by Kate Breuer
I hold her tight to comfort her. She sighs, then pulls away to stare at Zeke and me.
“I think she is afraid of him, afraid what he’ll do if she talks,” Liz finishes with a look of relief at finally having told someone. She looks around, as if she just remembered we are surrounded by people.
“I don’t like this,” Zeke says in a stern voice. His worldview seems to be fraying at the edges.
I look at Josephine at the other end of the room. I know it’s true, deep down. I have no idea how I didn’t see it before.
When I lived with my family, I slept in the bedroom downstairs. I remember Josephine wanted the baby to share their bed. But my father insisted on putting baby Liz in the room next to theirs. He said a baby had to sleep on its own or it would become weak. That was the only time I ever saw them really argue, but it has stuck with me all these years.
Ever since my mother died, my father has been angry with the world. He lets his temper out on the people around him. Though my father never laid hands on me—besides the occasional slap on the wrist or back of the head. Nothing major.
But things got worse after my father was elected. I’m glad I didn’t live with him long after that, but right now I feel I should. To protect Liz. To protect her mother.
I turn toward Liz and see rage on her face. I don’t think I have ever seen her this angry. I don’t know what to do. I want to help. But I know there is nothing I can do. No one would believe us, even if Josephine spoke up. My father is the mayor, and the mayor is always right.
“Liz, you can sleep at my place as often as you want. My door is always open. I don’t want you around him if you can help it.”
“Thank you, Nate, but I can’t leave her alone. She needs me.” The strength behind her eyes surprises me. She’s a tough girl.
I put my hands on her shoulders. “There is nothing you can do. I don’t want you to get in the way.”
A woman at the next table looks up at the anger in my voice. I give her a quick smile and continue in a whisper, “Let’s talk about this later, okay? When we are alone somewhere?”
She nods curtly.
“Go over to your mom,” I continue. “Try and cheer her up a bit. Keep up appearances. My father will want to show her around.”
I watch as she steels herself and greets her mother with a hug, rearranges her mother’s scarf.
“You look like you need a drink.” Zeke waves for one of the waitresses. He orders a whiskey for each of us.
“I take it you had no idea,” says Zeke after taking a sip.
I shake my head and drain my glass in one. Guilt floods through me faster than the whiskey. Maybe I didn’t want to see how bad my father has gotten.
“There you are, boy.” My father walks up and puts a hand on my shoulder.
I recoil involuntarily. To cover the awkwardness, I smile at my father. I notice a couple next to him. Man in a dark blue suit. Woman in an extravagant green dress. Both smile at me.
“John.” I hate it when he calls me that. I much prefer Nate. “This is Mr. Goodman. Sir, this is my son, Jonathan.”
I bow my head as he looks around at the couple behind him. He doesn’t mention the woman who I assume is Mrs. Goodman. I shake their hands in greeting.
“We have great news,” my father continues. “Their daughter, Susan, is now old enough to be matched. They expect her match to come in any day now.”
I don’t like where this is going.
“Thanks to a large donation, I’ve arranged for her to be matched with you.”
My mouth falls open in shock. I barely register what he says next.
“She is a lovely young lady, twenty-two. Mrs. Goodman here—” He waves a hand at the wife. “She will arrange everything with Josephine. You will get married here in the Imperium’s assembly hall early next spring.”
It is not a question. I am not being asked.
A low buzz starts spreading through my head. Louder and louder. This can’t be true. My father has always made sure I wouldn’t get matched.
What changed his mind? Why am I supposed to get married to this Susan person? Have I overstepped some kind of boundary? Did my father give up on me?
It doesn’t matter. I don’t want this. I won’t do this.
My hands ball into fists at my side. My father can’t make a decision like this for me. I mean, sure, technically he can. He’s the mayor. He has full control over the matching system. But he has done everything to prevent me from getting matched for years. I should have been matched a long time ago.
I thought I had a say in this. Or, at least, I was under the impression he didn’t think it was a good idea to have me matched. Scared for his reputation or something.
I don’t want to get married to someone I’m not in love with. I don’t want to marry someone I haven’t ever met. Let alone someone so young.
“No,” I say simply.
My father throws me a stern look. I am to act appropriately and be kind. I don’t feel like it. I want to scream until this place falls apart. I want to run. I can’t breathe. It takes a lot of effort to resist the urge to punch my father. It is tempting in front of all these people. Fuck appearances. My fingernails bite into my palms, break skin.
I tear my gaze from my father’s death stare and look at the couple in front of me. I know the man. I can’t remember who he is, but I’ve seen him before. I know he’s important. He has to be if he’s in this room. I wonder why my father needs the man badly enough to marry away his only son. I need to find out more.
“No . . . no, we shouldn’t get married in here.” I try to overplay my initial reaction. “It will be beautiful outside in spring. We should get married in the rooftop gardens.” I turn to Mrs. Goodman. “But first, tell me more about my fiancée.” My hands are sweaty from the effort to pretend.
The woman looks at me with some remaining suspicion but decides not to challenge me. She smiles softly. “Susan is a lovely girl. She turned twenty-two a few months ago. She’s training to be a scientist—like her father.” She casts her husband a proud look.
I remember. He is the man who interrupted the meeting yesterday. He looks taller without the lab coat. My father wants me to marry the daughter of a scientist. Their support must be wavering.
What happened in the labs to make them lose confidence in my father?
“A scientist?” I ask. “Sounds fascinating. I can’t wait to meet her.” I shake the woman’s hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. My friend is waiting for me. We were about to get some fresh air.” I shake the man’s hand and give my father a curt nod. I walk away without another glance at them.
I head for Zeke and pull him out of the room. I turn to find Liz, but she is still talking to her mother.
My father looks at me with reprimand. He’s not satisfied with my reaction. What did he expect? He can’t spring something like this on me. Or at least he can’t expect me to be fine with it. Not like that.
I want to get away from here. Far and fast. Before I do something stupid.
Liz catches up with us outside the door. She holds a fancy-looking sandwich. I raise an eyebrow at her.
“What? You didn’t eat anything yet, and you didn’t look happy when you stormed out. It didn’t look like you were coming back.” I take the sandwich from her, and she continues, “What happened?”
“What happened? I’d like to know, too. Apparently, I am fucking engaged!” I snap at her.
I feel guilty immediately. She hasn’t done anything. She brings me food to comfort me, and I let my temper out on her? I’m an idiot.
Zeke seems to agree and nudges me with his elbow. “Not cool, mate.”
“I’m sorry. It’s too much for one night. First you tell me my father is an abusive bastard. Then he comes along and introduces my soon-to-be parents-in-law. No warning.” I shake my head in a fruitless attempt to clear it. It’s too much.
We walk to my house together. Zeke excuses himself when we get there. He explains Isabel will never l
et him hear the end of it unless he gets back to the Imperium. She made him promise he would go with her. Even though she will be gossiping with her girlfriends all night, Zeke has to get back. He’ll probably spend the night alone at a table with a glass of whiskey. I feel guilty for abandoning him as I watch him walk off alone into the dark night.
Liz opens the door. Her handprint was programmed into it a long time ago. I follow her inside. I am clutching the sandwich, but I’m not hungry. I set it down on the kitchen counter, then fall onto the couch.
Liz slips off her heels and sits down next to me. She doesn’t say anything. I know she’s waiting for me to start talking. She doesn’t have to wait long.
“It feels wrong. I don’t want to marry someone I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense. This whole matching system is totally fucked.” My hands are balled into fists again.
“Careful, Nate. Don’t let them hear you say that.”
I am sure my father wouldn’t be happy to hear me talk like this. I wonder if he would report me.
“I don’t give a fuck. I’m not a damn pawn in our father’s chess game. He can’t just match me with some stupid lab chick—”
Liz cuts across me, “It’s not her fault.”
“—to maintain the support of the fucking scientists.”
I feel like my bow tie is about to strangle me. I need to get it off. My hands are shaking. The knot gets tighter the more I fumble with it.
Fuck.
Liz leans over and puts a gentle hand on my chest. “Stop.” She unties it for me, folds it carefully, and sets it on the table.
I grab it and throw it against the living room wall. I watch it land gently on the floor. I look around for more things to throw.
Liz leans against my chest. She doesn’t say anything. She always knows when to talk and when to shut up. Feeling her breathe calms me down. I gnaw on my lip and stroke her hair absentmindedly. We sit like this for a long time.
In the end, Liz agrees to stay the night. I cannot worry about her with my father right now. Liz probably decided I need her more than her mother right now. I don’t care why she stays. I’m just thankful not to be alone.
III
Friday
5
Chase
There’s a small line in front of the hospital entrance when we arrive. I know that line far too well for my taste. I remember when Dale broke his leg a few years back. He left blood stains all over the dusty street before they finally let us in.
I shudder at the memory and push it away. I squeeze Willow’s hand and walk toward the large building. We were summoned here, and the one good thing to be said about that is we don’t have to wait in the stupid line.
While there are small doctor’s offices scattered around the Outer Circle, they only tend to minor injuries and illnesses. If you are seriously hurt or suffer from something more severe, you have no choice but to go to the city hospital.
The tall building is set into the wall separating the Middle from the Inner Circle to make it accessible from either side. I guess this way, rich people from the Inner Circle and the Government Complex don’t have to worry about seeing those of us who come in from the outer two Circles.
We pass a man with a deep cut in his arm. In a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding, he is pressing a ragged shirt onto the wound. I try my best not to think about the infection he most likely already has. A woman coughs behind him, and I cringe a little at the sound of phlegm that accompanies it.
My body relaxes when we reach the large, glass front doors and walk inside. The sterile interior is a stark contrast to the dirty scene outside. The smell of disinfectant hangs in the air. Somehow it makes everything feel cleaner than it is. Peeling metal letters above a window set into the adjacent wall read, “Check-In,” and I steer Willow toward it.
“Name?” an unpleasant woman behind the glass demands without looking up from her paperwork.
“Chase Monroe.” I pause and correct myself. “Hunter. Chase and Willow Hunter. Um, we are here for my daughter’s five-year exam.” I’ll never get used to Dale’s last name. It’s been years, and I still have to correct it every time I introduce myself.
I don’t know why they insist on the name change. It’s not even a real marriage. I’ve read about marriages and weddings in books I found at the library, and sometimes I dream about finding someone I love and having a real wedding and a planned baby.
It will never happen. I know that. Still, I will never like the sound of the name Chase Hunter. It’s not me.
“Fill this out and sit down.” She hands me a tablet and points toward the chairs set in neat rows along the far wall of the room.
I take the thin glass pane and sit down. We don’t own any computers at home—not even a television. The tablet feels foreign in my hands. I set it down carefully on a chair and usher Willow into the play corner filled with books and toys.
It feels like I’m answering a thousand questions. There are a lot of strange ones about things like Willow’s favorite foods and which playground she likes to play at. Something about it makes me feel like I am being interrogated, as if they already know the answers to these questions and want to catch me lying. I mean, they can easily find out which playground we usually visit with those damn drones flying around the city.
No. No, I’m being paranoid. They are just interested in Willow, being thorough. I have to stop being paranoid.
It takes me thirty minutes to finish the endless questionnaire, by which time the receptionist is tapping her finger on the glass and beckoning me over. “I’ll be right back, pumpkin,” I say to Willow and stand up, my neck stiff from sitting bent for so long.
“Finished?” she asks curtly. I have a feeling she’s been monitoring my progress. I nod and hand her the tablet. The woman points back to the chairs in the waiting area, and I know I am dismissed.
Willow is sitting on the brightly-colored quilt in the playpen pretending to read a book. I pick up the book, sit down next to her, and pull her onto my lap.
“What are you reading?”
It’s a story about an elephant and a squirrel. I read aloud, making sure to use a squeaky, high-pitched voice for the squirrel and a soft, deep voice for the elephant.
Willow points and explains all the little details that were left out of the pictures. She makes fun of the squirrel when it’s too scared to climb the tree. She’s a little too old for this book, and it shows. Her comments grow sparser as we read, and I feel her dozing off. When I finish the story, Willow is asleep in my arms.
We got up way too early this morning to get here on time, and now we are waiting around. I yawn and put the book away. I hold Willow close, and it doesn’t take long for me doze off as well.
“They’re ready to see you, ma’am.”
I jolt awake at the noise. The nurse from the check-in booth stands in front of me. She eyes me reproachfully for making her leave her station.
I nod, my body heavy from sleep. I guess being half-awake from worry all night made me tired enough to sleep soundly in this hostile place.
I take a glimpse at the large clock on the opposite wall and realize we’ve been here for more than two hours. I will never understand hospitals. Why make me get here for a seven a.m. appointment when they don’t have time for me until after nine?
The nurse points at a sliding door to the side and struts off without another word.
“Wake up, honey. It’s time.” I give Willow a kiss on the cheek and nudge her slightly.
Willow looks up at me and wipes the sleep from her eyes. Looking down at my daughter, I wonder how people expect us not to notice something is wrong. Willow has deep black hair and dark blue eyes, and her skin is porcelain white.
I’m half black with light brown curls. Dale has the typical Irish freckles and ginger hair. She doesn’t have much in common with either of us. I’m no specialist in genetics, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t what our daughter would look like.
She must look a lot like
her father.
I clutch my daughter’s hand like a lifeline as we head for the door the nurse indicated. All the sleepiness is gone, and I am wide awake. I hope Willow isn’t picking up on my anxiety.
Why am I so nervous about this? I feel like I am walking to my own funeral—or rather, Willow’s. I reprimand myself for thinking it. A voice in my head that sounds much like Dale’s tells me I am being silly. It makes me smile a little, despite everything, before I return to my never-ending internal struggle.
I want to grab Willow and run for it. I know we have to stay, but everything inside me revolts at the thought of walking through this door. It opens with a low, hydraulic hiss as we approach it. I force one foot in front of the next and walk through. I have to be strong for Willow.
A nurse is waiting halfway down the corridor. “Mrs. Hunter?” she asks with a kind smile. “I’m Colette, and I’m going to be Willow’s nurse today.”
She is much nicer than the woman at reception. But I still have to fight hard not to snap at her out of fear. I clench my teeth together in what I hope resembles a smile and nod.
She kneels down in front of Willow. “You must be Willow, little miss.”
Willow nods her head once with pride. “I’m five years old.”
I stifle a laugh. This has been her answer to every question Dale and I have asked her this morning.
My baby girl is five years old. I might not have planned to have her, but when she was born, I knew she was the only thing that mattered. She is my world.
Nurse Colette gets up and asks us to follow her. I feel a little more at ease with her. At least she is nice and doesn’t ignore Willow.
We follow her past a few doors, then into an exam room with the number seven in matted writing on the glass door. Translucent glass doors in a hospital seem wrong. No privacy for patients. Not even when they are being examined.
Cameras in public places throughout the city is one thing. But in here? Automatically, I check the corners of the room for cameras, and sure enough, there is one blinking its red light at me. A sign underneath says, “Smile, You’re on Camera.”
