Chapter Four
Lauren
Providence, Rhode Island
2024
I close the door to my son’s old bedroom, leaving the robots with books and a television on to occupy them. We’re test driving the honor system.
George and John are easy to deal with, the other two are more of a challenge. Ashley was the only reason the little ones came out from beneath her old bed and allowed themselves to be relocated. It took mere seconds for them to find fresh hiding spaces in Ryan’s room. Ashley believes I can do what she has so far failed at—convince them that feeling nothing is not better than being alive and afraid. Her faith in me weighs heavily on my heart.
I return to Ashley’s room, stopping at the door. Three utensils, each laid out on its own sleeping bag. They look a bit ridiculous there, but if they come back, I want to soften the blow of their return any way I can.
I’ve had time to plan and prepare. If they wake while I’m not there, I’ve placed a letter beside each of them, with directions on how to turn on the tablet I’ve placed on the desk. One tap turns it on. One tap on the triangle that appears will play a video. I put together a presentation explaining everything from what happened to them, how much time has passed, who has already come back to who I am, and what my goal is for them. For purposes of clarity, I also explained that any physical attraction they may feel toward me is due to the chemical bond that was formed when I woke them. I carefully outline how I intend to compare their blood samples to that of the others and hopefully isolate the cause of the bond.
I step inside the room because remaining so far away from them is unbearable. The intensity of our connection is relentless, stirring cravings I’ve buried beneath years of logic, practicality, and cold, hard medical training. I need to be here with them.
I lower myself to the floor closest to the spoon. My knees press into the carpet that still has nail polish stains from Ashley. She always loved bright colors on her toenails. There’s an innocence about this room that reflects how I want to feel for these men, but my heart races as my breathing quickens.
The spoon has a few marks on it, but fewer than the other two utensils. There’s no way to know who is inside each of them, but I’m certain they’re not empty. Aloud, I say, “I wish you could hear me. I know you feel my presence, but I also know that might not be enough to reassure you. I can’t do this the fast way or the way the others did. I’m sorry. But I will bring you back and free you. I promise you that.” I lean closer. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve saved people in much worse situations.”
None of the utensils respond but I didn’t expect them to. I let out a shaky breath as I imagine how it must feel to be trapped in limbo. When they do come back, they may not handle it well. Jack kept returning to utensil form because he couldn’t handle the realization that everyone he loved was dead. Ray came out fighting.
I promised Hugh I’d call at the first sign of one of them reverting. I assured him there would be plenty of notice because I wouldn’t bring anyone back without the others there for support.
I shouldn’t be this close to the spoon. Yet here I am, every inch of me alive and humming like a young woman preparing for her first date. It doesn’t make sense, and I tell myself to get up and walk out of the room, but I don’t.
I reach out, hand hovering over the gleam of polished silver.
Don’t , a voice in me warns.
I close my eyes and let my hand wander over the cool handle of the spoon. It warms instantly and I can barely breathe .
I feel him. He’s confused, but not scared. He knows I’m here.
And he yearns for me.
He doesn’t understand how or why.
He doesn’t know if he’s dead or alive.
I’m what he wants and where he craves to be.
I pull my hand away and gulp in air. I don’t want to feel this way. Giving in would lead nowhere good. I have to be strong, for the good of all of us.
I am content with my life the way it is. I don’t need a partner to complete me. I not only survived being left to raise twin babies on my own—I thrived and made a beautiful life for all three of us. So, whatever this chemical reaction is... it’s wasted on me. I’m happy for my daughter, but I’m not following in her footsteps.
A sharp sting of longing wells in my chest, unexpected and raw. I tell myself it’s empathy for the soldiers and their situation. I don’t believe it though.
These men shouldn’t suffer because I’m . . . I’m . . .
Afraid?
I scramble to my feet. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice cracking with regret. “I shouldn’t have touched any of you. I should have told Mercedes she needed to find someone younger... braver.”
That admission guts me. In the ER I’m considered fearless. I’ve half-convinced myself that I am. But this? This brings back too many memories I swore would never again have the power to upset me. I remember what it was like to love someone and believe he loved me back. I remember believing we would be together forever and nothing could change that because we were meant to be.
Nothing is meant to be.
Forever is a lie sold to women by the media. In reality, men only stay with a woman who makes life easier and more convenient. That’s what they consider love.
I make it all the way to the door again before I pause. All I want to do is run and hide. It’s unsettling to realize I am not so different from the spider robots. Glancing back over my shoulder, I promise to sort myself out before I enter the room again. I close the door behind me.
A few minutes later, I’m making myself a cup of tea and reach for a spoon to stir it, then pull back. No spoon. I dig through the utensil drawer for wooden chopsticks and use one of them instead.
I’m a mess.
My phone bings with a message. Braxton.
I made it safely to Ireland.
I half laugh at that. I’m glad.
How are you feeling?
I’m not ill.
What are your plans for this week?
Would you be offended if I told you they’re none of your business?
I’m not easy to offend.
I’ve noticed.
Let’s start this conversation over. But this time I’ll be you.
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. I’m too tired for games, Braxton.
Say it. Tell me you made it to Ireland.
I sigh. I made it to Ireland.
Braxton! I’m so glad! I was worried.
If we’re doing this, I might as well have a little fun with it. Sorry to interrupt your vacation. I know you asked me not to, but I do what I want.
I find that attractive.
That had me blinking a few times. Was he answering as me or as himself? I don’t know how you can. Is it because I’m rich? I am, you know. So rich I have my own jet. Have I told you about the jet yet? It’s a private one.
No, money doesn’t matter to me. What I care about is a person’s character. I also have a feeling that you’re well-endowed.
I snort out a laugh. I agree about character mattering, but sadly the jet is how I compensate for a physical area where I’m lacking.
Ouch. I mean, that’s a shame. Luckily, it’s your eyes I find irresistible.
He does have nice eyes. Dark brown, almost black, and always lit up like he just received amazing news. I shake that thought off. My reaction to the silverware has me all kinds of confused. I type: Braxton
Yes.
What do you do when you find yourself wanting something you shouldn’t?
He doesn’t instantly respond. It depends on if it’s a something or someone.
Someone.
Well, then I’d ask myself if being with that person would make their life better or worse.
And if you’re not sure?
I wait until they give me a sign that they want me as well.
It was good advice even if it didn’t necessarily help me. Thank you.
Is that the problem you’re dealing with on vacation? A man?
I wish it were that simple.
Two men?
There is no way in hell I’m admitting anything. So I write: Be serious.
I am.
I’m glad you got to Ireland safely. Goodnight, Braxton.
Lauren, all joking aside, all that matters to me is that you’re happy and that whoever you’re with treats you well.
Thank you. I pause then type: And thank you for checking in on me.
Always. Goodnight, Lauren.