you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” We’ve stopped moving, so this is it. Reality. I should take off my plant bracelet. I should give it back to him. But I don’t. Even if I have to lose him, I want to hold onto this memory.
“I mean, I don’t want to say good-bye in front of everybody. I want to say good-bye here, when it’s just the two of us. I want to look back on this moment and remember how it feels to be the only two people in the world.”
That’s what I want, too. Tomorrow I will start my new life, a life without him. Tomorrow I will try to forget my love. Tomorrow I will need to be strong. I don’t want to see him tomorrow, either.
Cold fingertips brush against my arms. I step blindly in his direction and slip on a loose rock. He catches me, like he always does. Like he never will again. My lips seek his in the darkness, brushing against his jaw. The stubble scratches me. I turn, so I can feel more of the abrasion against my cheek, and his mouth captures mine.
The kiss tastes like dewdrops and a baby’s tears and the mist in a foggy night. It feels like dandelion fluff and tree sap and the sting of a bee.
It lasts an eternity, but it’s over too soon. I regret the kiss, for I will never, ever forget it.
“I will always remember you, Callie.”
Good-bye, Logan. Good-bye.
When I get back to the hut, Angela’s feeding a fire in the indoor pit. I join her on the ground and warm my hands at the flame.
“You’re still awake?” I ask.
“I was waiting for you.” She pokes the fire with a long stick. “How are you?”
“I’m alive. And breathing.”
“Sometimes that’s about all we can ask.”
Sweat forms on my neck, even though cool air presses against my back. The fire crackles and hisses, and threads of gray dance around us before floating to the roof and escaping through the hole. I wish I could disappear right along with the smoke.
“You must’ve heard.” Angela’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Mikey asked me to marry him.”
I look up. “That’s wonderful.”
“I said no.”
Scooting over, I pick up her hand. It hangs limply against my fingers, as if the bones inside have turned to liquid. “You love each other. Why won’t you marry him?”
“You know why.” She squeezes her eyes tight, but tears seep out the corners anyway. “He yearns for children, and that’s something I can never give him.”
I let go of her hand and stand up, stepping away from the fire. I’m suddenly too warm, and I whip off my long-sleeved shirt, revealing the simple white tank underneath. “He’s here, Angela. Right here, right in front of you. It’s not like he’s going back to civilization.”
I rub my chest through the thin cotton material. Stop it. Just because my heart’s broken doesn’t mean I have to fling the shards at Angela.
Crouching down, I rest my cheek on my knee. “You’ve already changed the course of your future by coming here. Your memory might not come true. You could be so happy, Angela. Your little girl could grow up here, completely safe. You could see her midnight eyes widen at a flapping fish. You could braid wildflowers into her spider-soft hair.”
She shakes her head, terror gripping every line of her face. “I won’t take that risk. Not for me. Or my baby.” Her words are resolute. Final.
I want to argue with her, but I can’t.
I’d like to live in a world where love conquers all. But maybe we gave up that privilege when the Technology Boom changed our society. Maybe when we built a world based on images of the future, we bargained away our dreams. We traded in the passion of our souls, the passion that burns on hope and desire and possibility. And all we got in return was security. Goals already achieved. A life already lived. And in my case and Zed’s and Angela’s, a nightmare come to life.
Maybe we would’ve been better off if those memories had never been sent. Maybe we could learn to breathe again if we could only forget tomorrow.
The pine needles crunch as Angela tosses and turns. Her breath comes erratically. Sometimes, she gulps air as if there’s a shortage of oxygen. Other times, I don’t hear her breathe at all, and I’m tempted to cross the room and check her pulse. Finally, she settles, but sleep continues to elude me.
I reach for