Page 73 of Made for You
It’s a nightmare as I slip-slide out of the kitchen, into the narrow corridor through which my only exit lies. Something hits me from behind—a book. I dodge the next one. There’s a mighty grunt behind me, then a crashing sound. She’s collapsing a tower of bins. It hits the next tower, and the next, like giant dominoes falling, and if I’m not fast, I could be crushed.
“I had nothing! Nothing but Josh!” she screams above the noise of toppling objects. She moves sure-footed up the avalanche.
I turn in desperation, grabbing the nearest object, a doll, and launching it, but it flies right past her.
“And now he’s gone!” She crests the pile, eyes wild. “And you killed him! I know you did, liar!”
“You’re crazy!” I fight my way up a landslide of newspapers. Sensory input rolls over me like a tidal wave, like the volume of the world has been turned up to maximum capacity. “Stay away from me! And stay the fuck away from my baby!”
A doll hits my leg, another hits my cheek. She’s launching them like grenades.
“My husband is dead,” I yell as I throw whatever I can grab at her. A mug. A cluster of fake grapes. A colander, which hits her in the leg. “I’m not the villain!”
“Yes, you are! You killed him for the bad things he did!” she shrieks. She raises an arm to protect her face as I throw a candelabra at her. It nicks her arm and she falls back a step. “You’re an instrument of judgment! You came with justice when he needed mercy! My babies deserved mercy!” She leaps forward like she has wings, orange hair flying.
I propel myself through the final stretch on adrenaline alone. The front door is a slice of light through the final passageway. Almost out, almost free.
Behind me, though growing fainter, Deborah is ranting, screaming, in a world of her own. “Now we’re both murderers! And I promise you, they will never forget! It doesn’t matter if we’re guilty or innocent! Nothing matters anymore! It’s too late!”
Salvation. I crash out the front door, down the porch with its hideous mobile, into my car, and slam the door.
Not a moment too soon. Deborah fires her shotgun as my car roars to life. I rev it in a wide circle, spitting gravel like teeth, my ears ringing with the boom of her gun. Then I lean toward the passenger seat and puke, right into the vinyl, as my car skids onto Deerhead Trail.
THEN
“Where’s your head at?” I say, tugging on Josh’s hand.
Our time in Jamaica is coming to a close. We’re walking on the beach as the sun sets, our sandals discarded back at the picnic blanket. My hi-low wrap skirt blows against my legs like a whipping mermaid tail. My midriff, bare under my crop top, is prickled with goose bumps. The sand is hard and chilly under my feet, the lull of the waves peaceful and a little mournful, like they know we’re at the end of our journey and are trying to give us a gentle send-off.
Emma’s and Zoe’s send-offs were not gentle. Not for them, and not for me. I blubbered through those rose ceremonies and had terrible sleep in the aftermath of both their departures. Though I hope to create a family with Josh, I’ll never have a family of origin; these girls are the closest I’ll come.
It’s our last date before Josh proposes to one of the two remaining women: Cam or me. The next time I see him, he’ll either be putting a ring on my finger or rejecting me forever. Fulfilling what I was made for, or propelling me into...what? Despite Cam’s offers of connecting me with her agent, or my own pragmatic moments when I consider my future after the show, I just can’t imagine it. It’s...a void.
“Honestly? I’m confused,” he says, running his free hand through his thick brown hair. “I wasn’t expecting to be this torn this late in the process.”
“Do you think your mom helped add some clarity?”
Josh and I spent an hour with his mom first thing this morning, before heading off into our day. It was a surprise to me, but I think it went well. Rita wasn’t at all what I expected. If Josh is tall and fit and confident, his mom is the opposite. Petite, round, reserved. Uncomfortable-looking, as if her shoes are too tight, though maybe it’s being outside of the US, which is a first for her. She mentioned it at least three times.
As we picked at a breakfast of scrambled eggs and fruit, she asked Josh to give us girls a minute alone. I sipped at the bitter coffee while she asked me rehearsed-sounding questions. What drew me to Josh. If I want kids. How I picture myself fitting into his life in Indiana. Even though I think I gave great answers, I could tell by her demeanor she didn’t buy it.
“We’re not jet-setters,” she said when I was done talking, looking me up and down as if my very appearance was reason to doubt my sincerity. “We’re simple Midwestern people who hold traditional family values. I don’t want Josh to marry someone who’s not going to be happy with the life he can offer.”
“I’m not a jet-setter,” I said earnestly. “I’m actually a really simple girl. Marrying Josh, living together, having kids—that’s what I want. You know, the sweet simple life. Believe it or not, going to Paris was my first time out of the country, and Jamaica is just my second!” I laughed, trying to bring levity, but she didn’t take the bait.
“Tell me about your family background, Julia,” she said. “Are you close with your folks?”
I swear the world stopped turning for a split second.
“Josh...didn’t tell you?” As she shook her head, words bubbled up that I hadn’t planned. “I...don’t have a family. I guess it’s complicated. But Josh has made me feel like I can finally have all those things, with him. If you feel like I don’t have as much to contribute, since I don’t have parents or siblings, I get that. I understand. But we’ve talked about it a lot together, Josh and me, and it makes us even more excited to build our family.” I babbled on in that vein, trying to strike a hopeful note. She listened with pinched lips, clearly wondering what had happened—was I an orphan? The victim of some tragedy?
When I finally stopped, I felt gross, like I’d lied to her face. But I couldn’t tell her I was a Synth. If I did? If she reacted poorly? That would be Josh’s last impression of me before deciding whether to keep me or leave me.
“You’re deep in thought,” says Josh, squeezing my hand and bringing me back to the present.
“Yeah... I was thinking about your mom.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I have no idea what she thought of me.”
“She liked you.” He pauses to nudge a shell with his toe, then bends to pick it up.