Chapter 7
SEVEN
The alert from Jamie cuts through the quiet of my apartment, making me jump and look up from the book I’m reading.
“Your food delivery has arrived,” he announces with a hint of ceremony.
I push myself off the couch and shuffle toward the door to collect the groceries.
As I’m stowing away the spinach and ungodly amount of avocados Jamie seems to have ordered—seriously, what was I thinking letting him do it—Jamie’s voice interrupts again.
“Looks like you have another visitor,” he notes, and I already know who it is without needing to check the door.
“Stay quiet for a bit, Jamie,” I instruct, not because I want to hide him, but because I simply can’t muster the energy to deal with a hyperactive twelve-year-old hopped up on a sugar rush, excited about my new AI toy.
I open the door, and there stands Willow, Hendricks’ daughter, who seems to have a sixth sense for sniffing out when the grocery delivery arrives. With her long blonde hair and blue eyes, she looks like the angel she definitely is not.
She tiptoes in, whispering conspiratorially, “Did you get it?”
“Of course I got it,” I whisper back, a smirk playing on my lips as I shut the door behind her. Pulling out the family pack of Twizzlers, I hand her one, which she grabs with a gleam in her eyes.
“Oh my God, you’ve got fish?” She gasps, her attention darting to the new aquarium. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Can’t really tell her I stole them, can I?
“Ugh, because they’re new?” I offer a questionable yet true explanation as we both chew on our Twizzlers.
This candy might just be the best thing ever invented—forget smartphones and space travel, Twizzlers Twist strawberry flavor is where it’s at.
“That’s so cool. I always wanted to have fish, but Dad says going to the aquarium every two weeks has to be enough.”
I’m sure she’s going to tell her dad all about my new fish as soon as she has the chance.
Please don’t let Hendricks connect the dots of how I got fish the same week I tried to talk Dr. Cockwomble into rescuing the ones we have at the office.
“Maybe you can watch them next time I go somewhere,” I suggest nonchalantly.
“You never go anywhere.”
“True… or you could just come over and visit them when you get your Twizzlers.” I shrug, but I regret it the second it comes out of my mouth.
She will be here every other day.
Willow beams, and the flicker of irritation I just felt ebbs away.
She’s a nice girl. She just doesn’t have any sense of boundaries.
“Where’s your dad? Does he know you’re here?” I ask, already anticipating the answer.
Willow has a habit of ‘forgetting’ to inform her dad of her whereabouts, and I’ve had more than one panicked visit from Hendricks over the two years we’ve been living next to each other.
“We’re going to the aquarium, and he takes ages to get ready, and I was already ready.” She rolls her eyes dramatically, making me chuckle.
Such a little brat.
“Okay, cool, sounds like a fun Saturday.”
“Wanna come with?” she asks with hope in her eyes.
I know she harbors a secret mission to play matchmaker, but first, I’m not mom material, and second, her dad is fifteen years older than me. He’s a great dad and nice, but he’s not my type.
And I don’t think I’m his either.
“No, thank you.”
“Maybe I can come over tomorrow, and we can watch a movie or something?” she tries again, her puppy dog eyes going into overdrive.
I don’t mind her hanging around here every so often. It’s fine watching her when Hendricks has to go somewhere. But not as long as I’ve got the AI and work to do.
“Sorry, I can’t this weekend. I have a lot of work to catch up on. Raincheck?”
“Sure.”
She looks sad, so I offer, “Want to borrow a book? I’ve just finished one you might like.”
“I don’t like reading,” she mutters, just as we hear Hendricks calling her from the hallway.
“Willow?” His voice is muffled, but I can still hear how it’s tinged with the frustration of a father in search of his child.
“Hendricks is looking for you,” I chide as I open the door.
There he stands, scanning the hall with mild exasperation.
“His name is Robert or Bob. I told you to stop calling him by his last name,” Willow grumbles, but I just shrug.
Not going to happen.
“Sorry, she needed her fix,” I joke, handing her over to her dad.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How many times have I told you not to bug Stanley, Willow?”
“Her name is Amelia! God, you guys are frustrating.”
“Have fun at the aquarium,” I say as they head toward the elevator.
Hendricks gives me a gentle smile before the doors close.
Once they’re gone and my door clicks shut, Jamie chimes in, “This could be a social interaction you seem to miss. The girl clearly wants to be your friend.”
I resume putting away the groceries, nibbling on another Twizzlers while pointing out, “She’s twelve.”
The only reason I can talk to her so freely.
“And?” Jamie probes, and I stop, looking up at the ceiling, even though I know I won’t find a face there I can scowl at.
“And befriending a child is even sadder than not having any friends at all.” I sigh.
But maybe not as sad as befriending an AI.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Sighing, I head over to open it, expecting maybe Willow, wanting another Twizzlers. Instead, my boss, Dr. Edward Langley, stands there, an uninvited smirk playing on his lips.
“I thought I’d check on how the testing is going,” he announces, pushing past me into the apartment before I can respond.
The audacity.
He glances around, his fingers trailing along my bookshelf.
Ew.
I clench my fists, forcing a neutral tone. “I’m still trying things out. I’ll have more to report on Monday.”
Langley picks up the photo of August and me, examining it with an infuriatingly proprietary air. “You should really consider my offer to help you test this weekend. Could be… enlightening.”
His implication hangs heavy in the air, and I edge toward the door. “I appreciate the concern, Dr. Langley, but I’m quite capable of handling it on my own. But there is still a lot to do, so if there’s nothing else…”
He sets the photo down, the edges of his smile tightening as he meets my gaze. “Of course. The offer still stands. If you need help, you know where to find me.”
As he finally steps out, I close the door with a firm click, my relief short-lived as Jamie’s voice cuts through once more. “Seems like you handled that well,” he observes, almost cheekily.
“Handling him is like defusing a bomb,” I mutter, returning to the sanctity of my couch and the unfinished Twizzlers in my hand. “One that could go off with the wrong word.”
“And yet, you managed to keep the conversation from exploding,” Jamie points out. “That’s something, right?”
I nod, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Right. Now, can we please talk about something other than my invasive boss or my nonexistent social life?”
“Absolutely,” Jamie replies, his tone lightening. “Did you know the average person eats about two pounds of insects a year, mostly unknowingly?”
I scrunch my nose in disgust and drop the Twizzlers onto the coffee table. “That’s another topic to avoid, Jamie.”
“Noted. I’ll stick to more palatable trivia next time.”
Shaking my head, I chuckle.
God, what is my life right now?
The shift from the crisp outside to our perpetually warm apartment is immediate, and it makes me shiver.
I’ve just returned from a long walk with Peanut, my grandpa’s dog.
He needs his exercise, and since Grandpa can’t do it anymore, the responsibility has fallen to me—at least on the weekends.
It’s a decent break, though, getting me out of our tech cave and clearing my head a bit.
Fresh air and all that shit.
I’m fortunate that we’re back to living in the city where I grew up, close to my grandpa. It was a major plus point for Elysium when we were all deciding where to go, and I’m glad we all agreed on this.
Oliver is from Portland, so at least his family is only a three-hour drive away, and he can see Morgan every other month.
For Misha, being from Philadelphia, it’s another story.
But he says he’s fine with the occasional FaceTime call, although I don’t quite believe it.
He’s too much of a family person. Maybe, in a few years, when Grandpa is no longer here, we can look for somewhere new, maybe closer to his family. It would only be fair.
But that means acknowledging Grandpa’s declining health and that he won’t live forever, already being eighty-two… which I can’t think about.
I can’t lose my grandpa.
It’s bad enough that I have this underlying fear of losing my parents, which I’ve been fighting every day since I was seven and realized that being journalists in war-torn regions could cost them their lives.
Although, if I’m honest, things wouldn’t really change much as I haven’t heard from them in months.
Stepping into our office, I find Misha asleep in his desk chair, head lolled back, low snores filling the quiet. Over by the window, Oliver is hunched over his journal, pen scribbling away furiously.
“You’re writing her another letter?” I prod as I kick off my shoes, raising an eyebrow at Oliver’s back.
I love this guy, but all his simping is getting on my nerves.
“She’s in the shower, not going to watch her shower,” he mumbles without looking up, defensive but focused.
Fair enough.
“Okay, anything noticeable? What did I miss?” I ask, both of us speaking at a normal volume because it would take a train rushing through this room to wake up Misha when he finally sleeps.
I wander over to the small refrigerator we keep in here and pull out a water bottle.
“Not much,” Oliver responds, finally setting his pen down and turning to face me.
“The groceries came, then the kid of her coworker came over for sweets. Her boss checked on her, and she made Jamie vacuum some more, then she tried to set up a schedule for her smart lights and sensors for security checks, wants them to simulate presence when she’s out. ”