LOVE YOU
Eight
Trevor lived in what had been a nice, upper middle-class neighborhood several decades ago. Back when there actually was a middle class. Now, though, it was now mostly inhabited by ghosts. Having been here dozens of times, I barely noticed the overgrown lawns and boarded up windows and doors as I drove. The no trespassing signs posted every few houses stood out more but only because they’d done little to deter the curious or desperate. Graffiti was common in places like this, and more than one house had been decorated by vandals. Some of it was more on the artistic side. The kind that took lots of time and talent, as well as dozens of cans of spray paint. Most of the vandalism, though, were sloppy acts of teenage rebellion. Phallic symbols and professions of love or hate, or just a name with a declaration that so-and-so had been here. That kind of thing.
I drove the familiar streets without taking much of it in, my ancient Honda Civic’s engine puttering out a tune that made it seem like it was begging to be put out of its misery, and my mind wandering as I replayed the meeting I’d had with Hilary the day before. And what would happen next. I didn’t want to focus on any of it. It was my birthday, after all. Too bad it was all I could think about. I’d barely slept, my thoughts too full of everything I’d learned and everything I faced, and as a result, I was dragging. But I was determined to have a good time. To not let this thing interfere with my life any more than it was already going to.
I was pretty sure it was impossible.
The neighborhood was expansive, the houses large and still regal despite time and neglect, and even with everything else going on, I soon found my mind wandering to what things had looked like before the pandemics. Back then, these lawns would have been immaculate, and the landscaping lush and pristine. There would have been children playing in yards and riding bikes down the street, and music would have floated from back yards while the scent of grilling meat filled the air. It was difficult to picture, despite the many movies I’d seen from that time, and even harder to comprehend. People used to have so much. These days, only the lucky few lived in houses like this. Those of us barely scraping by made do with small, rundown homes or apartments.
Trevor was one of the lucky ones, but I didn’t begrudge him that. He had a degree thanks to money he’d inherited when his grandfather died during the RNAB pandemic of 2040, and had spent it well, getting an undergraduate degree before going off to law school. Now he had a small but profitable practice and was one of only three people I knew who actually owned a house. Not that I knew a lot of people.
I turned onto his street, my mood brightening when I spotted his expansive two-story home at the end of the cul-de-sac. It looked exactly how I’d imagined all these houses had before the pandemics. The grass immaculate, the bushes cut into rectangles, and not a single branch out of place. No weeds sullied the lawn, and hostas and hydrangeas lined the flower beds, their bright purple blooms adding a cheery look to the home.
The street was one of only three small sections in the neighborhood still in use. Four other houses in and near the cul-de-sac were currently inhabited, and while none were as immaculate as Trevor’s, the area didn’t look anywhere near as forlorn as the front of the neighborhood had. Although, there were still plenty of boarded up houses on the road.
I was halfway down the street when the garage door of one of the abandoned homes caught my eye. I slowed, my hands tensing on the steering wheel as I stared at the red letters painted across it. They’d been done hastily, the paint running so it almostlooked like the words were bleeding and had clearly been done by someone who wasn’t used to writing in spray paint. Despite that, they were perfectly legible.
DOWN WITH THE FERTILITY ACT
I shivered as my earlier worries came screaming back, and pressed my foot on the gas, desperate to get away from the words or get to Trevor. I wasn’t sure which.
I was driving much too fast for a neighborhood, which was why I couldn’t exactly fault the man who lived two houses down from the vandalized one when he waved his middle finger and shouted, but I also couldn’t force myself to slow. I was trembling, and a sudden panic had come over me that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I felt out of control, unable to catch my breath, unable to stop the growing sense of doom from taking over.
By the time I screeched to a stop in the middle of Trevor’s driveway, I was sobbing. And furious. Furious at myself for letting these people get to me, furious at the government for thinking they could do this to me, furious at the pandemics that had ruined the future I should have had. It was so unfair. So goddamn unfair!
The engine still puttering away, I slammed my car into park, put my face in my hands, and cried. The tears were fat and acidic, and the sobs violent enough that they shook not just my body, but the whole car as well. I felt like I was mourning. Like something huge and life-altering had been ripped from me, and the feeling was so overwhelming I couldn’t begin to comprehend how I would ever make it through this. I had to, had to figure out how to stay strong and hold on to myself even though nothing was within my control, but I didn’t know how I was going to manage. It seemed like much too big of a thing.
I was still sitting like that several minutes later when someone tapped on my window. I swiped the back of my hand across my face like that would hide how out of control I was and peered up into Trevor’s concerned gray eyes. He muttered something I couldn’t hear, then tried the door, which was locked. You couldn’ttrust people these days, and I would never dream of going anywhere without my door locked and my pepper spray in my purse. Even a nice area like this.
Trevor’s words were muffled when he said, “Unlock the door.”
I obeyed, and he opened it. Reaching over me, he turned off my car and pulled the keys from the ignition, then took my arm and urged me to climb out. I had to undo my belt, but once I had, I allowed him to pull me from the car and wrap me in a hug. The feel of his arms around me combined with his more than familiar scent had my walls crumbling for the second time, and I once again began to sob.
We were in the middle of the driveway, my car door still open and the neighbor who’d flipped me the bird no doubt watching, but I couldn’t care. I’d tried to be strong, tried not to let the past close in on me, tried not to let the future weigh me down, but it was all too much.
“It’s going to be okay,” Trevor whispered after a few seconds. “You know that, right?”
I swallowed, trying to find my voice, and shook my head when I failed.
He pulled back so he could look me in the eye, his hands still on my shoulders and his touch firm but comforting. “Ara, you are the strongest person I know. You will get through this.”
Again, I swallowed, and this time, managed to say, “I don’t know how.”
Trevor’s mouth turned down and his eyes narrowed, taking me in before whispering, “Is this about more than the program? Is it about something from your past? Something that happened when we were kids?”
It was, but I didn’t know how he knew that. No one did.
When I said nothing, he sighed. “Let’s go inside and get a drink. Then if you feel like talking to me, you can. You don’t have to but know I’m here for you and that no matter what you say, I will never judge you, Ara.Never.”
I believed him, but what was more, for the first time ever, I wanted to unburden myself. Wanted to spill my guts to someone.Wanted another living person to truly know who I was. The problem was, I didn’t want Trevor to get in trouble. And he could. If anyone ever found out he knew what I’d done and hadn’t told anyone, he would be in as much trouble as me.
Trevor led me inside then forced me to sit on his plush, overstuffed couch before heading to the kitchen. While I waited, I stared at the sparkling pool that took up most of the back yard, thinking about how nice it would have been to have this kind of security. Not just the money, either, but the certainty that no one was going to take my rights away. Although, it wasn’t like Trevor was all that secure. Not in this world of ever-changing laws and societal rules. He was a gay man, after all, and life had never been easy for people like him.
He returned with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses but didn’t utter a word when he set them on the table, and he didn’t look at me as he filled first one glass and then the other. He passed me one, then set the bottle down before grabbing the other glass and taking a seat at my side.
Trevor clinked his glass against mine, a sympathetic smile on his face. “I know it doesn’t seem like you have a whole lot to celebrate at the moment, but since it’s your birthday and you’re pretty much my favorite person in the whole world, I would like to propose a toast.”
