his phone back. He scrolls through it again. “You need to watch this.”