Page 42 of Made for You
“Ha ha,” I say.
“Of course, killing Josh might not be strategic when I could kill you easier.” She hiccups out a laugh and covers her mouth cutely, like she just shocked herself. “Sorry—was that in terrible taste?”
“Terrible,” I echo, forcing myself to smile as she laughs, like her dramatics are so amusing.
But now I’m imagining myself as the moth, circling Josh, obsessed with reaching a light I can’t have. And Cam flicking my body, miniature and compact, off the porch.
Away from Josh. Away from everyone. Into darkness, as the lovely light shines on.
NOW
Looming. Monolithic. Those are the two words that come to mind as I head up the paved walkway toward the Wekstein Memorial Building, an austere piece of architecture that looks utterly out of place on the otherwise grassy, romantic campus of Indiana University.
Clouds are rolling in from the west. I walk quickly to avoid the rain, Annaleigh in her baby carrier bouncing heavily against my chest. The path splits around a bronze sculpture—a young girl looking toward the sky, one arm outstretched like a dancer. I take in the plaque as I pass. In Memoriam Laura E. Wekstein. She looks wistful.
“Ma-ma,” says Annaleigh as I climb the steps and punch in the security code Andy texted me. The massive door clicks open and we step into a whoosh of chilled, sterile-feeling air. Annaleigh scrunches her eyes in reaction to the change in temperature, and I lay a palm over her warm, fuzzy head.
A glossy white floor stretches before us like a runway. Cement walls on either side soar three floors high, creating the effect of walking through a ravine. A single line of black-and-white photographs seems to float on the right-hand wall.
I look at the pictures as I go, stroking Annaleigh’s head all the while. Each photograph bears a label beneath. The first image is Andy as a kid, blowing out birthday candles on a cake shaped like a robot. His parents and a little girl I assume to be a sibling are crowded around him. In the next picture, Andy and the little girl are wearing matching costumes. Halloween candy baskets dangle from their arms. The costumes look homemade, with blanket capes and cardboard breastplates reading THE RED REVENGER. Andy grows up as I walk. Holds a freshly issued business license with a cheesy grin. Stands, arms crossed, beside a humanoid form of metal and plastic. The label: #1 WekTech Bot–LARS. The date is eight years before my launch.
I know Bots aren’t considered persons, but I wonder if Lars liked being a Bot when he was awake. If he’s still awake somewhere. If he might have liked to be a Synth instead...which doesn’t even make sense. Bots don’t have free will; he’d be perfectly content to be what he was.
“Hi, Lars,” I find myself whispering, as if I need to acknowledge him in some way before moving on.
The Bots progress. The WekTech team grows. Close to the end, there’s a picture taken with a fish-eye lens of over fifty people smiling and cheering. I lean close and pick out Andy toward the center, glasses askew, mouth open in what looks like a celebratory whoop, smooshed between a blond man and a dark-haired girl. The label reads, Team JULIA assembles!
I’m not sure what I’m feeling, looking at all these people who put me together. I’m even less certain how to feel about the final picture on the wall: Andy and me. The black-and-white print makes us look timeless, like this moment was much longer ago than just sixteen months. Someone must have snapped it minutes after I launched, while I was answering the Proposal producer’s questions. I’m looking forward, my hand suspended in midair, a smile on my face. Andy, meanwhile, is looking at me, expression intense, the clicky end of a pen frozen between his teeth.
I look at the picture for what feels like forever. My first moments. The product of decades of his work. My open expression. His glowering focus. Me, front and center. Him, off to the side.
I have a profound feeling of disconnect. From him, from myself, from this moment. Suddenly, this tunnel-hall feels oppressively quiet.
“Ready, baby girl?” I whisper, more to reassure myself than Annaleigh.
I’ve reached the door at the end bearing the sign A. WEKSTEIN. I pull it open and hear Andy’s voice before I see him.
“So for project ELOISE, there are some key differences—” He stops short.
Twenty heads swivel in my direction. Men and women in lab coats surround a long, metal table. On the table lies a torso and head, face down. Andy’s pointing to something on its spine. And...is that Lars, on display in the back of the room, encased in a glass showcase?
“Hi,” I say, feeling suddenly nauseous. What is it about reality that feels so tenuous right now, like I’m walking in a dream, like I’m peeking into a shivering crack in my own chest, and from that darkness, someone else is looking back...
“Julia, you made it!” Andy walks toward me, arms outspread. He side-hugs me because of Annaleigh on my front. “Hey, so good to see you. You brought the baby!”
I lower my voice. “Sorry to interrupt your day, but we need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?”
Also, I need to nurse Annaleigh. She’s been calm so far, but after the long car ride and the eternal walk from the parking garage, her patience has to be running out.
“Of course,” he agrees, in an equally quiet voice. His standard five-o’clock shadow is thicker and scruffier than usual. As always, he looks like he hasn’t slept, ever, and is getting by on caffeine and nervous energy. “I just need twenty more minutes to wrap things up here. Also, you can totally say no, but would you be willing to answer some questions from these guys? They’re all dying to meet you—”
“I don’t know. I’m tired from the drive, and—”
“Just a few minutes. Here, give me the baby.”
“Annaleigh needs to nurse,” I protest weakly even as I’m reaching behind my back to detach the baby carrier buckles, causing my purse and heavy diaper bag to slide off my shoulder. Painfully.
“They’ve all seen boobs before,” Andy says in a cute voice, like he’s talking to Annaleigh, but this comment is not comforting in the way he thinks it is.