The mist fell evenly across Ava’s face.
Andie was your home planet, of course, her SHRNK had written. And moving on is painful. But who could you be if you fell into Mat’s orbit?
She meditated on that idea for a few minutes, the gentle scents of eucalyptus and soil filling her with a feeling of peace and understanding as she allowed herself to surrender to the pull of Mat’s orbit. Cricket chirps indicated that her time was up, and she stepped back into the bright cafeteria.
Her feeling of tranquillity was immediately interrupted; Jaime was next in line. “Oh,” she said. “Hey.”
“Hello.” He wore a hexagonal pair of tortoiseshell iSight glasses.
“It’s really nice in there.”
“I’ve heard.”
“You probably won’t need those sunglasses. It’s pretty dark.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Jaime said. His tone was politely cold, and Ava sensed he was waiting for an apology.
“Look . . .” she started. “I’m sorry about that lunch misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding? You completely ditched me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Ava said.
Jaime pressed his lips into a straight line.
“Well, enjoy,” she said awkwardly, and she moved aside so he could pass her. She gazed around the cafeteria, trying to shake off the interaction and hold on to the pleasant calm she’d felt inside the Therapy Forest. Several booths away, she saw Judith with her daughters, who were fully absorbed with something called “dream tinctures.” One of them was zesting what looked like a twig into a small vial of purple liquid while the other swirled the black contents of her own vial. Judith looked on skeptically.
Ava had most of her S-Points left to spend and made her way to a booth offering GMO-free dog biscuits.
“I knew I would find you here,” Mat said, surprising her.
“Oh god,” Ava said. “Am I that predictable?”
“Yes,” Mat said. “Which makes my job very easy.” He handed her a paper bag full of dog treats. She peered into the bag, mentally repeating the words my job.
“But now I have nothing to spend my free money on,” Ava said. “Unless . . . do I need a dream tincture?”
“Depends,” Mat said. “Are your dreams exclusively about me?”
“No.”
“Then you definitely need a tincture,” he said.
* * *
That afternoon, once everyone had returned to their desks, blackout curtains lowered with a slow, mechanical hum, covering the large industrial windows until the room was dark.
A woman’s soft, calming voice came over the speaker system. It was unclear whether she was a robot or a person. “Good afternoon, STÄDA. It’s time to take today’s final Intentional Ten. Now, if you would please put away your phones and computers, I’ll lead you through this afternoon’s session.”
Ava felt a pang of annoyance. She had work to do. She didn’t want to close her computer. From across the room, Mat delivered a joking glare, gesturing down with his pointer finger until her computer was fully shut. Ava stifled a laugh and caught Jaime’s eye. His expression felt like an accusation. She looked away.
“If you feel comfortable doing so,” the woman on the loudspeaker continued, “please close your eyes. Don’t worry if you feel a little foolish. We’re all in this together.”
Ava watched Jaime close his eyes and then glanced across the room at Mat, who had already closed his, so she closed hers.
“Let’s all take a moment to appreciate the hard work we’ve put into today. Every time you did a little more than you had to today—every time you went that extra mile—your present self did your future self a favor. Now it’s time to repay your body and your mind for that gift.”
Ava felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and discreetly glanced down to read the text.
I think you left something in the printer.
She looked in Mat’s direction, but he was gone. She glanced around at the Engineering team, their eyes dutifully closed and their heads bowed. If she stepped away, people would probably assume she’d gone to the bathroom. She paused a moment, took another glance around the room, and backed away from her desk. Walking quickly through the dark, past her meditating colleagues, she felt elated and uncertain, as if Mat hadn’t already made his feelings perfectly clear.
He was waiting for her in the printer room, a small, dark room the size of a walk-in closet that housed a wireless printer, stacks of sticky notes, and other office supplies. The room was removed enough from the main workspace that they could both be inside and not be seen—especially not now, with the entire floor in the dark.
Mat wasted no time in kissing Ava, pulling her close to him in one swift gesture. They fumbled for a few seconds before finding their footing.
“We have five minutes,” Ava said. One-sixth of a unit.
Mat kissed her harder, and the idea of time—how much of it they had left—evaporated. As she pressed him against the back wall, the printer started with a loud whir.
“Oh shit,” Mat said. “Did I hit it?”
Ava hovered over the printer, gesturing for it to stop. Her face was hot.
A piece of paper landed softly in the tray.
“What is it?” Mat said, looking over Ava’s shoulder.
She scanned it quickly, but it was hard to parse under the low light. In her rush, she could focus only on pieces of it.
. . . After many years in these offices
. . . head-hunting for the new Gambier office has proven challenging.
. . . Grooming local talent from New York is not feasible.
. . . request for relocation to Gambier effective immediately.
Ava skipped ahead to the sign-off:
Best,
Judith Ball
Chief People Officer
Green
“It’s Judith,” Ava said. “She’s trying to transfer to the Gambier campus.”
“Well, that would definitely make our lives easier,” Mat said, brushing the hair from her face. “This is amazing. Can you imagine? We could finally do this out in the open.”
Ava looked at him doubtfully.
“Okay, not exactly this, but you know what I mean. No more hiding in printer closets. God, I can’t wait till this place is totally paperless.”
She shoved the paper back into the tray. Judith would be in any minute to collect the document. She glanced around to make sure everything looked normal, then hurriedly slipped out the door, tucking her hair behind an ear, and walked the long way back to her desk, the way Judith was almost certain not to be headed. From her desk she saw that Mat had already returned—he must have risked the short way. His cheeks were bright red, and she was happy to have this effect on him. Over her shoulder she saw Judith briskly turn the corner. She was walking in Ava’s direction. Ava’s stomach tightened. Judith tossed an orange peel in the Virtuous Compost Bin at the end of her desk and continued on toward the printer room. They’d gotten away with it.
Before the relief could fully set in, Judith tore back around the corner holding a thick stack of papers. “Who did this?” she demanded, interrupting the meditation. She fanned the papers out in her hands and held them up to the room. Ava strained to see through the dark, but she was able to make out an image of the Vision Tower—in section and elevation—x-ed out by thick red lines. There must have been hundreds of copies.
“Who did this? How many times do we have to remind you that office supplies are not to be used for personal things? And especially not for political organizing against our collective interest. Has someone unplugged the printer?”
The printer continued its loud, rhythmic whirring. Ava guessed the number of pages had doubled by now. She couldn’t help but feel guilty about her proximity to the prank, even though she wasn’t responsible.
A Spirit staffer stood. “This seems like a classic Vandal hack to me. I have no clue how they got ahold of those blueprints, though. We should
probably involve the FBI at this point.”
“They’re in the public domain,” Jaime said. “But I don’t know how they managed to get on our network.”
“Well,” Mat said, clapping his hands together and looking pointedly at Jaime. “Thankfully, we have the right man on the job to figure it out. And while you’re at it, do Judith a favor and unplug the printer?”
Jaime glared at him before disappearing into the hallway.
Ava’s phone buzzed with a text from Mat: You know where Judith and Vandals and FBI won’t be later?
NASTY PIZZA?
My place. Come over?
Ava’s heart felt like it had grown wings.
When?
After dinner?
Yes, she typed, and she tucked her phone into her pocket.
19
That night, after failing to manufacture an appetite, Ava stared at her Precise Wristwatch. Could seven be reasonably considered “after dinner”? She looked between Brutus and her phone. Wrapping up a few things and then heading over, she typed. She reread the text. She imagined Mat asking her what things she had wrapped up. She erased it. Leaving my apartment, she wrote instead.
Her face stung in the cold, and she kept her head down to avoid the wind. She got to Mat’s building and checked her phone.
Walking Emily, door’s unlocked, 12 F.
He’d texted her the building entrance code, and as she floated up in the elevator, she wondered whether she trusted him as fully. The thought of having Mat in her apartment while she was walking Brutus made her feel sweaty.
She knocked once on 12F, waited, then pushed the door open. Mat’s apartment looked like a college dorm room with adult touches. Ava immediately identified the STÄDA items: a Capable Couch in leather, a Dependable Drying Rack, a Polite Hamper, and several Proud Frames that held bland grayscale photographs of the Manhattan skyline. A single Simple Dinner Plate containing a shallow pool of water sat in the sink, and an Honest Salt Shaker on the counter.
But Mat’s brand loyalty, Ava soon realized, was not to STÄDA in particular but to start-up products advertised around the city. In his bathroom she found a Pop toothbrush—the hygienic kind with the disposable head that was mailed to your doorstep once a month, according to the subway ads. It stood in a Thoughtful Glass, next to a bottle of cologne that she recognized as part of a monthly subscription to Two-Scents. She examined the label: Hinoki Daydream. On the edge of his bathtub lay a Grizzly razor (“for the essential man”) and Grizzly shaving balm.
Most interesting to Ava were Mat’s dog accessories, which were numerous. Bark Boy’s sister company, Ruff Girl, manufactured dog beds, crates, grass-fed cow bones, and stuffed toys that were customized to look exactly like your dog. Mat had all of it.
She gazed at Mat’s Smart Bookshelf, which was largely taken up by a series of textbooks. She read the spines:
Good Guy 1: Good Mourning
Good Guy 2: Good Work
Good Guy 3: Good Nature
Good Guy 4: Good Riddance
Good Guy 5: Good God
She reached for Good Guy 6: For Goodness, Forgiveness and cracked it open:
PREFACE
All little boys want to be superheroes when they grow up. There’s simply no way around it. But there comes a time in our lives when we’re hit with the hard cold facts: we can’t fly; we can’t scale buildings with our fingertips; we can’t stop a moving train from running over a little girl.
But that doesn’t mean we can’t live out our destinies as superheroes.
You’re probably asking, “How?” Well, there’s a superpower at your fingertips, waiting to be unleashed. Do you have the courage to learn what it is?
Mat opened the door and Emily barreled into the apartment, tearing between Ava and the kitchen.
“I wasn’t being too nosy, I promise,” Ava said, snapping the book shut and shoving it back into place. She pushed the words little girl out of her mind.
“Why not?” Mat said. “I would be.” He tossed the leash onto the counter, pulled Ava in, and kissed her.
“I admit I was looking at your . . . book collection.”
“Oh,” Mat said. He glanced at his bookshelf, then rubbed the back of his head.
“I’m sorry!” Ava said. “I didn’t mean to make fun of your personal work. I’m sorry.”
He laughed. “It’s okay! I know it probably seems kind of lame from an outside perspective. It’s definitely not for everyone, but it’s been super-helpful for me.”
Ava watched as he poured an enormous serving of food for Emily, which she finished in three breathless gulps.
“Why don’t you give me the tour?” Ava said. “I’ve been in all the rooms except your bedroom.”
Mat asked her to wait while he slipped into his bedroom, reappearing after a minute before showing her in. He walked closely behind her with his hands resting on her hips. On his bed were hastily tucked Remy sheets, whose advertisements were bedding-related anagrams that had burrowed themselves into Ava’s subconscious (Sea Cow Pill; Rude TV Cove). Remy was considered a STÄDA competitor, but STÄDA’s Cool Sheets had received higher ratings. Mat closed the door behind him—it sounded light, like particleboard, making a hollow sound as it clicked shut.
He stood behind her and kissed her neck. Her eyes skipped around the room. A shirt had been slung over a Strapping Armchair in the corner. A Brilliant Lamp sat on a side table with a shiny walnut veneer. The top drawer of his dresser—a Frank Dresser prototype—was ajar. Ava reminded herself that he had just moved here, that he was young. She could imagine her SHRNK’s advice: Who could you be if you fell into Mat’s orbit?
Mat moved his hand from Ava’s hip to her waist and across her stomach, his thumb resting between her ribs. There was more confidence in his hands than she had felt the first time. She turned around, ending the mental survey, and reached into her back pocket for her phone.
“Am I boring you already?” he said.
“No,” Ava said. “It’s the opposite.”
“The opposite?”
She held up her phone for him to see. “Bark Bud. I’m hiring one for Brutus.” She put her hand on his chest and selected Kaamya, a twenty-three-year-old woman who lived .2 miles from her apartment.
Woof! a pop-up window read.
Looks like we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Brutus! But we know you can’t always plan ahead, and we’re dying to meet Brutus! Would you like to pay our liability fee of $299.99 so that we can attend to Brutus’s needs without a meet-and-greet?
“Jesus,” Ava said.
“That’s nuts. I totally get it if you need to go home,” Mat said, but Ava heard the disappointment in his voice.
She looked at the screen. She could afford the fee, and part of her enjoyed quantifying her desire. Three hundred dollars. Anyway, Brutus would be fine with a little change in routine. Dogs were adaptable—perhaps more adaptable than people. “No,” she said, tapping Continue and entering the code to her lockbox. “I want to stay.”
20
It was dark and Ava had no clear sense of where she was. Her own voice had yanked her out of a dream. Her heart drummed in her chest and she felt like her lungs had shrunk. “Where . . .” she started.
“You’re having a bad dream,” Mat said. “You’re having a bad dream.” His voice was scratchy with sleep. She looked around for her Exuberant Alarm Clock but couldn’t find it. She noticed then the sensation of Mat’s hand on her chest, his face coming into focus in the darkness. “Ava,” he said, clicking on his Brilliant Lamp. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
“I’m . . . Brutus . . .”
“No, you’re Ava. You’re at my apartment,” Mat said. “You were having a bad dream. It’s four in the morning and Brutus is at your apartment. You hired a Bark Bud to take care of him.”
Some feeling had begun to return to Ava’s limbs. She moved a hand over her eyes. She was naked under the sheets—she and Mat had been up later than she could ever remember staying
up. And now the memory of that—of Mat, of his lean, ropy body—was returning to her too. She settled herself against him. “Bark Bud,” she repeated, reassured. Her breath had evened out.
Mat wrapped an arm around her. “Ava?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Who’s Ira?”
“What?” Her head began throbbing.
Mat shifted onto an elbow and placed his head in his palm. “You said the name Ira. Before I shook you awake.”
“You shook me awake?” The accident roared back. Of course she’d been dreaming of it. It chased her like an angry dog. Her mother’s voice saying her father’s name would forever be lodged in her memory. It was the last thing she remembered hearing before waking in the hospital. It wasn’t a scream—she wouldn’t even call it desperate. It was simply a word that had vanished as soon as it had appeared: Ira.
“It’s no one,” Ava said. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” She reached to turn out the light.
“It didn’t sound like no one,” Mat said, kissing her neck. “You were all like, Ira . . . mm . . . Ira. You can tell me! Was he a boyfriend?”
“Ha,” Ava said, closing her eyes. “No.”
“Then who?”
“My dad,” Ava said, her eyes firmly shut, her best armor to defend from more questioning. Her throat tightened, and she turned away from him.
A blanket of silence lay over them. Ava opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t.
“Ava?” Mat said, sitting up, peering over her shoulder. His face was very close to hers.
She tried to focus on something else, anything else—a sound outside, a feeling in her body. But there was nothing—not a siren or a dog barking or a bus hissing to a stop that could distract her from the directness of what she was feeling now. She felt a tear roll down her nose but didn’t move to wipe it away.
The Very Nice Box Page 13