by Mike Chen
The mood of the place finally told Krista to pull the plug on trying to socialize and return to Rob’s table. “That was rough,” she said, blowing out a breath.
“So much for friends and family mixing, huh?”
“Not quite. But at least everyone here came with someone else, so no one looked at me sideways. New business initiatives.”
“Happy to help. Hey, Sun,” he said, “go give the book back, okay? We’re gonna take off soon.”
The girl hopped off her chair and dashed over to the Chamber of Commerce attendant, book in hand. He took the book, then brushed the entire outside surface with a disinfectant wipe, then put it in a separate bin labeled Returns.
“Here,” Rob said, handing her cash while Sunny was off. “Three hours of your time.”
“And I’ll email you a witness testimony for your audit.” Krista eyed the bills, doing a mental count for accuracy. No risks given the Residence License deadline tomorrow.
“Let’s get a few more socially normal things in before the audit if we can. Apparently speed dating is popular right now?”
Krista knew exactly what Rob was talking about. A PASD world hobbled normal dating situations, and the lack of high-speed connectivity meant that online matchmaking had disappeared. In its place were events that threw a bunch of traumatized people in a room together with the premise of trying to hook up. Feast or famine, really; in her experience, people either latched on to the first person that wasn’t repulsive or they ran out crying and/or screaming. “It is. That’s how most of my couples meet. It’s the fastest way to get hitched these days.” At least, when people actually wanted to get married. “You should look it up.”
“It sounds kind of...horrifying. But maybe I’ll do it, just to show the Board how socially normal I am.”
“Well, one thing at a time. I’ve got some errands to run tomorrow. She can tag along. Sound good?” Krista asked. Rob gave a nod as Sunny ran back to them. “Hey, Sunny, ask your dad if I can buy you a snack.”
“Daddy, can Krista buy me a snack?”
“Sure,” Rob said, “but remember what we do with food.”
“Make good choices,” they said in unison.
The two of them marched over to the counter, Krista scanning the room the whole time. If MoJo was in San Francisco, she might have been anyone: Staring at the TV in the corner, coffee in hand. Consoling her partner at the table, stack of business cards in front of them. Writing in a notebook while eating a pastry. Hiding behind a mask, earbuds drowning out the world. About twenty people sat in the cafe for the mixer, and Krista figured that based on age, five of them could possibly be MoJo.
“Hey, Sunny,” she said, pulling the girl’s attention away from the glass case of snacks. “Let’s play a game for a second.”
“Okay!” Sunny replied with full enthusiasm.
“Take a look around.” Krista knelt down to get to Sunny’s eye level. “See the different women in here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, now take a good look at them.” Krista opted not to point out the ones she specifically thought might be MoJo. “Think real hard. You know that singer you like, MoJo? Does anyone here look like her? Think about how she looks from her concert and picture her a little older.”
“Hmmm.” Sunny’s lips pursed and her brow crinkled in thought. She turned gradually from left to right, focus passing over everyone at Last Splash, including one confused glance from Rob. “Maybe her,” she said with a point. “But I don’t think so.”
“No?”
“No. Her eyes are different.”
“Okay. You know the cool thing about this game is you can play it anywhere you go. And if you see someone who looks like MoJo, you tell me. Okay?”
“Okay!”
“All right. Now, what are we getting here?”
Sunny didn’t hesitate, immediately pointing to what must have been a Rob-authorized snack: a plastic cup of carrots and celery sticks. Sweets would have been cheaper, what with the fresh produce limited to the Metro’s urban farm initiative, but given that the night was profitable, Krista considered this would be a tax write-off. “Look, Krista. Yums.”
Krista gave a quarter to the man behind the counter. He nodded, the bob of his head catching light off the glittery stickers on his silicone mask, then he handed over the snack cup.
“Yums indeed,” Krista said. “Let’s go show your dad.” Sunny pulled out a carrot and dipped it into the little cup of ranch dressing, then sprinted over to Rob. Was that safe for kids to run and chew? Probably not, but Rob didn’t say anything, so Krista opted to not get involved.
“Everything okay?” Rob asked.
“Sure,” Krista said, leaning over to examine the one woman who might have been MoJo. From what few photographs she’d found of the pop star, she was pretty sure Sunny was right. “We’re just looking around.”
Chapter Fifteen
Moira
Rumors. Speculation. If those were enough for President Hersh to make a speech last week, then they were also enough to bring the entire city out to support groups.
Or at least the people in the immediate vicinity of Moira’s office building. The weekly Survivors Anonymous group at the abandoned-church-turned-community-center overflowed, standing room only. Well, standing room for this world. That still meant people kept their personal space and most of them wore masks. Attendance had gradually grown as rumors swirled, but this was unprecedented. Perhaps people didn’t outwardly panic, but a spike in PASD support group attendance meant that something stirred in the public consciousness. She angled her way into the doorway, mask-wearing attendants backing away when they realized that she didn’t have one on. Del Fuego, the moderator, gave his usual opening speech about how it was an open forum, identifying yourself was optional, the first half of the hour was open sharing and the second half would be a led discussion on this week’s particular topic: anxiety upon hearing the name of a dead loved one.
The shares, normally a mixture of teary confessions in between silence, seemed rapid-fire this time. Moira did what she always did: linger near the back, consider raising her hand and finally telling somebody about those early days, and ultimately deciding not to, leaving right before the session’s second half began.
Maybe she should ask if anyone knew anything about getting married in a civil ceremony. That was her new idea to try with Frank, something she’d just hatched this morning. She even considered going to City Hall and just getting the paperwork. Surprise Frank, see what he’d say.
With a Reunion Services bounty on her head, it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Her patience for the group hit its usual limit and she turned, sliding sideways between the cluster of people blocking the exit, when a voice caused her to stop.
“My name is Rob. I’d like to say something.”
“Share.”
“Right. I’d like to share.”
Rob. Moira craned her neck back, looking through heads and shoulders. She didn’t have to see his face to know it was the guy from work; they’d never really talked at work other than the usual office stuff about printers. But even without Code Polka Dot, she’d grown a keen ear for identifying voices through the din.
“Hi, Rob,” the crowd said in a mix of voices.
“I’m... I’m not sure why I’m here. Now, I mean. Years after everything happened.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” said the moderator, a fit tan man who might have been a surfer if he wasn’t leading a support group. “Tell us what’s on your mind. This is a safe space. Nothing leaves here.”
“Well,” he said, huffing out a sigh, “it’s strange. I feel like I’m kind of the opposite of what I’ve heard today. There’s, you know, this fear running through people. You can feel it. It keeps everyone guarded, shut off. The news we hear, the rumors spreading, it makes it worse. Everyone is talking a
bout fear. Even in this meeting. It’s all fear. But why? Why hide behind that?”
Why hide behind that? The question burrowed in Moira’s mind, refusing to let go. Security. Stability. Comfort in an uncomfortable world. A thousand answers flooded her thoughts, and before she could question the validity of those justifications, she shut it all off.
Or at least tried to.
Around the room, voices murmured.
“I’ve...thought about things recently. I... I have a social normalcy audit coming up. Because my kid has acted out.” Moira’s ears perked up and her attention tuned in even finer. “Thing is, I wonder if it’s dangerous if we let PASD set the rules for everything. We live a stable, boring life. I have my head on my shoulders, I’m not going Greenwood, you know? But I can’t just say that. I can’t be honest that she’s having a hard time because her mom isn’t around. But it’s so obvious. And instead, there’s all these hoops and barriers we’re jumping through. Instead of being real about who we are, where we are now.”
The moderator nodded. “Thank you—”
“Wait. Just one more thing.”
A few feet ahead, Moira heard someone whisper, “Get on with it already.” She looked in the general direction and made a loud shhhhh sound. When a woman turned her head to see where it came from, Moira locked eyes, her icy glare unmoving.
“I guess I’m just tired of feeling like I’m hiding behind something. But it seems like everyone else is and no one’s being honest with themselves about why. Why can’t we face rumors and everything with something other than fear? Someone told me the other day that it’s like we’ve paused as a society. I wonder if she’s right.” Rob looked around the room, and though Moira couldn’t see details from her perspective, his reaction said enough: his eyes squinted, darting around the room for several moments, like he searched for something that wasn’t there. About a minute passed in silence, and he finally sighed; she wondered how many people caught his tiny head shake. “That’s it. That’s all I had to say.”
“Thank you, Rob,” said the moderator before asking for further shares. Moira didn’t have a share, but she did have a question that wouldn’t go away.
* * *
Moira waited, scrolling through the Metronet articles on her phone. Evan Hatfield announces weekly live broadcasts in search for missing pop star MoJo.
He wasn’t letting up. On the contrary, he seemed to be going even harder. Moira knew him, the way he thought. Always planning several steps ahead. Manipulating all the pieces to get the outcome he wanted.
She just couldn’t figure out if he really wanted to find her or if it was more lucrative for him to keep searching.
Blood slowly returned to her face, offset by the brief dizziness of fear. Her phone shoved back in her purse, her focus turning up, around, anywhere but what was just in her palm. Person after person shuffled out of the exit, most wearing masks while passing Moira with hardly a glance. But with nerves settling, her mind turned to different thoughts, curiosity mixed perhaps with a little bit of jealousy. When the familiar face came and went, she reached and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Rob?”
She’d debated this. Saying something, even revealing that she’d been there, would open herself up in ways that nobody ever saw. Especially not Frank. He wouldn’t understand.
He simply couldn’t.
Rob turned and locked eyes with her; a few seconds passed until recognition sparked in his eyes, which shifted into an uneasiness over his entire face. He stood long enough that he bumped shoulders with another attendee, leaving both with irritation painted on their expressions. “Moira. Hi. Were you...” The small rubber band on the back of his mask snapped as he lifted the whole thing over his face. “You, um, heard all that?”
“I did. I’m sorry you have to go through that.”
“It’s okay. It’s...” He took in a heavy sigh. “It is what it is. You’ve been to these before?”
Moira nodded. “They get the job done. The price is right too.” All types of support groups existed, from the free twelve-step ones to the groups that camped out in the woods, screaming at the wilderness for several thousand dollars—a hefty price before the End of the World, and much more extreme now given the post-quarantine global economic deflation.
“My first time. I mean, I read a couple books on PASD, but never went to anything in person before. Seems—” Rob shook his head, then glanced behind him “—a lot less welcoming than I expected. Maybe I am doing it wrong.”
“People are scared.”
“Yeah. I picked up on that.” They stood, the noise around them dwindling as the final attendees left, leaving only awkward space between them. He gestured down the street. “Heading back to the office?” Moira nodded, and the two began walking in silence under the gray Bay Area sky. “It must be weird hearing your coworker has to go through a social normalcy audit.”
“It is,” Moira said after several steps. “But only because I didn’t know you had a daughter. Otherwise, you hear everything in here. It’s not the strangest thing.”
“She’s not in danger with me. She’s a good kid.”
“You don’t have to convince me.” Moira tried her best reassuring voice, though this all felt new. Her dad had been possessive, manipulative. Chris had been supportive, kind. Narc, Santiago, and the rest of that crew—things had been stuck in survival mode for too long to shake out anything therapeutic. And Frank... Frank had it easy in this world. So many people would kill to be living life on Frank’s curve.
Rob, though, carried a different vibe.
They continued walking, not a word spoken for the next block. Rob inhaled sharply a few times, like he had something lined up, but nothing materialized. Moira felt the same thing, though her curiosity powered the words finally through. “Do you think you’re right about everyone?”
Rob stopped midstep on the sidewalk. She followed suit, turning to meet him face-to-face. “What do you mean?”
“About everyone hiding behind something. You think that’s what this is?” She gestured a gloved hand to the recovering metropolis around them.
His arms crossed, brow turning into jagged lines. “For the longest time, I felt differently. I felt afraid. Anxious. But with the way Sunny’s been, with what’s happening, I just thought back to what my wife told me. I mean, she was dying and she told me to be good to myself. These were the words she’d leave the world with. And they didn’t make sense until you face losing everything. Not to a virus, but to fear. All this fear, it just seems like that became a...a...” He shoved his hands in his pockets, foot tapping the cracked concrete beneath them. “A trophy almost. We can be better than that. I want to be. And not just because of the audit. Though,” he laughed, “that is part of it.”
For the first time in their conversation, their eyes connected, a look that said more than two random people who happened to work together.
“I think you’re right. If it makes you feel better. We shouldn’t be afraid of where we are now. Sometimes it’s just hard to do.” The sentiment tumbled out of Moira, like it’d been primed forever and only needed something to trigger it. Tell him. Tell somebody, her mind screamed out. And she could. She could reveal her identity and by doing so, she’d take it all back from him.
Until the inevitable flight to America. And the TV cameras, and press, and publicity.
No. Better to keep it under the rug.
“I used to feel guilty thinking about what my wife said. But now feels like the right time.”
“To be good to yourself?”
Rob nodded, though that was his only response. They walked several blocks in silence, though she caught his gaze turning to the boarded-up houses on the edge of the reconstruction zone. Rob’s face subtly shifted, from being completely inscrutable to a sudden collapse as they got closer. She traced his eyes to one specific building, the top floor a burnt hu
sk of its former self, leaving only a burnt frame and spray paint. She swore she caught him blinking back tears as he stared across the way.
Was that socially normal? She considered the question as he seemed to stifle feelings away for the final block. Maybe not. But it seemed real.
She opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, to check in and see what was real, what he was feeling.
But she couldn’t. Silence continued as they made it through the building’s revolving doors, to the elevator, and all the way up to the PodStar office on the fourteenth floor. “Are you going to tomorrow’s meeting too?” she finally asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “You?”
Would she? Most likely. She’d tell herself that she didn’t need to go, that they didn’t understand or that this particular moderator took it in the wrong direction or some other thing like that. But then she’d get the itch to sit in a room of strangers, consider saying something, then remain quiet while others poured out their emotions—for better or worse.
“I think so.”
“Cool.” The elevator dinged and they stepped out together, afternoon sunlight coming in through the far office windows. “See you then.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rob
“And remember, everything will be fine,” Del Fuego had said to close out the Survivors Anonymous meeting. “We have each other.”
Everything will be fine. Such a common phrase, a trite phrase, the thing people said to each other as a catch-all response for pretty much anything. Rob had attended eight meetings now, and Del had closed each one with that phrase. Yet today, the words clawed deep into him as he walked with Moira away from the people shuffling out of the meeting.
That phrase. Every single time, that phrase reminded him of the moment his life diverged. Without it, he wouldn’t be at the meeting. He wouldn’t be next to Moira. He wouldn’t be facing an audit.
