Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

“If you don’t believe in Seahorse, Rita, then why are you here? You already had an amazing job.”

Gupta smiled. “Milford may have brought me here, Tessa, but I stayed because of you. I don’t agree with most of what you say, but I admire how you say it.”

Before Tessa could answer, Gupta’s phone emitted a high-pitched beeping sound from the table.

“Dr. Gupta here.”

She listened for a moment, then nodded her head vigorously.

“On my way.” She put the phone down and spoke to Tessa. “Gwen Harris’s labor has progressed to the point where she is expected to deliver soon.”

“Oh my God,” said Tessa, the weight of their conversation instantly evaporating.

“Shall we go?”

Tessa stood up.

“Oh, and Tessa. One more thing.” The doctor seemed wildly calm at the prospect of delivering conjoined twins. Tessa followed her to the door.

“Luke is a very confused young man,” said Gupta, “possibly lacking a moral center. But inadvertently, what he did for Gwen was an act of kindness.”

“What?” said Tessa. The falling sensation was returning, faint nausea rising, her sense of order spinning into chaos. She reached for the wall to steady herself.

“It’s best that she didn’t know,” said Gupta. “Now let’s go and help her.”

2021

Tessa sat on one of the couches of Room 801 of East Lobe, where Cohort One had gathered for orientation almost nine weeks ago. LaTonya and Kate sat on either side of her, staring at the paintings on the opposite walls. The spare tranquility of the room during orientation had turned to something coldly inhospitable—the polished concrete floor like tundra, the blue-green hues of the abstract paintings like hypothermic skin.

Gwen’s babies had been in surgery to separate them for the past three hours, and the Cohort was waiting for news.

“Why aren’t they communicating with us?” asked Kate. “Tessa, can you do something?”

“They’ll communicate when they have something to tell us,” said Tessa. “Dr. Gupta won’t keep us in the dark.”

“Glad one of us is so confident,” said LaTonya. “Because I sure as shit am not.”

If any doctor could handle Gwen’s situation, Rita Gupta could.

Not that Tessa wasn’t scared. Not that alarm wasn’t a reasonable state.

LaTonya made a choking sound. Tessa moved closer and put her arm around her. On cue, LaTonya’s baby gave a hard kick.

“I felt that one!” said Tessa.

“Tough little dude,” said LaTonya.

Subtly, minutely, Tessa felt the mood among the three of them lift.

Spin your vision toward optimism, Tessa had written in her book. Young women had turned the edict into a chant at Tessa’s speeches as she took the stage: SPIN your vision / toward OP-ti-miiiiiism!

Now more than ever, she thought, it was crucial that she take her own advice.

“Kate, LaTonya,” Tessa said. “We can’t lose our courage now.”

“Mine’s gone,” groaned LaTonya.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Tessa. “Of course it isn’t.”

“And how’re we supposed to be courageous, exactly?” said LaTonya. “What’s the point? What can we do except wait here for news from the docs on Gwen’s fucked-up situation, and then wait longer to go into labor ourselves?”

“That’s it,” said Tessa. “You’ll go into labor, and you’ll deliver your babies and be absolutely fine.”

“And what if we’re not fine?” said Kate. “Why don’t you explain, Tessa , what we can expect if Gwen and her babies are already not fine?”

“You can expect me to make everything fine,” said Tessa, willing herself to believe it. “That’s my job. I will not fail you.”

Neither woman challenged her assertion.

“Gupta, Rita. Authorized to proceed.” The metallic voice of Zeus admitted Dr. Gupta into the room. Kate bolted upright.

“Good afternoon, Cohort One,” said the doctor, eyes smiling as she approached the couches. “I have good news. Gwen and her babies—both of them—are in the clear. You can come see them now.”

2021

Irene’s bed became a plush ship, rocking gently on a calm sea. She floated in the center of it, sinking down into a deeper, warmer place. Into a tepid liquid. A welcoming syrup. Peace. Finally. Henry had done what he’d promised, and now she could rest.

She’d met her daughter, Vivian. Now Irene was ready.

The syrup around her thickened, became too viscous to move inside. To keep her eyes open. She let them close, expecting darkness. Never had she heard any descriptions that hadn’t involved the darkness. Descending, enshrouding, swallowing.

But behind her eyes, only light. Tame and golden, like sunshine at the end of an autumn afternoon. Everywhere was the gilded, honey illumination, surrounding her, filling her, claiming her, becoming her.

Very slowly, Irene moved her hand through the heavy liquid to her mouth. Put her thumb inside it. An ancient reflex. Often practiced in the womb.

The ensuing peace deeper than bone. Further down than the center of the earth.

Somehow, inside the liquid, it was still easy to breathe. In fact, Irene didn’t have to breathe at all. Something else was fortifying her, taking hold, nourishing her from both inside and out, like an umbilical cord.

2021

“Time of death, 11:42 p.m.,” said Johanna briskly into the phone. She’d placed a call to a supervisor at Base to report Irene’s death and request authorization to transport the body, for examination by the medical team in the morning.

Tracy was amazed by the nurse’s composure. She’d assisted a suicide and was now proceeding to aid the escape of a PIT from the Colony. And yet she appeared completely unaffected, as if this were simply another night at work.

He knew it was an act. He knew how hard Johanna must be fighting to keep it together, because he was fighting himself. He’d always felt a deep kinship with her, a sense of being cut from the same cloth.

To watch Irene’s life extinguish, even though she’d wanted it so badly, had cut through Tracy like a blade. He wanted to sit and let himself weep, to talk to Viv about it. Surely she was upset, but right now she stood beside him, straight-backed and stoic, ready to spring into action.

“Shall I bring her to the morgue, or do you want her in cold storage until morning?” Johanna was saying into the phone. “Got it. Yes, very sad. But she was so frail and frankly unhappy. So yes, I’ll complete the Pronouncement of Death and then transport her to cold storage.”

She lowered her phone.

“All clear,” she said. “I’m authorized to move her from the Quarry to Admin B.”

On the gurney, Irene’s body appeared even smaller than it had in life, just minutes before. She probably weighed ninety pounds. A perfect coxswain, Tracy thought.

He wished he’d known her then.

Tracy touched Viv’s shoulder and gestured to the gurney.

Beneath his touch, Viv stiffened. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” said Tracy. “It’s the only way.”

“He’s right,” echoed Johanna softly. “It’ll only be a few minutes. Get on.”

Viv stepped to the gurney and lay down on it, next to her mother. Johanna billowed a sheet down over them and wheeled the bed out of the room, managing to plant a kiss on Tracy’s cheek without breaking stride.

“Good luck to us, honeycakes,” she said to him. “See you outside Admin B.”

At 11:58, the Colony’s alarm screamed through the night. Tracy had been waiting for it. He’d resumed his rounds on foot after parting ways with Johanna and Viv, moving slowly from building to building, cutting the darkness with his flashlight. It had been under fifteen minutes since he’d left them but already felt like a lifetime ago.