“You do?”
“Oh, Livi.” She sighed. “Of course. Your childhood was a series of one-act plays, stand-up sets, and everything you could think of. Parts of us were so grateful for it, and parts of us were saddened by it.” She tilted her head in thought. “We thought it was just how you coped.”
Every square inch of me had carried the consequence of living. “I just wanted you to be happy,” I said quietly. “I felt enormous pressure.”Pressure. I was stricken. My life as their entertainer, my life as one now: both pressures I didn’t want to hold. “Mom?” My eyes filled with fresh tears.
Her gaze was intent. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I hated that Sabrina’s story made it onto social media without anyone running it by me first. The network promised me this documentary opportunity...” I summarized my addiction and Soulmail idea for her. “But Samantha’s right. We probably need more time to understand how Soulmail impacts recovery. I’m out of ideas.”
Mom thought for a moment. “I understand your desire to keep Sabrina’s specific story out of it,” she said. “But don’t forget, Olivia, you’re a person with your own story, too. If you wanted to pursue that idea further, maybe you could create somethingthat’s new-ish. There must be pros and cons to Soulmail’s impact on addiction. The right soulmate could give someone a sense of purpose, but what if people become overly reliant on their soulmate? What if learning their soulmate’s identity is a substance trigger? Or what if they feel pressured to fulfill the needs of their soulmate at the cost of their own recovery? That could be interesting to explore, and to anticipate.” She shrugged. “Everything is complicated.”
Everything is complicated: the Olivia Adler story. “Those are great points,” I said. I could feel my brain firing the options. I stood to retrieve my notebook.
Dad reappeared. “You really need to use wall anchors,” he grumbled.
My mother reached to clasp my arm. “I wish you hadn’t felt the need to try to save us, honey. We never wished for you to be our entertainer. We only wanted you to thrive. You’re enough, just being you.”
Just being me. I could do something else and be okay. The thought settled, turned over, rooted in my gut. And for the first time since Soulmail, I felt like if I made one more big choice, I could slip from that fake dimension, see the glimmer of the person I used to be.
Forty-Two
Since it was Sunday night, I opted for an email instead of a phone call. After my family left, I drafted an outline of the documentary pitch, let it marinate for an hour, then sent it to Samantha. She called me four minutes later.
“That was quick,” I said to answer.
“Would’ve been quicker if it was easier to get through to you.” She paused. “It’s a good idea.”
Buoyancy rushed through me. “It is, right?”
“Yes. But—”
“It’ll also keep evolving,” I interrupted. “Doesn’t this feel like it could do something? It’s the first time in a while we may be able to prevent something snowballing into a bigger problem. I’m in a unique position to argue both for and against Soulmail, and maybe if we provide people with the right resources, we can...” Prevent tragedy. Lessen pain.Make a differencewas too cliché. “Help,” I finished.
“It’s a huge undertaking,” Samantha said.
In the silence that followed, I squeezed my phone. “You told me to ‘keep chewing’. And it’s in my contract that Per Diem would let me produce a documentary.”
“And we will. But I’ve been told to be clear about something.” Displeasure was evident in her tone, warning bells clanging into my spine. “That was a verbal promise, not a contractual one. We gave you our word in that meeting. It’s just as g—”
I hung up. Checked my contract, perfectly negotiated by agent extraordinaire Chuck Wheeler and company, the one I’d DocuSigned without reading but for the salary.
I’d been such a fool.
I wrote the word NO on an index card, which I considered my reference point in case someone pushed back. I left messages for my agent’s team, my relief at talking to their voicemails instead of them so palpable I could taste it. I then dialed up the chain of command, starting with Samantha. When she begged me to stay, I pressed the callus of my thumb on the corner of the index card, the pressure a refrain. NO. NO. NO. I assured people, again and again, it wasn’t the money, the working conditions, or a lack of gratitude. It was all me.
“We’ll announce when you’re ready,” Samantha said.
“This isn’t two weeks’ notice. This is immediate.”
“I hear you. I do. But come in to meet tomorrow morning. We can figure something out that works best for all parties.”
But my interest was no longer in all parties. I made no promises. When we hung up, I sent an email to Yvonne that began withI’m sorry. Then, I balanced my iPad on the shelf Dad fixed, my phone on another, and fired up my social media livestreams. I was vain enough to use my ring light and not vain enough to change out of my old sweatshirt. I didn’t care who saw it, but I knew I’d watch it at some point in my life. I didn’t want to spend the time thinking about video quality or bad lighting.
“I’m here tonight to say that I’ve decided to step down from my role at Per Diem news,” I said into the lens. “Soulmail has shifted the world in ways that are both large-scale and deeply personal. My life has certainly changed, and I’m guessing yours has, too. I learned a long time ago that pain is a horribly good teacher. Some of you may have seen a post about my sister—” My throat worked over her name. “Sabrina. I don’t talk about her publicly because her memory is very painful to my family.Sabrina lost her life in an accident that was a direct result of using ketamine. Growing up, I was a girl with a big sister who became a ghost story in my small Cape Cod town.”
I lifted my chin. “The pain of losing someone is specific. Soulmail has brought with it pleasure and pain, and getting to live this life in the world of television news has taught me that pain can be a universal.
“We’re so reliant on technology that now we allow it to tell us who we love. Even though I’m quitting, I still know it’s true that Soulmail recognizes our existing or future bonds. It’s undeniable. But it’s also dictated human behavior in a way that no one would have thought possible. I’m no longer willing to allow this to dictate my life.” I wouldn’t let AI or whatever was behind Soulmail tell me who to love, how to love, and when to love, either. “Time is another great teacher, and I’ve learned my lesson.” I blinked, the corners of my mouth curving into a smile. “I’ll be back when I want to be.”
