“Yeah, Brandon! Get some!” The sudden applause and whoop from behind me are startling. “It’s about time someone showed this lesbian what women are for. Didn't think you had it in you! Still, at last you’re finally getting some tail.” Case, or Cain, or I dunno, some other C-name is standing in the doorway leering at me.
He stalks in, grinning. Slaps my ass on the way past. Sadly I don’t have a scalpel handy to stab his hand with. So instead I grab it, twist a little, just enough until he whimpers. “Shut the fuck up, Cody.”
“Erika let go. That’s Chad. He’s Jake’s manager.” Brandon says, warningly.
I let his hand drop, watch him rubbing his wrist. “Sure, Okay, Chud. Brandon, I don’t really care to learn the name of who’s sexually assaulting me.”
“Sexually assaulting? Those are big words to be throwing around about a senior manager, Ms. Morgen. Especially for some girl who just works in the lab. Brandon, Did you see anything? I certainly didn’t see anything?”
“No, Chad,” Brandon says, his voice firm. “Erika, we’ll continue our conversation in my office.”
“You saw him slap— For fuck’s— This isn’t oka—”
“You want that form done or not?” He says, walking out.
“Aaaah.” I dig my nails into my palm, focusing on the sharp bursts of pain. “Fine.”
“What form?” The guy apparently called Chad, asks.
“Bite me, Chud.”
“Brandon, you need to write her up. This is unacceptable.” He shouts out to the hallway as I storm out of the break room. Out of his gaze, I try and place him. Suddenly it comes to me, he really is something moderately senior in finance. Well, shit.
Brandon doesn’t say anything when I catch up, or as we walk down the mercifully empty hallway. He just sips on his cup occasionally. His quiet paces mirrored by the subtle squeak of my converse.
“Brandon, you saw him, for God’s sake.” I try. He ignores me, of course.
“Erika, you know you ignore the dress code. You push other people’s buttons.” He says, just as some other minion from some non-lab department wanders past. “You need to follow the rules.”
“But he— Jesus, Brandon. He slapped— Oh, what the fuck does it matter.” This is a terrible idea. I rack my brain, desperate to come up with another plan. Not even a good plan, just a better one. One that doesn’t involve me being in a room alone with Brandon, and whatever the fuck he wants out of me, but still gets our family out. A plan that still ends with a travel permit to grant us entry to Oregon.
After drawing a blank on any kind of plan B I concede defeat but, in a flash of inspiration that might provide some marginal protection, I drop back for a moment and hit record on my phone. I manage to shove it in my purse just before he turns into his office.
“Close the door,” he says.
“Uh.”
“For fuck’s sake, Erika. I’ll leave the blinds up. I don’t want anyone overhearing and I don’t want you running out the fucking door for no reason.” He walks back over and slams it. “Anyway, I’m not going to ask you to fuck me, you’re not my type.”
He slumps into his chair, waves at the chair on the other side of the desk. “I’d rather stand,” I say, pacing the edge of the room.
“You want some?” He fishes out a bottle of vodka, tops off the coffee with it.
“I got stopped by the cops on the way in for being vaguely near a white line. Then I got felt up by some manager. I don’t think I need to add being fired for drinking at work to this already epic day.”
“You think that isn't a problem for… Nevermind. This is gonna take a minute, so you can sit or stand. Whatever floats your boat.” He starts tapping away on the computer.
I’ve never really looked at his beige cave. Honestly, I’ve tried to spend as little time in here, as little time in close proximity to anyone at Itero, as is humanly possible. There’s a framed doctorate from North Carolina A&T State University sitting next to a bunch of clippings about the founding of Itero that I’ve not noticed before. A couple of awards for innovation early on, along with an article from Nature about a new class of drugs being launched as a result of Itero’s research. It’s so far from Itero’s current existence it may as well be a different company.
In a photo low down, almost hidden by a sad, dead plant, some blonde woman with a short bob hairstyle and a fancy skirt suit is standing one side of a much smaller, but much nicer lab entrance. On the other side two guys, both wearing suits, are standing, both grinning from ear to ear. The bright white of the building and their tan and cream suits making a sharp contrast to the three of them.
“Erika, si’down.” He sighs, waving me away from the photo.
Warily I drop into the seat.
He glances at the door, eyes narrowed, then sucks down half his adulterated coffee.
“So…”
“Wait. Shit. That’s you!?” I say, hopping back up. “Some guy, some woman and you founded Itero? I thought it was all an OstBank Investments thing.” I say, staring at the photo.
“Uh hu.” He says, surprising warmth filling his voice. “That’s Me, Audra, and Tevin. They both had their PhDs’ — I was still finishing up mine. That’s my broke-ass wearing a Goodwill suit. Tevin offered to get me something nicer, didn't want me wearing that for the photo, but I didn't want him to spend more on me than he already was. The house — God, I couldn’t pay my half of the mortgage. He was always covering me. My name isn’t on anything though — too much debt. Would’ve fucked the loan. But yes, I was part of it.”
“How come you’re still… No, never mind.” I say, my earlier anger returning. Brandon's been increasingly vile. Yeah, sure, he once seemed less terrible but now? What does it matter who he once was? What he once was? What this place once was? I don’t want to feel empathy for him, I want to get my fucking permit and be gone. I turn and drop into the seat, just in time for him to take another healthy draft of coffee-liquor, stand, and walk over to stare at the photo.
“Shit… I haven't thought about it in so long.”
“Uh, the travel permit, Brandon?”
“What?” He says, distantly.
“The travel permit. I need a—”
I watch as he reaches out a finger, slowly. Tenderly. He touches Tevin’s face before bringing his finger back. “I’m so sorry I let you down.” He whispers, so quiet it's almost drowned out by the AC.
He stands there for a long time before he starts to talk again, his voice still barely above a breath, “Tevin and Audra? Plane crash. They were on their way back from this deal… The one with OstBank.” He gives the tiniest laugh, pauses, then glances at the door again. “Tevin wanted to be back for my convocation. He chartered them a private flight.
“Never made it back. They said — the investigators — that it was bad weather and the pilot tried to push it. They ran out of fuel. I’ve always had my suspicions though.
“Anyhow. You know what a key person clause is?” I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter really. Basically with both of them dead, it all ended up under OstBank’s control. My contract predates everything — they can’t easily get rid of me. So I fought to keep us doing something like Tevin— like we all wanted. Failed, pretty much. Just a slower death. They just wanted something they could wash their money through.”
The chair creaks as he drops back into it, filling his mug again.
“You’re married to — Katy?”
“Caitlin.” I say, startled.
“Yeah. Can’t be easy. Not now. Both lesbian and you’re definitely not on the approved list of colors.” He laughs bitterly, before taking another sip. “She white?”
“Uh, yeah.” I say, wondering for a moment if I’ve slipped into an alternate dimension. “Scandinavian and Irish. I ran her genome for her.” I find myself saying to fill the space. I blink a few times, dig my nails in again, all of it trying to check I'm not dreaming.
“Fuck,” he says, “Tevin would murder me if he saw what I’ve become. He’d have liked you, though. He’d’ve said something like ‘She’s got moxie’. He always said cliché shit like that.” I watch as tears start to leak from his eyes before he swipes them angrily away. “I’m sorry. I should y’know, have protected you. From the guys out there. From me, now, I guess. Should've at least tried to. Should’ve been less shit.” He sucks in a slow intake of breath. Rubs his temples, sits up.
“I wasn’t expecting him to die. Wasn’t prepared. I mean no one was. No one expects someone to die that young. And then they came in, the investors, tore the place apart. Sold anything that wasn’t bolted down. I thought they were gonna destroy us completely.
“But it’s all I had left of him. We weren’t married — his family or the state took everything else.
“So it’s just this,” he splays open his arms. “That’s what I got. Still a butt-ton of debt, too. Tevin would’ve told me to leave years ago. And he’d tell me off. Tell me I should’ve been better to you. Fuck and Audra’d kick ten types of shit out of me for, well, for everything, really.” He returns to a maudlin silence. Eventually he goes back to tapping at the computer. “You’re leaving, aren’t you.” He says, not looking at me.
“N—”
“Don’t lie. Not if you want that fucking permit.”
I watch him, trying to read what’s going on. This whole thing; is it a trap? It doesn’t feel like it, but it’s fucked up, that's for sure. I close my eyes for a moment, sigh. Admit defeat. “Yeah,” I say, quietly.
“Thought so. It’s about fucking time. You’re wasted here.” He sighs again. “God, I know I’ve said it already, but Tevin would have loved working with you. I read those papers, you know… They’re good. Not good for a girl, just fucking good. Where’d you work before here?”
“Doctorate. You got me straight out after.”
“Bullshit.”
“I had some industry experience during it.”
He stares at me. Waits a beat.
“Still bullshit, but that’s none of mine, I guess.” He leans back, takes another swig, this time straight from the bottle. “You gonna stay in Oregon?”
“Uh, that’s the plan.” I say, digging my nails further into my arm.
Nope, this is not some weird waking dream.
Maybe I'm having a stroke?
“Fair. Honestly, lucky you’ve still got a job with that last round of state rules. Think they’ll soon ban y’all from professions soon. Gotta make more babies for the homeland. Although, not you, you're the wrong color for that. Guess they want you working in service, though. Can't have you thinking. You'll show up the mediocre white guys.
“You know that's why they hate you. You're so far ahead of them. All of them know it.” He stares out at the hall for a moment, slumps a little more — if that’s even possbile. “What’s Caitlin do? Is she gonna be able to keep earning?”
“Foreman. Construction.” I watch his eyebrows shoot up. “If you ever come to Oregon she can tell you how she swung that. Balls of steel. Well, y’know. She'd need ’em.”
“Hey, I know I’m lucky I’ve still got this job. At least none of the guys here have any idea about Tevin. If they did I'd be fucked.” He looks at me for a moment, a flicker of worry that he sloughs off and continues, “The owners though — some of them sure as shit know. They can’t get rid of me though, too many secrets.” He taps his head. “Also, I know how a ton of shit works, and they don't. One day though, they’ll get rid of me.” He draws a finger across his neck. “Probably. Sometimes think I should’a gone with Tevin and Audra, I’d have been better off.”
Brandon turns back to the computer, wakes it from sleep again. “Okay: You’re gonna visit Sabrina Bilski at Beckweth Pharma, 1723 North Burgard Road, Portland, Oregon. I’ll send her an email — I’ll send it to you too — saying you’re coming over there to — well, I’ll work out a reason. Let you know it, too, obviously. Need us so singing from the same hymnal.” He scrolls through the page. “When’d you need to leave?”
“We’re still trying to work that out. Possibly soon. But Caitlin’s contract isn’t up for about five more months.”
“Okay. Well. I’ll give you an open six-month pass then. That’s probably easier. Might cause more questions though so, yeah. Trade off...” He turns back to the screen, mumbles,“Checked valid for multiple trips. Can travel with family.”
“Uh. Technically…”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. You'd think I'd remember, but… It’s gonna look mighty strange listing kids on here.” He pauses, his fingers resting still on the keyboard. Glances back at the photo. “Alright Tevin, I hear you. Asshole was always braver than me.” He turns the screen towards me and shoves the keyboard across the desk. “Stick everyone’s names in. How you persuade Homeland Border Patrol it makes sense is your problem though.”
“Sure.”
“I’d say keep my name out of it but it’s kinda on there.”
“Yeah.”
He clicks a few more times. I watch the loading circle spin for a moment before he twists the screen back round properly towards me. “Well, anyway. You got the HBP app?”
“Kinda have to.”
“Scan this with it, then,” he says. The QR code brings up a page I’ve not seen before — travel permits. My heart’s racing as I flip through checking them. There they are, permits for me, Caitlin, Ash, and ‘Arden’. Relief floods through me.
“You used one before?”
“No.”
“The little menu? You can put copies on everyone’s phones using it. I recommend it. Even though they should have it on their system, they’ll tell you they don’t. At least, they always tell me they can’t find it until I show them the code.” He sighs. “Can’t imagine you’ll fare much better.”
“Probably not, no. Cops always stop me for some bullshit or other.” He nods. “I don't imagine HBP’s gonna be better.”
“Probably not. They never have been for me, anyway.” He hesitates, watching me. “Well, I guess that's that.” He says. The noise from the labs — the whine of some centrifuge spinning up and the thrum of our shitty lab hoods — fills the space left as I see him crumple further into himself. Tevin’s husband utterly disappearing and being replaced again by the shell that's occupied his space for however many years.
I wonder when Brandon disappeared; when he faded away. How long Brandon clung on after Tevin died, whether he managed to at all.
“Hey Brandon,” I say turning back to him, “You want federal funds — you think they really will spring for a vaccine program?”
“Off-the-record, he said yes. Got a few billion allocated already. Guy looked twitchy — never seen that lot say vaccine without adding autism or gender confusion or weakening our natural immunity — but he did. They're scared it's going to fuck women’s fertility up. And something else, I think. Guy was edgy as shit. So I don't know what’s going on, but something bad’s going on.”
“I’ll put together something for the vaccine submissions.” I say. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got some good ideas to build a vaccine for this thing. At least, if it’s anything like I suspect. You can put it all under your name. Then maybe you can get out of this hole, too.”
Brandon looks up at me. “You know this won’t change how I am out there, right. With the guys? I always feel like a piece of shit — more now — but this helps.” He scoops up the vodka, tops off his mug one more time before dropping the bottle into a filing drawer. “But you get it, right?” He looks back at me pleadingly for affirmation. “You get why I need to be seen to be as at least as straight as those dicks out there?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say. “This means a lot, though.” I hold up the permit. “You keep my family safe, it buys you a lot of credit back.” I let a little laugh escape.
“Okay then. Just so long as you’re not expecting me to leap to your defense the next time one of those dicks says something inappropriate.”
“Oh no. Tell you what,” I say, as I glimpse Chad’s shitty suit through the window. “I’ll even help.”
I half hear his questioning ‘What?’ as I swing the door open and storm out. “For fuck’s sake, Brandon. I don’t know how I can make this clearer. No amount of vacation time would induce me to give you a blow job.” I pause as Chad turns round exhibiting an obnoxiously smug face. Again, sadly, I’m without a suitably sharp implement to appropriately deal with that situation, so instead I stalk off to the workspace I commandeered to get something that at least looks like work done with the rest of the day.
#
11:32
:::XL: those idiots in legal fucked us
:::XL: gentechnik wont give us shit
:::XL: and the cdc said its low impact
:::XL: so were waiting on the fuckin states
12:19
:::XL: give us the fuckin genome tav
:::XL: i know you released this so give us the sequence
:::XL: help us fix it
15:48
:::XL: also why tf does oaklen keep talking about some brothel
16:01
:::XL: not that youd tell me you asshole
16:50
:::XL: anyway, your shit old labs been upgraded
:::XL: element biosciences aviti29 arrived today
:::XL: so suck on that i bet wherever youre working doesnt have that
:::XL: think about the toys you could play with if you came back
:::XL: bunch of other shits being unpacked
:::XL: guess im just scooping up your turds after you
:::XL: same old tav fuck off and leave everyone else to clean up
#
I lean back against the door, thunking it closed. Keeping out the world, or trying to. It’s not like the world was good before, not like I wasn’t drowning in endless shit from the government and the news and, well… Anyway. But now? Now I just need five minutes away from it. Five minutes to breathe without some shit head calling me bitch.
“Tough day?” Caitlin says, watching me slide slowly to the floor.
“Could say that, yeah.” I say. Drawing my knees up and hiding behind them.
“Glad you made it home safe. Sorry about that,” she glances backward into the hall, “Stupid cop this morning.”
“Used to it.”
“I know, but that doesn’t make it right.”
I shrug, exhaustion from the constant abuse from the guys today has left me short on spoons. It’s not like it’s new, this whole, ‘The right guy fucking her would fix her,’ concept, but Jesus were they unrelenting today.
“What’s that?” she says, looking at the small stack of boxes next to the door.
“IV fluids, and TPN. Uh, intravenous nutrition. Oh, and a couple of pumps.”
“For…?”
“Uh—” I close my eyes again, speak without looking at her. “In case the kiddos or you catch it. Mostly in case Addy catches it.”
“Ah,” she says, looking away. “Right.”
“Thought it was better to be prepared, and the opportunity was there.” I say.
“You stole it?”
“Took it home for research purposes.” I say, giving a slight smile.
“Uh hu. Anyway, the kids are doing their homework.” She says, glancing upwards. “Or at least, that’s what I think they’re doing. That was the plan. They’re disconcertingly quiet, so it’s either that or the house will soon be on fire.”
“Cool.”
“And you got the permit. Thank you.” She says. Suddenly I realize that some of the strain in her voice has faded away. There’s a little bit of relief lurking deep in there. “We should move these into the closet or something.”
“Yep. I think there’s space in the spare bedroom one. Gonna take them up in a moment. After I’ve crushed today into a tiny little box in my mind and shoved it far back in the corner of my mind, ways away from anywhere I have to think about it.”
“Fair. Probably not wise, but fair.” She taps her fingers on the pile of boxes. Looks back at me. Some of the coolness has returned. “We still need to talk, though.”
“Yeah,” I say, quietly.
“Kids wanna know what’s going on. They were pissed you weren’t home when they got home like we promised.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry Caitlin. I couldn’t get in the lab to clean up some shit and ended up staying late. We got a new memo from senior management today prioritizing all the guys’ projects above mine.” I laugh bitterly. “I’m sure it’s just coincidence, though, that the only woman in the lab, all her projects are bottom of the priority list. Then, since I was already late, I figured I might as well grab this lot. Everyone else’d left which made it easier.”
Caitlin crouches down, places her hand on my arm.
“It’s not for much longer, sweetheart.”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s never gonna get better again.” I say, not really meaning work. Not really meaning the virus.
“It will, though.” Caitlin whispers.
I scrape myself up off the floor at the sudden overhead thumping of feet. “Huh, I didn’t know we had bison.”
“Yeah,” Caitlin smiles, “A herd moved in while I was out at work today.”
“Moms! Is dinner sooooon?” Ash whines from the top of the stairs. “I’m done with my homework.”
“Is Addy done with hers?”
“How would I know?”
“You could ask he—” Before Caitlin finishes, she’s off running back down the hall. Vibrations bouncing the floor.
“It’s sometimes astonishing that the house stays up,” I say, walking through into the kitchen and throwing lasagne in the microwave.
“She’s done!” Ash screams at the top of her lungs.
“Great. Dinner’s in ten.”
We take the opportunity to run the small stack of boxes upstairs while Ash and Addy are doing something that’s, again, disconcertingly quiet. “What’re they doing in there?” I whisper.
“I have no idea, and it’s probably better that way.” Caitlin smiles. “You ready?” she says, as we make it back to the kitchen, sweating slightly.
“Not really.”
#
“So…” I begin. We spent sleepless hours last night trying to hash out what to tell them. “I know you both saw me being kinda upset yesterday.” Cautious nods, performed with mouths still full of lasagne. “And I know you saw the news about this new virus,” I add, looking at Ash.
“Is it going to be bad?”
I glance at Caitlin who seems to be holding her breath.
“I think… I think that it’s probably not going to go very well,” I say, attempting something akin to diplomacy. “You know how we said we were going to move somewhere safer for Addy?”
“Yep,” they say in unison.
“Well, we’re hoping to make that happen sooner. As soon as we can, really. Because we think it might be better for this, there, too. I was upset yesterday because someone I used to know wants me to come work a place I really don’t want to, to help.
“He’s being kinda obnoxious about it… Like you two when you want to go to the state fair, but meaner.” I manage a grin. “That’s really all it is.” I wait a moment, trying to discern how it’s landed. “Questions? Comments? Concerns?”
“What does the virus do?” Addy asks.
“They aren’t sure yet — it seems to make people born with male bodies pretty sick though.” Caitlin says.
“The news said it was people who were intersex?” Ash asks. “I remember you talking about ‘intersexdness’ back when we were talking about Addy?”
Caitlin tosses the grenade to me. “You know how we said the government don’t always — or even often — tell the truth? And we have to be really careful about which news we trust? This is one of those times. I’m pretty certain the people that they’re saying are intersex didn’t start out that way — the virus changed them. But they haven’t said that yet. But hopefully we’ll know more soon.” I watch Addy pushing the salad around her plate before sticking another mouthful of pasta, tomato and cheese in her mouth. “Addy, eat some of your salad. Ash, you too. I know the cheese is the best bit.” I smile at Caitlin who’s shaking her head in despair. “But you still need to eat some of the green things. I promise, they do taste good.”
I watch them cut molecular-beam epitaxy thick slices from the spinach and lettuce and add them to heaps of cheese and pasta. I guess it’s a start.
“If I caught it would it change my body? Would it make me intersex?” Addy asks. “I am pretty certain it would change you, yes, Addy. I can’t guarantee what it would do though.” I say, suddenly wondering if it’d be better to just infect her with a clean copy of the virus. I designed it to stay stable. At least, I believe I did. And from the code I’m pretty certain it’s going to stay stable. But it only takes a few base pairs to fuck things up spectacularly.
“Maybe I should catch it,” she says, sadness inflecting her voice.
“Well I wouldn’t recommend just licking any kid with a virus.” I say gently. “You might end up with entirely the wrong thing — and then you might catch some kind of boy cooties from them.”
“Eeeewww. Addy’s going to get cooties!” Ash jeers.
“Nu-uh.”
“Yeah you are!”
“Hey kiddos, you’re free.” Caitlin says, abruptly conceding defeat on the salad front. “We’ll clear up.”
Suspicion wars with excitement for a few seconds. “Why?” Ash asks.
“Don’t ask why!” Addy says, annoyed.
“But I wanna know.”
“But they might change their minds and I wanna—”
“Your moms have a lot of planning to do,” I say. “We need to talk through a lot of things, and cleaning up is a good time for us to do that.”
“What about desert?”
“We’ll do desert later.” Caitlin says. “I got ice-cream,” she mouths at me, silently.
The vast silence once they’re gone isn’t disturbed by the noise of clean up. It just fills every corner of the room, every piece of furniture, every piece of crockery, every cell of my body.
#
“I don’t know how to fix this,” Caitlin says, quietly. She’s picking at the label of her beer with her work-roughened nails; slowly peeling it away in tiny, shredded pieces. “I love you. That piece is still simple.” That piece may be simple, but so is her obvious disappointment. It’s riven through her voice, cracking it, and splintering her. “I want to fix this, I don’t want to be angry at you. But I am. I’m really, really angry, Erika.”
“Me too.” I say, quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, this all deserves to be ripped to pieces. It deserves to be destroyed. And I’m not — I don’t regret doing something to try and wreck it. But so many people are gonna die beca—”
“That’s not it. I mean, yeah, that is a pretty terrible thing you chose to do. You’re gonna give nearly half the population, or at least the bit of the population that survives, dysphoria. That’s a pretty f’d up, Erika. I know a bunch of those people voted for this asshat, and a bunch more didn’t bother to fight against it, but still. It’s gonna hurt people who didn’t. Who tried to fight. And I should be angrier about that. I should be upset about it. But I’m not. Those people out there? That’s not what I care about. I care about our family and our kids and they would sacrifice Addy — they have sacrificed her for nothing. For them to have some pretend comfort. And they would destroy her. They’d kill her. And I can’t find it in me to care that much for them. Or about what’s going to happen to them.
“But the thing is, you lied to me, Erika. For years. Even when you could have told me the truth, when you could have warned me what was coming for Addy. You didn’t. You just… didn’t. We could have prepared. Made a plan. Fuck, Erika, I could have supported you when you were working on a way to protect her. Hell, on a way to protect everyone. Instead you left me out of it. You lied.
“And I understand why. Logically, I can see at any given moment why you might have chosen not to tell me. And logically I understand that it doesn’t really make a difference, that the disease,” at this she glances towards the living room from where the sounds of some kind of Chinese orchestral soundtrack are floating back towards us. “Is gonna spread anyway.
“I don’t know much about how viruses spread, but I looked it up — and that R value — is that what you call it?” I nod, close enough. “Is insane. If we had competent people in charge it would be almost impossible to contain it… and we don’t.”
“Logically all the individual pieces make sense. I hoped I could work through the anger today. Or at least, see a path through it. But I can’t, not yet. I still need time, I think. I need time to figure this out.”
I watch her slowly rolling the now empty bottle back and forth. Listen to the tink-tink noises of the glass against the stone counter.
“Do you want…?” I trail off, not able to say the words that paralyze my thoughts.
“No, Erika. No. Like I said before, we’re a team. We’re still a team. I’m not going anywhere. More to the point,” she says with watching me with fierce intensity, “You’re not going anywhere. So you can put that thought out of your head.”
We sit silently for a while, bathing in the reassuring ordinariness of Addy and Ash’s gaming.
“I wish I could go back and do it differently,” I whisper. “Tell you not long after I met the kids. But even now I don’t know how I could. That doctor who threatened to add me to the register of intersex people, we’d been together-together for like a year then? I knew you wouldn’t tell anyone… God, I thought you were going to stab the a-hole when he brought it up. But like, it felt like the more people who knew, the greater the risk. And then, like, having create—” I glance over, checking they’re not listening. I take comfort from the fact there’s still some kinda play happening: Ash’s explaining to Addy how they’ll work as a team to find some person… “Knowing there was something that was gonna spread regardless of what I did? Even if I turned myself into these dumb fu-olks at the CDC, they’d still be out there telling people to get whatever pointless mineral solution they’re selling for a five thousand percent markup. They wouldn’t know an actual preventative measure if it bit them.
“But I do wish I’d found a way to tell you. Because you didn’t deserve this — nor did Ash, or Addy. Well, Addy, maybe she deserved part of it…” I smile a little, Caitlin doesn’t smile back. “Anyhow.”
“We’ve got a whole nuther pile of stuff to do.” She sighs. Stands the bottle up. “I’m gonna grab my phone, we can go over the packing lists.”
“Hey Caitlin? Are we gonna be okay?”
“I hope so.”