Page 16 of Made for You
Yeah, Josh thinks you’re in love with me or something, I blabbed on. He gets really angry sometimes.
Julia, what are you saying?
Maybe you can just talk to Josh about it. Man-to-man, you know? He doesn’t believe me, that there’s nothing between us. But maybe he’ll believe you.
Andy pulled out his phone to text Josh. He looked sincerely concerned...and I excused myself to the bathroom. Damn it...the fog is descending again. I have a nauseating impression of... Chicken McNuggets? At some point Andy drove away, and I must have collapsed into bed with Netflix on, since that’s what I woke up to.
Damn it, the light is off, like my brain decided I was done, but I grope through the shadow memories anyway, because there’s something else—a feeling—fleeing even as I catch at its heels...
Relief. Deep, tangible relief. A sense that something big was finally being taken care of. A burden lifted...
That makes sense. I was probably thinking that Andy was going to work things out with Josh. Josh would come back from his trip clearheaded, feeling sorry for his unfounded accusations, and that particular thorn in our marriage would finally be gone.
Poor drunk Past Julia, thinking relief was just around the corner when things were about to get so much worse.
“...and I even remember noticing when your bedroom light turned off...”
It takes me a second to register that Eden’s still talking. Ugh. I’m literally climbing into my car, and she’s not slowing down.
“And I was up even later, playing video games. And your car isn’t exactly quiet. So I would have noticed if you’d left. Which...you didn’t.”
Okay, this is way more detail than I will ever remember about Saturday night.
I have one foot still outside the car. I stretch forward and put a hand on my babysitter’s arm to stop her. Sweet Eden, who is clearly so very concerned about me.
“Thank you, Eden,” I say in the same gentle voice I use with Josh when he’s getting worked up. “I don’t need an alibi, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness. Really.”
She nods quickly, like she’s embarrassed by her torrent of words. Backs away a step, then two. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
I pause. “Actually, speaking of Saturday...did you hear a scream? Around two in the morning?” I’m such a light sleeper these days—it’s a nursing-mother thing. Even though alcohol was involved, it’s bothering me that a scream in the neighborhood didn’t wake me.
“Oh, uh...” Are the spots of pink in her cheeks brightening? “Now that you mention it, yes. But I think it was, um, an animal?”
“Maybe a fox?” I suggest. At least she’s not bringing up ghosts from a century ago.
“Did you hear it?”
“No. One of the neighbors mentioned it to the sheriff, I guess.”
She looks relieved. “Well, it wasn’t me that told him. But if he asks me, I’d say a fox for sure.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” I slam the door and lower the window. “Text me if you have any questions about Annaleigh. She’ll probably be asleep for another twenty minutes.”
“Got it, boss.” Eden makes a cute salute, then heads back to the house as I pull into the road. The sunlight gleams on the windshield like a flickering curtain, obscuring as much as it illuminates. As soon as I’m out of sight of the house, I slam on the gas.
The motion feels good, like I’ve broken free from Mitchell, but as the engine roars over the miles, I know the feeling is just an illusion.
They say cornered animals are the most dangerous, but I’m not an animal. I’m a Synth. No claws, no fangs, no bite. And when you can’t defend yourself, there’s only one way to elude a predator.
Don’t get cornered in the first place.
THEN
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I say, sidling up to Josh just as he emerges from the water. It’s nighttime. The kidney-shaped pool shines like a turquoise gem, four of the girls are in a vigorous and very bouncy chicken-fight match, and a warm breeze is teasing my bare skin. I’m in a bikini, with a semi-sheer sarong tied around one hip, my hair wet down my back.
It’s the end of our first week in the house. Camila got the first date. Emma got the second. At least I got the consolation prize: today’s group date with seven other women, which will end with one of us getting a rose; the others will have to endure the uncertainty of the next rose ceremony. It’s been a full day. We rode trail horses, went to a wine tasting where Drunk Girl—real name Zoe—monopolized Josh’s attention by breaking down crying, and now we’re having a nighttime pool party on a hotel rooftop, the city of Los Angeles spread over the hills around us like a rolling carpet of stars.
Amid the chaos, my only personal interaction with Josh happened on horseback. “All good?” he said from his horse. “Great!” I responded from mine.