“I never said I forget what you do,” he says. “I just keep forgetting your title.”
I only stare at him, my impatience building.
“What?” he says. “It keeps changing. Doesn’t it keep changing?”
“No.”
Adam’s frown deepens. “But you’ve had a couple of title changes, right?” He bounces his knee again and I snag on the sight of his unforgivable laces, the pinched toe box, the triple-knotted mess. The pounding in my head is only getting worse. I’m reminding myself to say nothing about his shoes, to keep my unsolicited advice to myself, when he adds, “I thought you were a chief commander of something. Or head of state. But the robot just called you General. I think it’s fair to say it’s a little confusing.”
“It’s not confusing,” I say coldly. “Juliette is head of state. I’m general of defense.”
“Can you remind me again how those jobs are different?”
“No.”
“Itisnew, though, right? Weren’t you recently promoted?”
“No.”
I silence another series of incoming notifications on my pager, scrolling through at least a dozen urgent missives to glance at the few highlighted as priority—
Nothing to report. Calm down. She’s sleeping.
STOP FUCKING PAGING ME
Bro I think James is on his period
Inconclusive, sir. We’ll need another extract from the vial in order to run a new set of trials
I stretch my neck and clench the pager too tightly in my fist, trying to release the tension radiating through my shoulders. I fight to organize my thoughts, but there are too many things vying for my attention. My mind is like a faulty camera lens, hunting for focus and failing.
My head is overrun.
Hugo’s soft cries are haunting me; echoes of Rosabelle’s skittish movements continue to susurrate through my memory; the low buzz of overhead lights is compounding my headache; the bouncing of Adam’s foot is starting to drive me insane.
I close my eyes. Open them.
I miss my wife.
I want to go home.
“Oh,” Adam is saying, his frown deepening. “Maybe I’m thinking of Kenji? Did Kenji get a promotion?”
“Two years ago,” I say, forcing myself to be present.
Adam’s confusion is palpable and annoying. “Someonegot a promotion, though, right?” he says. “Why do I feel like someone got a promotion?”
“Maybe you’re thinking of James,” I say unkindly. Too sharply. “Who was recentlydemoted.”
Adam sits back in his chair, one foot propped up on his knee. Bouncing. “Hey, whoa—I’m on your side in this, okay? I’m just as pissed off at James as you are.”
“I doubt that.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Whatever. It’s not a competition.”
I can’t seem to breathe deeply enough. This pounding in my skull is nearly blinding. I tell myself to return to center, to finish out this session, to focus only on the emergencies ahead of me.Priorities.Instead, I hear myself snap: “Your sneakers are too big for you.”
Adam’s head shoots up. “My what?”
