Honey catches an old-fashioned Uber to her husband’s funeral.
Very retro. A red Suzuki Swift with an actual human driver behind the wheel. Not a hologram. Nobody liked the holograms. They were ridiculous.
There are two bottles of water in the center console, together with a shiny green tin of spearmint mints. The water bottles are beaded with condensation. The ceiling glitters with starlight and the occasional shooting star.
“It smells so nice in here,” says Honey.
“I mixed it myself,” says the disconcertingly young woman driving the car. “It’s got oak, moss, cedar, and ... well.” She stops abruptly and presses a finger to her mouth. “Sorry! I know you selected ‘quiet preferred.’”
“Oh,” says Honey. “Did I? That’s no problem.”
Quiet preferred.Does she prefer quiet? Who knows what she prefers? What’s the point of choosing a human driver if they’re not allowed to talk?
She watches for the flashes of glittering blue sea in between the houses as they drive the coastal road toward the city. It’s a beautiful big-blue-sky, leaves-swirling autumn day. The kind of day for a big outdoor wedding. Not a funeral. A programming error.
That was what her husband always said when the weather didn’t suit the occasion. It was a joke, but possibly not because Barney believed it “statistically likely” that advanced versions of the human race were running a simulated multiverse. Gravity was amechanismthat proved his point. She didn’t get the part about gravity, but she wasn’t expected to get it.
It was somewhat interesting when he talked about the multiverse. For example, he’d say that there might be another universe whereshewas the tech multibillionaire andhewas the retired makeup artist. His mouth would twitch at that. She asked if there was a universe where they never met, and he said there wasn’t one. They met in every universe. He was a romantic.
“Barney,” she’d say if he went on for too long about the multiverse, “I can feel my engagement levels dropping.” He liked it when she tried to speak his language, whether it be tech-speak or corporate-speak. He found it cute, as though she were speaking with a charming foreign accent. Obviously she had nothing of actual value to say about his work. His work was too important. That would be like moving to France, without knowledge of its culture, language, history, or geography, and then saying, “I have views on France.” Your views would be considered adorable but irrelevant. Of course Barney espoused views the moment his private jet touched down at any airport in the world, whether he’d visited before or not, but he was an extreme genius. Different rules apply for extreme geniuses.
“You’re actually my first ever passenger,” says the girl. “I’m kind of nervous. Not with my driving! I’m a good driver. My grandfather taught me. My parents think it’s unsafe. They’re always telling me how driverless cars save a million lives every year. But I love driving. I love the control.”
“You’re doing great,” says Honey. “This is great.”
It’s not actually that great. Kind of bumpy.
She should alleviate her driver’s nerves by showing interest in her blossoming young life. Honey can smell the fresh scent of youthful hopes and dreams mingling with the cedar and moss.
She opens her mouth. Closes it again. No. She can’t do it. Quiet preferred.
“I recently got out of a relationship with a controlling boyfriend,” says the driver. “So I’ve become very interested in the idea of control.”
“Oh no,” says Honey. “How long were you together?”
“Two weeks,” says the driver.
“Twoweeks?” She must have misheard.
“Yep. The longest two weeks of my life,” says the girl grimly. She slams on the brakes at a traffic light, and Honey’s head bounces against the seat.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” says Honey.
“Thank you,” says the girl. She turns her head slightly and gives Honey a tremulous smile. “I’m doing OK now.”
They turn a corner and the car interior suddenly floods with sunshine. Honey lifts her hands, heavy with stones, and watches the light dance off her jewelry. Barney gave her a Sri Lankan sapphire ring when River was born. He called it a “push” ring. A joke. Obviously she didn’t “push” River out into the world (that was barbaric), but she didn’t use a surrogate, either, because she was traditional and wanted to experience her own pregnancy. Barney thought that was “beautiful.”
Her jewelry could buy her a comfortable small house.
Thoughts like this keep zip-lining across her brain. She knows nothing about Barney’s estate planning, but she won’t be destitute. It’s as though she subconsciously believes she’s about to be deported from her life. Perhaps that’s why she used her old Uber account.
“I have this theory about my ex,” comments the driver.
“What’s that?” asks Honey.What did you learn from your two-week relationship, sweetie?
“I think there’s a reason why he was controlling. It’s because he’d just come out of a long-term AI relationship.”
“Oh, I see,” says Honey, although she doesn’t.
