by Marc Levy
“I have no idea what to do,” muttered Julia as she leaned against the window frame.
“Best turn in, sleep on it. You’re the first person on earth to face such a decision. It’s worth thinking over calmly. Tomorrow morning, you’ll make your choice. Whatever it is, it’ll be for the best. At worst, you decide to turn me off, and all you’ll be is just a few hours late for work. That wedding would have meant an entire week off the clock. Doesn’t the death of your father warrant at least one morning?”
In silence, Julia observed the face of the strange machine standing before her, with the thing staring back at her all the while. She thought she read something in its eyes that was almost like affection—a sight unfamiliar to her, considering her father had always been so distant in life. And even though it was just a fabricated copy of her “loved one,” Julia had every instinct to wish it good night before heading to bed, but ultimately she said nothing. She closed her bedroom door and stretched out across her bed.
The minutes crept by. An hour passed, and then another. With the curtains open, light spilled in across the shelves. Through the windowpane, the full moon seemed to float above the hardwood floors. Childhood memories came flooding back to Julia as she lay in bed. The countless nights she had spent waiting for her father to come home—that same man sitting on the other side of the wall right now. Throughout her adolescence, many sleepless nights were spent reinventing her father’s travels, the wind outside her window carrying her mind to thousands of distant countries. So many evenings spent in a state of being awake yet dreaming, and she had maintained the habit over the years. It had taken a dizzying amount of drawing and erasing to invent characters who would take life, come together, and satisfy her need for love, one frame at a time. Deep down, Julia had always known that this artistic escape was a vain attempt to find clarity and comfort. But reality was a blinding light that could cut straight through the most carefully drawn illusion in a heartbeat. She still felt the pain of the lonely girl she had been.
A little ceramic otter from Mexico was perched beside her bed. She had drawn inspiration from the tiny figurine to create Tilly. Julia rose from her bed and took it in her hands. Her intuition had always been her best ally, and with time her imagination had only grown sharper. Why now, when she needed it most, was she left in doubt?
She put the figurine back, slipped on a bathrobe, and opened her bedroom door. Anthony was sitting on the living room sofa watching TV.
“I took the liberty of plugging in your cable. I’ve always been fond of this show.”
Julia sat down next to him.
“I’ve never seen this episode. Or at least, I can’t locate it in my memory drive,” continued her father.
Julia grabbed the remote and put the TV on mute. Anthony rolled his eyes.
“You wanted to talk? Let’s talk,” she said.
Neither one of them spoke for at least fifteen minutes.
“Ah, look. I’ve never seen this episode. Or at least, I can’t locate it in my memory drive,” her father repeated, turning up the volume again.
This time, Julia turned the TV all the way off.
“Sounds like you have a bug—some kind of glitch or something. You just said the same thing twice in a row.”
Another fifteen minutes of silence dragged on. Anthony’s eyes stayed riveted on the darkened screen.
“I seem to recall one of your birthdays—your ninth, if I’m not mistaken—we celebrated together, just the two of us at a Chinese restaurant you liked. And back home, we spent the entire evening in front of the TV, just like this. You were spread out on my bed, and even when the channel turned off, you kept watching nothing but static on the screen. You probably don’t remember. You were too young. I wanted to carry you to your room, but your arms were so tightly clenched to the pillow and the headboard, I couldn’t pry you off. You slept diagonally across the top of the comforter, taking the whole bed for yourself. So I plopped down in the armchair right across from you and watched you sleep. Just watched, all night long. But you couldn’t possibly remember. You were only nine.”
Julia said nothing. He turned the TV back on.
“How do they come up with these scenarios? I’ve always wondered about that. It must take a great deal of imagination. Funny thing is, you end up getting quite attached to the characters . . . invested in their lives.”
Julia and her father stayed that way, sitting side by side, without saying a thing. They rested their hands next to each other on the couch without ever moving them closer. Not a single, solitary word broke the silence of the night. When the first light of dawn crept through the room, Julia rose noiselessly and crossed the room. At her bedroom door, she turned back to her father and spoke one single phrase before shutting the door.
“Good night.”
6.
The clock radio on the nightstand read nine o’clock. Julia opened her eyes and leaped out of bed.
“Shit!”
She hurried to the bathroom, stubbing her toe on the door frame along the way.
“Monday strikes again,” she grumbled. “God, what a night!” She pulled back the shower curtain and stepped inside, letting the water glide down her skin for what seemed like a long time. A while later, as she was brushing her teeth and looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, she was suddenly struck with a case of the giggles. She wrapped a towel around her body and another around her hair, then slipped out to make her morning cup of tea. As she crossed her bedroom, she decided she would call Stanley after her first sip. Sharing her strange dream with him would probably have repercussions; he’d almost certainly try to set her up for an appointment with his shrink. Still, there was no way she could keep it from him. She never managed to spend even half a day without calling him or stopping by for an impromptu visit. Such an incredible dream simply had to be shared with her best friend.
She smiled and was about to leave her bedroom when a clatter of dishes made her jump.
Julia waited a moment, heart pounding. She threw the wet towels to the floor, shimmied into a pair of jeans and a shirt, and tried to untangle her hair in a rush. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she threw on a last-minute dab of blush, then cracked open the door to the living room and whispered worriedly, “Adam? Stanley? It couldn’t be . . .”
“I didn’t know whether you took coffee or tea, so I made coffee,” her father called from the kitchen, victoriously brandishing a steaming coffeepot. “Good, strong coffee, the way your father likes it!” he added jovially.
Julia looked at the old wooden table. A place was set for her. Two jars of jam had been arranged just so, impeccably aligned with a jar of honey. The butter dish stood at a ninety-degree angle to the cereal box. A carton of milk stood directly across from the sugar bowl.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“What? What is it now?”
“This ridiculous game. You went your whole life without ever fixing me breakfast, so you’re not going to start now that you’re—”
“No, we agreed: no past tense. It was my only condition. Present tense at all times . . . After all, the future won’t get me very far.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to a single thing. And for your information, I drink tea in the morning.”
Anthony poured some coffee for Julia.
“Milk?” he asked.
Julia scoffed, then ran the tap to fill the kettle.
“So have you made up your mind then?” asked her father, taking two slices of bread from the toaster.
“If the point of all this is for us to actually talk, last night wasn’t much of a start,” replied Julia softly.
“Nonetheless, I enjoyed the time we spent together. Didn’t you?”
“It was my tenth birthday. Not my ninth. Our first weekend without Mom. It was a Sunday, and she had been taken to the hospital on Thursday. The Chinese restaurant was called Wang’s, which closed last year. Anyway, early the next morning, you packed your bags and flew off
without even saying goodbye.”
“Right. I had an early-afternoon meeting in Seattle. Or was it Boston? Who knows? Then, I came back Thursday. Or was it Friday?”
“What’s the point of all this?” asked Julia as she sat down at the table.
“Well, in just a few short moments we’ve already said quite a bit, don’t you think? If you want hot tea, I’d advise turning on the stove.”
Julia sniffed at the steaming mug of coffee, taking in the potent aroma.
“You know? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted coffee in my entire life,” she said, taking a sip of the brew.
“Then how could you know you don’t like it?” asked Anthony, watching his daughter as she took a larger gulp this time.
“Because!” she said, grimacing as she put the mug down.
“If you can get used to the bitterness, then you come to enjoy its rich undertone,” Anthony said.
“I should get to work,” replied Julia as she opened the jar of honey.
“Have you made up your mind, then? Your indecision has been quite vexing. At the very least, you could let me know.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. What do you expect when you ask the impossible? You and your partners overlooked one small ethical quandary.”
“Please share. I’m curious.”
“The whole thing amounts to barging in uninvited and turning somebody’s life upside down.”
“Somebody?” Anthony retorted, his voice tightening.
“Don’t take it personally. I don’t know what to tell you. Figure it out without me. Call in that code and let them decide.”
“Six days, Julia. Six days so you can mourn the loss of your father, not just some stranger—as you seem to consider me. Don’t you want to make that choice yourself?”
“Six days for you, you mean.”
“I’m not alive anymore. What could I possibly get out of it? There’s nothing for me in this at all, which is a rather novel concept. Pretty ironic, come to think of it,” continued Anthony with a smile. “That’s another thing we didn’t anticipate. It’s positively unprecedented . . . Before perfecting this incredible invention, never in the history of the world could one discuss the events of one’s own death with one’s own daughter. And get to witness the reaction! It really is extraordinary. Okay, I can see you don’t think it’s very amusing. I guess it’s not that funny after all.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I do have some bad news for you, though. I can’t call in the shutoff order myself. It isn’t possible. Only one person has authorization to halt the program, and that’s the beneficiary. Besides, I’ve already forgotten the password I gave you. It was erased from my memory. You did jot it down last night, didn’t you?”
“1-800-300-0001. Confirmation PIN 654.”
“Oh, so you memorized it. Very good.”
Julia got up and put her mug in the sink. She turned around, took a long, hard look at her father. Then picked up her phone to make a call.
“It’s me,” she said to her coworker Dray. “I’m going to take your advice, at least sort of. I’m taking today and tomorrow off. Maybe more, we’ll have to wait and see. I’ll keep in touch. Send me an email update on the project at the end of each day, and don’t think twice about calling me if you have any problems.”
Julia put the phone back down without taking her eyes off her father.
“It’s good to look after your team,” Anthony stated approvingly. “I always say that any company worth its weight in gold is held up by three pillars: teamwork, teamwork, and teamwork.”
“Two days! You get two days, understand? Take it or leave it. In forty-eight hours, like it or not, you give me back my life and—”
“Six days!”
“Two.”
“Six!”
The telephone rang, cutting their negotiations short. Anthony picked it up, only to have Julia grab the receiver and muffle it, signaling to her father to be as quiet as possible. It was Adam, who expressed his concern after trying to get in touch with Julia at work and being unable to reach her there or on her cell phone. He said he was kicking himself about the night before, for his lack of trust and his drastic overreactions. Julia apologized herself for having been short-tempered, and thanked Adam for being thoughtful enough to stop by after hearing her voicemail. Even if it hadn’t been their finest hour as a couple, Adam showing up unexpectedly outside her window had been very romantic.
Adam offered to pick her up after work as her father started doing the dishes in the background, seemingly making as much noise as he could. Julia explained over the racket that her father’s death had affected her more than she had been letting on. She had spent the night tossing and turning, plagued by nightmares. She was exhausted and couldn’t handle another night like that. What she needed was a calm afternoon and an early night. They would see each other tomorrow at the very latest. By then she would be herself again, more like the woman he wanted to marry.
“Exactly like I said. A chip off the old block,” repeated Anthony as soon as she had hung up. Julia glared at him.
“What is it now?” he asked.
“You’ve never washed a single dish in your entire life.”
“How would you know? Besides, dishes are part of my new programming,” he replied cheerfully.
Julia left him to it and turned away without a word, grabbing the key chain off its hook.
“Where are you off to?” asked her father.
“I’m going upstairs to set up your room. There’s no way you’re spending the whole night pacing back and forth in my living room. I have to catch up on some sleep.”
“If the TV bothers you, I can turn down the volume.”
“You’re sleeping upstairs tonight. Nonnegotiable.”
“Come now, you’re not really going to force me into the attic!”
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t.”
“Rats! The place is infested; you said so yourself,” Anthony replied, sounding like a chastised child.
As Julia headed out the door, she heard her father calling after her in a firm voice.
“Young lady! We’ll never get anywhere staying cooped up in here.”
As Julia closed the door behind her and climbed one flight of stairs up, Anthony Walsh checked the time on the oven clock. He hesitated a moment and then looked for the white remote control, which he found right where Julia had left it on the counter.
He heard his daughter’s footsteps in the apartment above . . . the sound of furniture being moved around . . . the opening and closing of a window. When she came back down, he was back inside the packing crate, with the remote control in hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“I’ve elected to turn myself off. Better for both of us this way, most of all you, dear. I can see that I’m in your way.”
“I thought you couldn’t do it yourself,” she said, yanking the remote from his hand.
“I said you were the only one who could call the company and give them the PIN. I think I’m quite capable of pushing a simple button,” he grumbled, stepping back out of the crate.
“Do what you want,” she responded, handing back the remote. “But do it soon. You’re wearing me out.”
Anthony set the remote down on the coffee table, then returned to face his daughter.
“Might I ask, where were you supposed to go on this honeymoon of yours?”
“Montreal. Why?”
“Your fiancé didn’t exactly go all out, did he?”
“What do you have against Canada?”
“Nothing at all! Nothing against Montreal. Lovely city, many cherished memories there. But that’s beside the point,” he said with a cough.
“What is the point, then?”
“Well, it’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
“For a honeymoon . . . a one-hour flight is hardly a change of scenery! Why not rent an RV to save on paying for a hotel while
you’re at it?”
“What if it was my idea to go? What if I love Montreal? What if it’s a special place, for both of us, full of cherished memories? What would you know about any of it?”
“No daughter of mine would ever choose that kind of destination. A mere hour from home? Never!” affirmed Anthony emphatically. “And don’t go telling me you’re a maple syrup fanatic. One must draw the line somewhere.”
“You’ll always be blinded by your preconceived ideas, won’t you?”
“I’ll grant you it’s a little late for me to change now. But, please! Spending the most memorable night of your entire life in a place you already know? Au revoir to your sense of discovery. Adieu, flames of romance. Innkeeper, same room as last time! After all, this is just a night like any other. Barkeep, the usual! Wouldn’t want to do anything to agitate my fiancé—or should I say, husband—by straying from the precious routine.”
Anthony let loose a deep belly laugh.
“Are you done?” Julia was fuming now.
“Yes,” he said, regaining his composure. “You know, it’s not half bad, this whole death thing. Suddenly free to say whatever comes running down your circuits!”
“You’re right—we’re getting nowhere,” said Julia, bringing her father’s mood down a notch.
“Not here, at least. We need to find some kind of neutral ground.”
Julia looked perplexed.
“How about we stop playing hide-and-go-seek in this drab little shoe box? Even with that room upstairs you want me to inhabit, we’re crammed like sardines in here. Wasting precious time bickering like spoiled children. Every last minute counts; we can’t get them back.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Why not take a little trip together, you and I? No calls from work, no surprise visits from that Adam of yours, no evenings spent glaring at one another like zombies in front of the TV. Just long, lovely strolls where you and I can really talk. After all, that’s why I came all this way. To spend time together, just the two of us.”
“You’re asking me to give you what you never gave me? Is that what you’re saying?”
