It means everything to me that he’s thinking about what “right” would feel for him because the only upside I can see for him with any of this is that it’s allowed him some freedom from his parents. Emphasis on some. I’ve received four letters from Mrs. Kayes and one from Mr. Kayes imploring me to convince Myles that we both need to go home and “stop this immortality nonsense.”
They’re furious, but they know how to push my buttons. They keep reminding me in letters about how much Myles is giving up. All these things he used to love are gone. Student government, basketball team, piano lessons. I show him the letters as I get them and always ask if I can write back. “I think they need to understand that those things aren’t gone for you,” I try to tell him.
“I know, right?” he always says. “They can’t even imagine that if I’m immortal, I can go into politics a thousand years from now and start a dozen companies before then and maybe play for a professional basketball team in the meanwhile.”
Once when he said that, I said: “Or you could perfect your piano skills,” because I used to love listening to him play.
“Or not,” he said, “since I was only doing that for them.”
I zipped it after that and didn’t say any more about the piano. Maybe if he becomes immortal, he’ll pick a musical instrument I like hearing him play even more. Maybe I’ll learn how to play the piano instead of him. This is one of the reasons I’m struggling so much, though. Myles knows more about what he wants to be as an immortal than I know about myself. I’m just a little lost.
“Oh, look close, Stella Rose,” Myles says as we continue our walk tonight. “The stars have come out to play for us.”
He stops and stares up, and I am transfixed by the sight of Myles in the starlight. He’s wearing jeans and a light jacket, and with his hands anchored to his back pockets and his chin pointed toward the sky, he looks so timeless. He’s fascinated by the night sky. I hope if he becomes an immortal, he gets to join one of the space programs one day. Maybe he could live on the moon.
“What do you think it’s like out there?” he asks me.
“You mean in space?” I shiver in a cool evening breeze. I’m not sure I would want to live on the moon. “I think it’s cold.”
He doesn’t miss anything. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. “I mean out there on the planets. The ones we sent people to.”
“The ones we sent insane people to,” I say, correcting him.
“But didn’t you think that lecture we went to this week about the correction project they’re working on was interesting?” he says. “It’s such a brilliant idea. I mean, yes, we sent ‘insane’ people off to colonize a bunch of planets that might have intelligent life forms that deserve to be protected from human insanity—”
“Any intelligent life form should be protected from human insanity, Myles.”
He waves his hand. “Sure, sure. But the point is, that was three hundred years ago, and the ships in those fleets can only travel as fast as ships that were made three hundred years ago could travel. Most of those ships are still thousands of years away from their destination planets. So, if we send out new fleets today, they’ll be going in ships that are so much faster than those original fleets that they’ll arrive on the same destination planets hundreds of years before the original immortals were sent out.”
I am too distracted by Major Life Choices to be doing that kind of math, so I just nod and say, “uh-huh.”
Myles goes on. “Think about that, Stella. By the time those insane humans everyone is worried about land, sane humans will have had plenty of time to build sustainable, cooperative human settlements.”
He is so into this.
“They’ll be prepared for the immortals who show up. Imagine how pissed those original immortals will be when they land and find out they’re not the first humans who showed up on the planets they were sent to. But it won’t matter, because they won’t have a chance to do any damage!”
Even though I’m not following much of this, I think it’s cute that he’s so into the space programs. Though there are some rumors that they’re going to start recruiting for this correction space program, and I really don’t want to be part of that myself. It would be one thing to live on the moon for a year or something. It’s another thing to leave Earth for thousands of years on a voyage to a planet that humans have never even seen.
“I think you’re going to be an ‘insane’ immortal,” I tease. “You want impossible things.”
“What, like to travel to one of those planets someday?” he says. “That’s not insane. That’s adventurous.”
I am not adventurous. I am a homebody whose life revolves around her family. Also, I am right to be nervous about Myles’s interest in space. I shiver hard again, and he puts his hands on my arms to rub heat into me.
“But the biggest adventure is an eternity with you, Stella Rose,” he tells me softly. “I’ll take that anywhere. You know that, right? Say the word, and I’ll go anywhere you want. We can do anything. We can have everything or nothing or—”
“Why do you love me?” I ask him suddenly. “I’m not like you at all. I don’t want any of the things you want. I’m not interested in my feet leaving Earth. I could live forever and never see the surface of the moon, and I’d be fine. I don’t even care what things will be like for humans a thousand years from now. I just want more time to laugh with the family I have today. Maybe to have a family. Domestic, boring stuff, you know?”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a domestic life, and you can still have a family, Stell,” Myles says. I appreciate that he’s at least sensitive enough not to say “we” can have a family, even though that’s probably what he’s thinking. He leans in to kiss me like he’s confirming exactly that without saying it out loud. “I’ve been researching. Immortals can have children. Did you know?”
“Mortal children.” I’ve been looking into it, too. “I’m not bringing children into a world knowing they’re going to die before me.”
“But your children can choose to be immortals,” Myles says reasonably.
The idea horrifies me. “No! That would be a terrible choice for an immortal parent to give their kid. And if they stay mortal, you get to be the parent who lives to see your kids and your grandkids and your great-grandkids all die before you.”
He kind of flubs the next part. “Then let’s look into adoption. For you. When you want to have kids. We’ll—I mean, you—can look through the genetic registries for kids with black flags. Then they’ll have to choose immortality for reasons that have nothing to do with you. And we—I mean, you—won’t ever have to worry about watching any of your kids die first.”
He is incorrigible. But I watch him watching me anxiously with that soft smile on his lips and the stars in his eyes, and I just don’t get it. I don’t see why someone like perfect Myles Alexander Kayes would love me. He doesn’t worry about any of the stuff I worry about. What do I have going for me that he couldn’t find somewhere else?
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Oh.” He shrugs. “Well, that’s easy, I love you because you’re pretty.”
I swat his arm and laugh. “There are a lot of pretty girls in the world, Myles.”
“Not pretty like you.”
“We’re all beautiful in our own way. Come up with something else. Something real. Something that will make me believe you.”
I’m wearing the rose gold petal charm he gave me. He reaches out to finger it on my neck, and the gesture is heartbreakingly intimate. “Then I love you because of the way you love.”
I am hardly the girl who goes around with her heart on her sleeve, so I don’t get this either. It’s not like I’m the one continually coming up with new ways to say, “I love you.”
“I don’t mean me,” he says, then he blushes. “I mean, I’m not saying you don’t love me. I just … I love to see you with your family and with Foster and Grazie and such. You see all th
e best things in other people. You look for all the good. You see perfect where there might not ever be perfect.”
“Maybe I like the parts of people that aren’t perfect the best,” I tell him.
“Maybe that’s an even better reason for me to love you,” he says.
We walk arm in arm the rest of the way around the park.
13.
STELLA
Myles will turn seventeen in August, a few weeks before I turn sixteen. This is because I skipped a grade, but our age difference has never mattered before. Now it really matters. I have another full year to explore immortality before I have to make a final decision. Myles has to let the program know by July so that they have time to send him into the six-week isolation program and give him the injection before he turns seventeen.
I’m finally at the point where I believe immortality is the right decision for me, but I hate that Myles has to go through it before me. What if I change my mind after he does it? How will he feel then?
I tell him that if we’re going to do it, we need to do it at the same time. And this time he gets a taste of what it’s like for someone to follow you down a road they don’t have to go down.
“That doesn’t seem fair to you, Stella,” he says when I tell him. That worry line between his eyebrows is especially prominent right now. “I know you’re still a little nervous about immortality. You should have as much time as you need to get comfortable with the idea.”
“But it’s not fair to you to have to do it a full year before I do,” I argue.
“Nothing about this situation is fair. I think we just have to do our best with it,” he says.
He turns in the papers they require to get the six-week isolation process started, and it gives me a bad premonition. There’s something wrong about all of this. I still have a bad feeling about Myles becoming immortal, even if I’m pretty sure now it isn’t just about me. For him, this is as much about freedom from his parents as it is about us staying together.
Problem is neither of those reasons seems good enough for me.
Mr. and Mrs. Kayes are still campaigning to stop Myles from becoming immortal, but Myles tells them he’s committed to the six-week isolation program and we get an invitation to meet with them a few weeks before the isolation begins.
The invitation is for both of us. They say they want to reconcile. Myles is ecstatic. I am trying not to have a panic attack. I have a hard time believing this is really about reconciliation.
They meet us for Mexican food at a restaurant near the Immortality Center, and even though both of Myles parents hug him and smile enthusiastically, there is something orchestrated about the meetup. It’s too casual. Mrs. Kayes is wearing jeans and her Proud Mom of a Detroiter shirt. Mr. Kayes is dressed informally, too, and wearing an Arbordale Wolverines shirt. They order guacamole and spend the first half-hour telling me funny stories about things Myles did when he was a kid.
It’s a game, I realize. They want him to see how much he’s going to be missing out on if he becomes immortal. I don’t say anything because maybe they have a good strategy here, but I can tell Myles is getting more and more agitated. His leg is shaking under the table, and he tears his napkin into bits while he laughs at his parents’ stories. When our entrees come out, he finally loses it.
“Look, either apologize and tell us you’re here to support me becoming an immortal, or cut the crap,” he says, killing the mood in one swift stroke.
All the smiles fall, and there’s an awkward silence as the waiter refills our glasses.
Mrs. Kayes leans forward. “Fine. We want you to come home, Myles.” She looks at me. “You, too, honey.”
“As immortals?” Myles says suspiciously.
“As mortals,” Mr. Kayes says, but he knows that isn’t going over well, and he moves right to the punchline, speaking over Myles’s burgeoning protests. “We know you are concerned about Stella’s red flag, but we have a solution for that. A solution that doesn’t require either of you to become immortal.”
That wasn’t something I expected. Myles sits back, too. “What solution?” he asks.
“We’ve contacted a number of world-renowned Alzheimer’s researchers, Myles,” Mrs. Kayes says. “Stella has decades before the onset of her disease. That’s plenty of time for us to fund the additional research necessary to develop an adequate cure. We were assured that research in this field is constantly progressing, and—”
Myles blows up. “You want to pay your way out of the problem? That’s what you’re suggesting? I come home mortal, and you dump millions into some research, and we all just cross our fingers and hope someone comes up with a cure in time for Stella?”
“Myles.” I grab his wrist. “They’re just worried about you.”
His eyes are flashing with rage. “They want to control my life, and they’re willing to risk yours to do it!”
“Myles, this goes beyond you,” Mr. Kayes says. “You know how this family feels about immortality. If you become immortal, that will send a message about how the Kayes feel about immortality—”
“But you barely know anything about immortality!” Myles says. “Maybe if you would just learn something, you’d see all the benefits!”
“We don’t have to know anything about it,” Mrs. Kayes says. She’s worked up, too. Her cheeks are burning bright red. “We know it isn’t natural.”
“Is it natural to die of cardiac arrest at forty?” Myles demands. “Is it natural for your brain to decay in your fifties?” He points to himself. “Is it natural for you to genetically engineer your kid?”
“What you are talking about is playing God,” Mrs. Kayes almost shouts. “Nothing else is on the same level!”
Myles throws his shredded napkin on the table, kicks his chair back, and stands up. “Well, I’m sure you would know. Since you’re close enough to God yourself to have insider information.”
He storms away from the table. His mom gets up immediately after and storms away in a different direction.
This leaves Mr. Kayes and me alone at the table.
“He gets his stubbornness from her,” he says apologetically.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “And I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t ask him to …”
“I understand,” Mr. Kayes says with a grim smile. “But for your own sake, Stella, remember that this is a very serious undertaking with a lot of unknowns and no turning back. Either of you could die. If you don’t, you will struggle with real side effects. You’ll face deep psychological issues as you see everyone else you love moving on with their lives, aging, and dying.”
“But if I don’t go through it, there’s no turning back either,” I tell him. “And a red flag is serious, too. And bad.”
“I know,” Mr. Kayes says. “But we have no idea how long the Immortality Virus will be limited like it is now. There’s plenty of funding for Immortality Virus improvement. In a couple years, there could be an even better strain of the virus. One that could be taken at any age.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “And between you and me, at least two of the Alzheimer’s researchers we spoke with are trying to create a more targeted version of the Immortality Virus itself as a treatment for Alzheimer’s. It would regenerate brain cells rapidly without resulting in the side effect of immortality.”
I’m as surprised about that information as I am about how easy it is to talk to Mr. Kayes. I think Myles must take after him. I find myself really thinking about what he’s saying.
He picks up a taco from his plate. “So, Stella, what are you interested in studying at college?” he asks, initiating a natural change in conversation like we haven’t just been having an incredibly intense talk about immortality.
We have a lovely time for the next twenty minutes.
Myles returns to the table presently, and his mother is back two minutes after. They both act like nothing has happened. Maybe they stormed into each other in the parking lot, screamed a little, and finally both agreed to just try
to make the rest of the evening enjoyable.
But later Myles comes to my room, and we lie on my bunk side-by-side for a debrief.
“It’s only ever been about control with them, Stella Rose,” he says as we look up together at the metal springs of the upper bunk. I’ve been in my dorm alone since Grazie became immortal. There’s no mattress up there.
“I think they love you,” I tell him.
He sighs. “I’m sure they do. But if it were my mom’s choice, everything in her world would be perfectly predictable, and she would never have to worry about her son getting some idea in his head that he should be immortal or travel to some other planet or ever wear mismatched socks. She loves me, but her mind is too closed off for her to see that controlling me doesn’t get me a life I want. I’m excited about immortality.”
It’s the first time I really believe that Myles wants this for himself, but I remember what Mr. Kayes said, and it’s bothering me.
“I’m not,” I confess. “I don’t really want to become immortal.”
Myles holds my hand silently, sensing that I’m not done with what I have to say.
“I know it’s the most rational choice for me, though, and I feel like if I wait until after you become immortal to make my own decision, I’ll never know for sure if I did it for you or me.”
“That’s why you want to do the six-week isolation process at the same time I do it.” He turns on his side so he can see my face. “Well, I’ve said from the beginning we’re in this together. I don’t know if I feel like there is a future where one of us is mortal and one is immortal.”
Stella Rose Gold for Eternity Page 6
