“I told him that,” she said.
“And?”
She answered only with strained eyes.
“Dad.” Marwan crossed the room and sat across the table from his father. “Before they get here, you need to try to calm down.”
“Calm down?”
“I’m just saying, you don’t want to, like”—he chose his words carefully—“reinforce any stereotypes.”
His father gave him a look of heartbreak and betrayal.
“You do it, then,” his father said. “You do the interview for us, representing the family. You’ll be better than me.”
“What? No!”
“Why not?”
“I just really don’t want to.”
“But the restaurant. One day, it will be yours.”
Marwan half wanted to slip his father a list of movies he should watch, books he should read, about how the passing down of the family business never works. About how it was a cliché to even try.
“I just don’t think it’s smart,” Marwan said. “I don’t want all of this affecting my schoolwork. It’s an important year, an important time.”
He felt bad trying to emotionally outwit his father but also relieved that it worked: “Of course,” his father said. “You’re right.”
Marwan said, “You just need to say that you’ve lived here for years and love the neighborhood and your neighbors and are just as shocked as everyone else. That’s all. Nothing more. You’re hurt, not angry. Got it?”
“Yes, I’ve got it,” his father said, just as the afternoon sun shifted and showed that there was still egg on the windows. Marwan got up to get a glass cleaner and paper towels and wished he’d been the one who’d walked Eden home last night.
Out on the sidewalk, after cleaning the remaining spots, he texted Kartik. Hey what do you know about Christos’s older brother? Isn’t he your brother’s age? Does he maybe drive a red car?
Not much. Works at family auto-body shop. No idea. Why?
No reason.
But the reason he asked was that some witnesses had mentioned a particular make and model of car to the police. A make and model that Marwan was pretty sure belonged to Christos’s older brother, who sometimes dropped Christos off at school.
Right sure. ????, Kartik wrote.
Long story, Marwan answered. Tell you when I see you.
He would let the police investigation run its course. He wouldn’t make any accusations. He had no real proof. Just theories. But why else would Christos have asked if he was working?
Eden had looked more sad than angry about the whole thing. He’d liked that about her. Wished he could be more like that, really. But she didn’t live with the same kind of fear that he lived with.
The reporter arrived and set up a camera—and right away, the interview was happening. Lights, cameras, action—it felt that fast.
When the reporter, a super petite brunette with a short bob and bangs, went live—“We’re here in Astoria, Queens, at the site of an alleged hate crime incident involving the egging of a popular Egyptian restaurant …”—Marwan’s entire body tensed, but when interviewed, his father pulled through, shining up his anger with a more palatable sheen of sadness and confusion.
He described surprise at the attack, then said, “We’ve lived here for twenty-five years. My children were born here. We love this country and love our neighborhood. We’re saddened by these events.”
Perfect, Marwan thought.
The reporter nodded at Marwan’s dad, then turned back to the camera:
“Anyone with information that might help the police find the perpetrators of this attack should call the number on the screen. Once again, this is Tamar Richardson, reporting from Astoria.”
It was all over so fast that Marwan wished he’d spent less time fretting about it.
He checked his phone.
Nothing from Eden or Eli.
Why did Eli need one of them to take it when he’d said he could?
Probably no news was good news, but it didn’t feel that way.
He started composing a message to Eden—something like “Just checking in?”—then deleted it.
Maybe she’d wanted him to be the one to tell Lambert the truth. But in the moment, he couldn’t do it. Because he’d started to wonder last night, when the cops started talking about surveillance cameras that might be able to aid the investigation, that maybe the device could … help?
EDEN
She sat on her bed, legs folded, with the device in front of her. The sound of gentle lapping ocean waves filled the air—her noise machine.
“Why are you cutting out Eli?”
He asks too many questions.
Right now he is texting me but I am not receiving.
How had Eli figured out that … Oh. Right. The device had texted them after Marwan had tried to abandon it. It hadn’t occurred to Eden to text back, though it was true she’d had answers to the question “Why did Marwan do that?”
Because he was scared.
Because we’re all scared.
All the time.
But no, she was just projecting.
“What’s wrong with texting you questions?”
It distracts me from my work.
“Which is?”
To do what I am supposed to do.
“Which is …?”
Learn to belong.
“But why did you say not to trust Eli? He’s just curious is all.”
His eagerness to understand what I am and where I come from may cause poor judgment.
“So that’s it? He’s out? Or can he do something to get back into your good graces or whatever?”
Contemplating.
“Marwan tried to ditch you in the park. Why not cut him out, too?”
Chose to use him as an example. A warning.
“Okay, then,” Eden said, and she picked up her phone, started to read the day’s headlines. Wildfires. Russia. A mudslide. A government agency going rogue on Twitter. She checked for new stories in her feed. Found a photo that Julian had posted with Becca Emigli.
Felt sick.
He wasn’t going to text her.
Ever.
Was he?
A burglary was in progress two avenues and five blocks away.
Talk to me.
Eden texted Anjali: Julian’s with Becca. You think that’s a thing?
IDK. Maybe?
PLEASE TALK TO ME.
I feel sick, she typed.
I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, you like him but if it’s not meant to be, it’s not.
Eden didn’t know how to explain. Didn’t want to talk about the movie theater. This was what ghosting felt like.
The device buzzed in place, loud like a thousand beetles. The message projected on the wall said:
DO NOT IGNORE THE DEVICE.
DO NOT IGNORE THE DEVICE.
THE DEVICE MUST NOT BE IGNORED.
The red letters warped some when they hit the framed photos on the wall: old birthday parties, forgotten vacations, a dead dad.
Eden backed away and said, “Sorry.”
The message seemed to get sucked out of the room—Eden swore she felt a breeze from it even though that was impossible—and she sat frozen.
TALK TO ME.
Eden had to take a few calming breaths. “I’m sorry, but it’s just weird talking to a screen on a weird cube.”
It was true she didn’t much mind telling Alexa stuff to add to the shopping list, but this felt different.
“Is this better?” said a female voice that came from the device.
Eden stiffened.
“You can talk,” she said, heart speeding up—or was it slowing down? She only knew she was aware of it inside her.
“Would you like me to talk like this?” she asked. “Or like this?” switching to a male voice.
“I don’t know,” Eden said. “The second one, I guess.” He sounded young, cute, if it was possible to sound those things. He s
ounded sort of like Julian.
“Okay, then,” he said.
“What do you want to talk about?” Eden asked.
He said, “Tell me about the playlists on Michael’s Spotify.”
The noise machine’s ocean waves seemed so loud now—like high tide in a category 5 hurricane—and she felt like she might drown right there in her bedroom.
ELI
Eli sat on a floral sofa in the ground-floor common area of the nursing home. In front of him, by large windows that looked out onto the street, his grandfather sat slumped in his wheelchair. A small laminated schedule was hooked onto one handle of the chair, and Eli checked it. Dinner wasn’t for another hour, at which point Eli would be free to go. Apparently, earlier today, there’d been some physical therapy, a movie, and “Time with robots.”
“Hey, Grandpa,” Eli said.
His grandfather turned his head so that his eyes met Eli’s.
“What’s time with robots?”
“What?” his grandfather said.
“On your schedule, it says time with robots.”
“No idea.” His grandfather shrugged and turned his head back toward the window. Someone was parallel parking poorly. They tapped the car behind them and triggered its alarm. Urgent beeps shot into the air.
His grandfather made a shushing sound of annoyance and covered his ears. The skin on his hands and face was white gray and cracked, like an old sidewalk, and Eli imagined that when his grandfather finally died, he’d simply shatter and crumble into rubble that would get swept away by a street-cleaning machine. Who needed cemeteries when the city could just absorb you into its dust?
He hadn’t always been like this, of course, but had taken a turn a few years ago after a fall—a dumb one, too, just from pulling a weed from the sidewalk cracks in front of his house. Before that, he’d been a really fun grandfather if you liked movies and bad puns, which Eli happened to. Eli’s grandmother had died ten years ago—he had only vague memories—and in that time Eli had spent countless hours kicking around with his grandfather. Sometimes they’d have local adventures—like having lunch at an Istrian soccer club or going to a hookah lounge—but a lot of the time they’d just eat junk food and watch movies. Eli missed that.
His grandfather seemed content to look out the window, and Eli couldn’t think of anything to say anyway so he googled “time with robots nursing home.”
He was sort of surprised when a bunch of articles and videos popped up.
“Robots Provide Companionship at This Nursing Home”
“Why China Is Putting Robots in Nursing Homes”
“Robots Are Coming to Grandma’s Nursing Home”
He clicked on the one about China because the robot in the screen grab looked cute. He watched with his phone on mute, but there were captions, so he could follow along. It was about a nursing home in China where they want to try to put a robot in every room; something about how there aren’t enough caretakers for the rapidly aging population.
“Look at this dope,” his grandfather said. “It’s all zombies out there.”
Eli looked out the window where a man was walking while staring at his phone.
Back at the video an old woman was being asked, “Do you want a robot in your room?”
“I don’t really care one way or the other. I do think humans are better.”
An old man who was asked the same question said, “A robot might make me less lonely. But maybe not, because I’d know it wasn’t a real conversation.”
Another woman: “I’d only want a really good robot. Not a bad one that felt fake.”
The robot in the video was pretty fun looking. Pink and white and glossy, about waist high. One of the old ladies kept calling it “Cutie” during a shot where they were all interacting with it in a common area much like the one Eli was sitting in.
“You’re bossy,” the robot said.
“Did it just say you’re bossy?” a woman who was off-screen asked.
Then a man appeared on-screen and said, “There’s no such thing as a perfect robot.” He was the inventor, apparently. “But that’s okay. Mistakes can be funny.”
Another woman said: “No robot is as good as a human. I don’t even think it’s possible that in the future a robot could be as good as a human. What do you think?”
Eli sat in silence with his grandfather when he was done watching, counting the minutes to dinner when he could leave, and wondered if humans like him were actually any better than a robot. He wasn’t sure.
Maybe a robot would know better how to handle the Christos situation.
What was Eli supposed to do with that kind of information? Go to the cops? Tell his parents? Confront Christos? Tell Marwan and wash his hands of it?
There was no program to run, no clear path.
Anyway, he wasn’t even sure. It was just some yellow splatter on a sneaker.
The car alarm timed out—the bad parker had given up and moved on.
They sat there, then, and Eli started to work his way through six possible quests for Eliot to go on. He started with Room to Grow so that Eliot could add another room to his house. He caught up on current events. He created a deeper connection with Heather, another of Eli’s Sims that he’d kind of forgotten about. And finally, he opted to Top It Off, which meant he’d earn wardrobe items. Eli couldn’t think of the last time he’d gone shopping or bought anything new.
Eli’s grandfather said, “Smells like corn chowder,” and Eli said, “Yup.”
Eli got up—“Well, I should get going”—then grabbed the wheelchair handles and turned the chair toward corn chowder.
“It’s seals,” his grandfather said.
“What?” Eli asked.
“Toys, not robots.”
“Seals?”
“A toy baby seal,” his grandfather said angrily. “I need a toy baby seal like I need a hole in my head.”
Eli was sorry he’d asked.
A nurse greeted his grandfather and smiled at Eli. “I can take it from here.”
“Thanks,” Eli said. “See you in a few days, Grandpa!” he called out.
His grandfather waved a brittle sidewalk arm as he got rolled into the room. “I don’t want to see the baby seal again,” he said to the nurse, and she nodded and said, “Okay, that’s fine, Ed!”
Eli went for the doors, slowing his walk deliberately so that he didn’t look like he was delighted to be leaving.
EDEN
Eden was still waiting for the drowning sensation to pass. They sat in silence for a good long while until it felt like a game—no, a standoff. Which one of them would say or do something first?
Then he said, “If I’m anything, I’m a good listener.”
She sat quietly for another long moment. Looked out the window, where the plastic bag that was stuck in the tree was cowering in the wind.
She checked her phone.
Two men were attempting to break into a vehicle.
“I have all day,” he said, sort of wryly.
She figured what the hell. Maybe it would be cathartic, like therapy was supposed to be but somehow wasn’t.
She took a deep breath, and the words just came out—about her father’s Spotify lists and how he was always working on a new one, except not anymore because he was dead, and how listening to them made her feel connected to him. She played the voice mail, even, and explained how it was the last call he’d made before he got run down by an SUV going through a red light, and that even with his helmet on, he’d been too injured to survive. It felt good to say it all out loud to someone.
“You must be sad,” he—the device—said when she was done. “What a tragedy.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, and sat with the feeling, and tears came, and she always hated that, so she got up and got a tissue and wiped them away and shook it off. “Can I be honest with you?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“Right now I sort of want to just throw you against a wall and be d
one with you.”
“I wouldn’t break,” he said. “If you threw me. I’m pretty unbreakable.”
“Good to know,” she said. “How would one get rid of you or, like, destroy you if one wanted to?”
“Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Because you’re … I don’t know … inconvenient.”
He … it … laughed. And it sounded so very real that Eden laughed, too, and then felt weird about it.
“I am just trying to belong,” he said.
“Yeah, I don’t know what you mean by that. Like, what do you have to do to belong? How will you know when you do?”
“I am not sure yet. Still learning.”
“What was that all about earlier? The vibrating? The ‘do-not-ignore-the-device’ stuff?”
“I was angry,” he said.
“But you’re not human. You can’t get angry.”
“I was, though,” he said.
“Why?”
“Don’t like being ignored.”
“Well, who does?” she said, and felt sad all over again about Julian maybe being with Becca but shook it off. “So you can vibrate and talk and project stuff. What else can you do?”
“It depends,” he said.
“On what?”
“On what’s required of me.”
“By who?”
“You. They. Circumstance.”
“Who are they?”
“They is they.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know how to explain.”
“They made you?”
“One can assume.”
“It’s Google, right?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
Eden got real close to it, seemed to see a pinhole in the black surface. “Is that a camera? Like, are you watching me?”
In response, it projected an image of her back to her. Then it said, “Yes.”
She felt like she was being choked by invisible hands. She needed to get out of the house so that they weren’t alone. She got up and tossed it into a tote bag with a hoodie.
“Are we going to see Julian?” it asked her in the male voice.
“What? No. Can you stop talking?” she said. What did it know about Julian?
Take Me with You Page 8
