by Kate Breuer
I know this, but it is different hearing him say it out loud.
Zeke looks totally devastated. “In the beginning, we tried to play nice, to make the best out of a fucked-up situation.”
“I guess it’s like that for most people.”
He doesn’t hear me. “When Isabel and I moved into our house, I had no fucking clue what to do. She played nice. I played along. But you know how much we argued back then. Both of us trying to pretend.
“Shit, I didn’t even know how to fuck a woman back then. Still don’t really . . . but I had no other option, so I went for it.” He looks down at his knees. “I wish I could say I was drunk or something. No, I was just weak. I don’t even like women.”
I knew they must have fucked at some point. The fact they had Sophie proves it, but we’ve never discussed this before. I always wondered how it happened with Zeke being gay and all.
While there is no official law against it, you are not allowed to be gay in this city. They let you get away with having same-sex relationships when you’re young. But when you get matched, gay is no longer an option.
“It was good enough while we were at it, but when it was over, I felt dirty. It felt wrong. We don’t love each other. We don’t even like each other.
“She knew it wouldn’t happen again. So we went back to silently coexisting, arguing more than before. Few weeks later, she holds up a pregnancy test in front of my face and starts yelling how it’s all my fault.”
This part of the story I already know.
“I was so afraid when she had Sophie. I still don’t know what to do with the kid, and it’s been a year. I mean, I never wanted her. She’s adorable, but it doesn’t feel like she belongs to me.”
Zeke takes a gulp of water, realizes it’s not beer, and swallows slowly. “She’d be better off without me. Parents pretending to be happy but arguing at every chance? Can’t be good for a child. No, she should have parents who care for each other. It’s fucked up.”
I have no idea what to say and compensate by holding up my glass in salute. “To fucked-up lives, man. To fucked-up lives.”
We both drink, water or not.
7
Chase
As always, we are late. Mira is waiting for us when Willow and I hurry onto the playground. Willow lets go of my hand, and Mira picks her up and spins her around. Willow’s giggles fill the air. I can’t help but smile watching her fly around, happy and healthy. My heart fills with joy.
Mira sets her down, and Willow starts telling her about our morning. She makes it sound like we had a fun little adventure.
“Looks like you had a lot of fun before I even got out of bed.” Mira chuckles.
Sometimes I envy Mira’s work schedule. I might have some flexibility in mine, but it’s nothing like hers. I got today off for Willow’s appointment, but Mira has a lot of days off.
She’s a tattoo artist—which means she only works on demand. Tattoos are one of the only ways to express yourself in this city, but they are expensive, and most people can’t afford them. So Mira gets a lot of free time. I definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford my tattoo without her being my friend.
After Willow was born, Mira designed my tattoo. I wanted something for Willow and also something to remind me that I can’t take anything for granted. A willow tree now decorates the side of my torso, its branches flowing across my stomach. Thanks to Mira, I only had to pay for the materials, which was still quite a bit of sacrifice.
“And then they sent Mommy out of the room. They took me to another room and poked me with a needle. It was super big, but I didn’t cry.” She puffs up her chest. “I’m not sure why Mommy couldn’t come with me. Maybe they thought Mommy wouldn’t want to see the blood? I don’t know, because it didn’t hurt at all.”
Mira glances at me, and I grimace helplessly. She hands Willow a bucket and a shovel and asks her to build something really cool in the sandbox. Willow spreads her arms wide and runs toward the sandbox where she joins a few other kids.
“Are you okay?” Mira asks as soon as Willow is settled.
“Yeah, mostly just exhausted from this morning.”
I’m not really ready to talk about it yet—especially since Mira doesn’t know the whole story about my pregnancy. I never dared confide that specific part of my history in her, though I would trust her with everything else. This is about my daughter’s safety, and that makes me more reluctant than with any secret about myself.
“How did it go?” Mira pushes.
“Oh, she’s perfectly healthy. They gave me her prescription and everything. Of course, I don’t know her dosage. All I know is I give her two pills of whatever it is they give the rest of us. The nurse was very happy with the result.”
It’s not a lie, and I feel guilty for leaving out the important details. But I need to talk to Dale first. It might be time to finally tell Mira and Tien everything—but not before I tell Dale and definitely not here.
“I hope Willow takes to the pills okay. When I first got the medicine, I felt groggy for days. Well, at least my mom says so.” Mira shrugs.
I have no idea if I reacted well to it or not, as I was already at the orphanage back then. I’m sure no one would have noticed. The staff were always busy looking after too many children.
Everyone in the city has a prescription for the same medicine. From the history books and stories I’ve heard over the years, I know people started showing symptoms of the Disease sometime around 2030, right after the third world war.
It starts like a simple cold, with a cough and slight fever. But soon, people develop more serious symptoms. The fever gets worse, and they start coughing up blood. There’s no proper name for the illness, but it’s always referred to as the “Disease.” Its ambiguous name somehow makes it scarier.
I have never seen anyone go through it, but the books had been a little too descriptive. I know a few people who tried not taking the medicine. Within days, they started feeling like shit and were back on it as soon as they could. I hope there will always be enough of that damn medicine.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s a tough little girl,” Mira says, wrongly interpreting the worry on my face.
“How’s your mom doing?” I ask to get away from the subject at hand.
Mira glances at me but decides against pressing the subject. I’m sure she’ll bring it up again soon enough.
“Oh, she’s fine. Her migraines are getting better. Tien came over yesterday and brought her some painkillers. I’m not sure I want to know where he gets them.”
I wince in sympathy. Mira’s mom suffers from bad migraines, and they have gotten worse and worse since Mira’s dad died a few years back.
“Speaking of Tien,” I say in a singsong voice and grin at her. “I saw you holding his hand at dinner the other day. Anything you want to tell me?”
Mira looks down, but a smile catches in the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks blush more than should be possible with her dark complexion.
“Tell me.” I make sure to keep my voice gentle this time instead of mocking her.
“I . . . we . . .” She takes a breath and starts over, the smile vanishes from her lips. “He’s trying to be patient, but I know it’s hard for him. I don’t know how much longer he’ll wait for me to get my shit together. Every time he touches me, even when he doesn’t mean to, I cringe. It’s not fair. But I can’t help it. I keep seeing their faces.”
She’s still looking down, and I put an arm around her. She doesn’t have to tell me who they are for me to understand.
Mira has struggled with being touched by men ever since the night her father died. She and her father were on their way home when a few guys ambushed them and tried to take their groceries. I wish Mira had let them take the food, but with her mother sick, they needed every bit they had.
She tried to defend the bags she was carrying, and they got angry. They told her she would regret it if she didn’t let go right away. She held on and spit in the
guy’s face. I really admire her bravery, but the asshole did not.
Two of his cronies held her dad back while their leader beat her and pulled up her dress. Before he could do anything worse to her, her dad struggled free and attacked the guy until he let her go. Her father yelled at her to run, and she did. But she looked back before she turned the corner. She froze when she saw the men huddled over her dad, taking turns kicking and punching him. The idea alone makes me sick to my stomach.
When they saw her standing at the corner, they started running after her. Her father was lying on the ground, unmoving, and she told me it was the hardest thing she has ever done to run away from him.
She escaped, but I don’t think she ever got over her father’s death. She blames herself and thinks she could have saved him if she had gotten back to him somehow or called for help sooner.
It took her years to tell me this, and I’ve only heard about it in pieces. I’ve put it together over time, but she has never once told me the full story. I pull her into a hug. The idea that I brought back those memories makes my stomach hurt.
“But it must be getting better, right?” I say hopefully. “You didn’t seem too reluctant to touch his arm the other day. Or did you do that just for him?”
Mira finally looks up. “You’re right. But I’ve got a long way to go, and I can’t really imagine ever getting to a point that would make him happy, too. I don’t know. I just can’t . . . Plus, he’s already matched, and I expect to get my match soon. So what’s the point anyway?”
I groan. I hate this system.
“I still think that’s bullshit,” I say a little too loudly, then remember we are in public and lower my voice to a whisper. “I think you should be able to be with whoever you love, not a stupid match.”
Mira sorts her features into an expressionless mask. “Well, that’s not how the world works nowadays.”
Yeah. Not since the war.
A boy in the sandbox throws sand at Willow, and our conversation is cut short. I rush over to interrupt the fight. I don’t have the patience for a scene right now, nor do I have the energy to tell off the boy. I grab Willow despite her protest, pick her up, and walk back toward the bench.
Mira isn’t there anymore. I look around and see her walking over to the boy’s mother, who hadn’t noticed her son was causing trouble. She sits on a bench, screen in her hand, earpiece in, and deep in conversation.
“I totally had that, Mommy,” Willow says with her lips pursed.
I pat her absently on the head and murmur, “I know, pumpkin. I know.”
She crosses her arms, aware I’m not paying her my full attention. I am watching Mira let some of her anger out on the woman, explaining to her that if she spent a little less time on her stupid phone, she would maybe know when her son is bullying girls at the playground.
“And if you paid him a little more attention, maybe he would not beg for it by being a little shit!” she yells, and her voice carries over to Willow and me. Willow smirks and gets up for a better view.
Damn it. I rescued Willow to avoid a scene. I feel it is prudent to get Mira out of here as well before she gets herself into trouble. I rush over, murmur an apology to the woman, who doesn’t even react, and steer Mira away from the playground. Willow runs around us in excitement.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask, and Mira shrugs.
She’s still quiet when we reach the intersection where we part ways. She hugs me and tells me she’ll see me later, but she seems distant, lost in thought. I watch her walk away until Willow pulls on my hand.
“Mommy, let’s go,” she grouches impatiently.
Now that the excitement of Mira’s little fight is wearing off, her mood shifts to grumpy. She keeps trying to shake the sand out of her hair or comb it out with her fingers. By the time we get home, her hair is a tangled mess from her efforts, and I add a shower to my to-do list.
Willow escapes the bathroom, leaving wet footprints all over the carpet. I catch her and wrap a towel around her head like a turban and hold out her bathrobe—pink with elephants, of course. I stitched every single one of those damn things on myself. I pick her up, and she plants a very wet kiss on my cheek.
Oh, the things I’ll do to make this girl happy.
I hear a noise outside. “Daddy’s home,” I announce.
She struggles out of my grip and dashes out of the room with a loud “Daddy!”
When I walk into the living room after drying my own hair, Dale and Willow are in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. Willow is standing on a chair. Dale looks over and smiles at me.
“How was your day?” he asks, like he does every day.
“Long and exhausting,” I answer, and his face falls. I nudge my head in Willow’s direction and mouth, “We need to talk.”
He nods, and after helping Willow add the remaining carrots into the steaming pot on the stove, he picks her up and carries her to her room. Moments later, he returns.
“She’s drawing us a picture. We should be fine for a while before she gets bored,” he explains. “What’s up?”
I tell him everything about our morning at the hospital, the conversation I overheard, and the way the nurses acted around me. His face grows more concerned with every word I say.
“They said she wouldn’t be home for long. Dale, I think they want to take her from us. Make her a lab rat or something. I don’t know. But whatever it is, they can’t have her. We can’t let that happen!”
Dale walks over to the stove and stirs the pot. “Are you sure they meant Willow?” He turns around and leans against the kitchen counter.
I am disappointed to hear the disbelief in his voice. Even now, after everything we’ve been through and what I just told him?
“Yes, I’m sure. They told me we have to come back next week and see some Mr. Goodman once he’s back from vacation. Apparently he’s the head of the laboratory department or something. Why would they need a lead scientist person for a blood test? No, doesn’t make sense.” I put a hand on his chest. “The way they looked at me—” My voice breaks, and I try not to cry.
Dale looks down at me, and his expression softens. He puts his arms around me and rests his chin on my head. I know he’s not entirely convinced, but him being here for me is comforting nonetheless.
“What do we do?” I feel the words vibrate in his chest.
I pull away and look up at him. “I think we need to start by telling Mira and Tien the truth. If we want to do anything about this, we can’t do it alone. Or at least I can’t. I’ll need their support.”
“We can tell them tonight.” Dale nods.
Before he can say more, Willow comes running into the room and holds up a piece of paper. “Look, Daddy, I drew us as elephants!”
Dale holds up the picture. It’s a hot mess of wiggly lines and colors, and I can barely distinguish three elephants with their trunks together, as if holding hands.
“This is me,” she explains pointing at the smallest elephant. “This is Mommy, and you, Daddy.”
I look at the family picture, and my resolve strengthens. I won’t let anyone take my little girl away from me.
“Don’t you like it?” Willow asks.
I draw her closer to me and kiss her head. “Of course, I like it very much.” I get up and put the picture up on the fridge. “Now we can see it all the time.”
Willow looks pleased, then runs out of the room. Dale returns to the dinner on the stove, and I set the table. Neither of us talking.
My head is spinning. I am nervous about the conversation with Tien and Mira later tonight.
Will they believe me?
After Willow is in bed, I find excuse after excuse not to bring it up. Dale ultimately throws me a knowing look.
I steel myself and announce, “Guys, we have something we need to tell you.”
“Are you having another baby?” Mira asks, clapping her hands together, but she sees the look on my face and falls silent, her hands hovering
in midair.
“What is it?” Tien asks.
I look at him, then at Mira, and press on. “You have to swear never to tell anyone, okay?”
They look worried. Mira leans a little closer and asks, “What’s going on, Chase?”
“Promise, okay?” After they both swear, I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and close it again. I don’t know where to start. So I start at the beginning.
“Dale isn’t Willow’s father.”
Mira and Tien both gasp, incredulity on their faces. “What?”
I nod.
Tien looks at Dale, then says, “I mean, she doesn’t look anything like you guys, but I always assumed she got some grandparent’s genes.”
I shake my head and continue, “No, unfortunately, it’s nothing like that. She’s definitely not his daughter. We never. . .” I swallow my nerves. “We’ve never had sex.”
My cheeks flush, and I suddenly feel very hot. I’m not comfortable talking about sex with anyone, and this might be one of the most uncomfortable conversations I have ever had.
“So, who did you sleep with?” Mira asks tentatively.
“No one. And that’s the thing. Ever since Dale and I were matched, I didn’t dare meet anyone. I didn’t want to get me or Dale into trouble.”
The expressions of mixed curiosity, disbelief, and shock on my friends’ faces deepen.
I press on. “Remember how we told everyone we were trying to have a baby? They must have believed us—”
“Who the fuck is they?” Tien interrupts, but I shush him and go on.
“Shortly after we started spreading around that we wanted to have a baby, I was due for my yearly exam, which includes seeing the OB-GYN.
“I remember them offering me a tea while I waited for the doctor in the exam room. They had me waiting for so long, I accepted. And then I . . . fell asleep during the exam.” I close my eyes. I still can’t believe I fell asleep. It’s embarrassing I allowed myself to be so vulnerable. “I didn’t feel well at all for a few days after. And I found out I was pregnant.”