Elodie checked the time on her Key Corp–issued cuff. She was still ahead of schedule. She was always ahead of schedule. Tardiness was the one thing she had complete control over.
Elodie glanced over her room to ensure everything was in its proper place. A few of the smooth river rocks she’d collected on the banks of the Columbia were askew. She hurried over to the window to straighten them before taking another final look around. Satisfied, she stuffed her damp hair into a beanie, hefted her clear backpack onto her shoulders, and jogged down the stairs into the kitchen.
Gwen perched on the edge of a barstool at the expansive center island, her finger poised over the illuminated surface of her holopad. “Did my daughter just come downstairs, or was that a herd of wild beasts?”
Elodie’s lips stretched into an automatic smile. “Morning, Mother,” she chirped, diverting her attention to the smoothie waiting for her on the counter. She lifted the straw. Beige clumps slid off the metal and into the lumpy mixture in the glass.
“Don’t play with your food, dear,” Gwen said without looking up.
“This isn’t my usual. This is . . .” Elodie wrinkled her nose, “ . . . something else.”
With a sigh, Gwen tented her hands and cast Elodie a concerned glance. “I noticed you were getting a little bigger around, you know, this region.” Gwen extended a finger and drew a circle in front of her daughter, encompassing every inch of her not hidden by the kitchen island. “Seems I’ve been indulging you.” Her laughter was like glass breaking. “So I decided straight protein, no fruit sugars or nut butters, was the way to go.”
Elodie’s fingers flew to her collar. “Thanks.” She squeaked as she rubbed the stiff fabric of her scrub top between her thumb and forefinger.
“You have that horrid hat on again.” Gwen brushed back her own bangs from her unlined forehead and fluffed the curled lengths of her artificially blonde hair. “Is something the matter?”
Elodie stiffened. She’d hidden her damp hair for a reason. This morning’s interaction with her mother was already off to a bad start—typical, but bad nonetheless. But without the horrid hat, it would be so much worse.
Elodie stuffed her feelings into the pit of her stomach and covered them with a large gulp of the pasty drink. “Just not that hungry, I guess.”
“Good. See? It’s working already.” Gwen’s blue eyes twinkled, in stark contrast to the acid spilling from the lips below, plump with fresh filler.
“I’m going to be late,” Elodie offered with the same false urgency she’d used with Holly. It wasn’t a lie. Just an unrealized truth. Before Gwen could land another blow, Elodie hooked her thumbs around the straps of her backpack and cut through the open kitchen and living room to the foyer. She’d almost made it out the door when her mother’s shrill call struck her back.
“Oh! Elodie! Your father said he’d be home for dinner this evening, so think about what you’re going to wear.”
Elodie’s surge of excitement was quickly squelched by common sense. Her father was full of promises. If they held any weight, he’d have already sunk to the center of the earth.
“I was thinking the green dress with the flowers,” Gwen continued. “It makes you look so thin. I’ll pull it out and have it pressed. Think of jewelry to go with. I was thinking—”
Elodie closed the front door and sagged against it. “Four more months,” she muttered. “You only have to live with her for four more months.” She adjusted the straps of her backpack and softened as the spring breeze caressed her cheeks.
The best part of her day was about to begin.
II
Aiden’s boots were dirty. He didn’t know how it happened, or where, but he knew if anyone at the Key Corp MediCenter saw, they’d tack the noncompliance to the end of the Shit You’ve Done Wrong So Far Today list. And, although the sun had barely taken its position in the sky, he knew that list was already a mile long.
“Let me get this straight.” Dr. Cath Scott paused to remove a nearly invisible speck of lint from the crisp sleeve of her tailored blouse. The soft wrinkles on the back of her ivory hands told the story of her more than fifty years better than any other part of her. Though if Aiden tilted his head and squinted just right, he could catch a glimpse of the lines feathering around the corners of her kind eyes. “You decided that simply not showing up to your designated workplace was the right thing to do because you . . .” Dr. Scott paused, flicking her fingers across her holopad as she scrolled through Aiden’s most recent disciplinary action sheet. “And I quote, ‘ don’t like the job.’”
Aiden closed one eye, then the other, back and forth, back and forth, making her form shift ever so slightly. He’d sat in Dr. Scott’s office in the same stiff plastic chair, an arm’s length from the rounded edges of her sparkling white desk, and had a version of this conversation more times than he could count. Mornings were his favorite time to get called in, when the sun crested the tall buildings of downtown Westfall and its brilliant beams reflected off the iconic pale pink tower across the street from the MediCenter. Dr. Scott’s wall of windows provided the best view in the entire building. Maybe that was why she remained pleasant even though they continued to meet like this. Aiden would remain pleasant, too, if each morning he was bathed in gentle magnolia light.
The rays seeped through the towering windows, staining Dr. Scott’s mane of blond curls. “What were you thinking?” She squinted, and those thin lines around her eyes flashed to life.
The zippers lining Aiden’s black synthetic-wool coat scraped against the chair as he shrugged and slouched a bit lower. “Like you said, it was simple. And yeah, I don’t like it. Babysitting surgical bots is boring. They’re bots. Get better engineers if their bots are so shitty that they need looking after.”
“Ai-den.” Dr. Scott accentuated each syllable before pursing her lips.
He slouched a little lower.
With a labored sigh, she continued to scroll though his seemingly unending file. “Aiden, you’re in my office at least once a month.”
He brushed his fingers across his full lips, hiding a mischievous upturn of his mouth.
She set down the holopad and tented her fingers. “I’m running out of ways to punish you that aren’t . . . harsh.” A silent threat lingered behind the word.
His gaze washed over the pink building and the MediCenter’s reflection trapped in its windows like the two were locked in a staring contest. Aiden didn’t bother wondering which would win. The MediCenter would. The Key always won. His toes clenched in his boots. “Be harsh. I can handle it.”
Again, Dr. Scott’s thin lips tightened. “This is serious. If certain people were to get wind of the fact that you’ve been bouncing around from career to career, you would end up in Rehabilitation.”