When I was done, I waited to cry, but nothing came. If I could call the little girl I once was, the daughter of a fisherman, the only child by way of a deceased sister, and tell her that I turned down a job that paid more money than I could ever imagine, that little girl would have reached through the phone and punched her older face. It was an enormous privilege, a terrifying one, to turn down this opportunity for the chance to reclaim anonymity.
After I downloaded new budgeting software, I FaceTimed Nat and told her everything from dumping Wells to quitting Per Diem. She reacted precisely how I needed her to, as usual. (“You’re kidding.” “You’re—what?” “Soulmail clearly makes mistakes, and you and Wells are living proof.” A gasp, her handto the spot where her collarbone curves. “Oh, your parents. My heart. No.”)
“I love you so much,” I said tearfully. “I wish you were my soulmate.”
“There’s room for us both,” she said. “And it’s my job as your soulmate to remind you to cancel your 4:00 a.m. alarm.”
“Already did.” I yawned.
“Wanna fall asleep over FaceTime like we’re in middle school?”
“Definitely.”
But she must’ve shut it off at some point, because the next morning, I woke to her calling me.
“Finally,” she said. “Getting ahold of you sucks.”
Apple’s genius setting. I yawned. “What’s up?”
“Turn on Per Diem,” Natalie said. “Now.”
Phoebe was in my chair. Arguably, it was her spot in the first place—Josef said he preferred to be on my left so the camera could capture his good side. But they had replaced her old chair for my new one.
She was tanned and glowy, despite it being late October in the northeast. I was filled with a sense of certainty that glued my cells together: She never should’ve been removed from that spot.
“They lured her back?” I said. “That was quick.”
“Shh,” Natalie said. “Not that.” She paused. “Itwasfast, right?”
I waited, and when the camera shifted to the morning’s guest, my mouth went dry. “Oh, my god.”
Caleb was dressed in a suit cut so perfectly for him it made me ache. It was probably the one he’d intended to wear to my big event, the one that felt like it took place last century yet was somehow less than forty-eight hours ago. Behind him was a screen advertisingThe Longevity Project, with a snapshotI recognized: that yawning tunnel my back had been braced against, the constellations of people.
“And you’re close with our good friend Olivia,” Josef said.
Caleb gave a jerky nod. “Yes. Childhood friends. This appearance was meant to surprise her,” he added.
He was terrible on television, which made me want to kiss him even more.
Phoebe jumped in to smooth it over. “We’re all glad Olivia’s taking the time she needs.”
“So that’s the narrative they’re pushing,” I muttered.
“Shush,” Natalie admonished on the line, and I fell silent.
“Where did this idea come from?” Phoebe prompted.
Inexplicably, Caleb nodded. Like his mouth was full, and he was waiting to answer the question. He shifted in the chair. Beneath the perfect five-o’clock shadow scruff he sported, he pinked. “A group of friends and I were talking about archives.” His voice was flat. “I thought about how this time we’re all living in is one that’s changed society as we know it, and I wanted to document it in a new way.”
Josef leaned back, folding his arms. HisI’m listening, I’m cool, we’re palsposture. “And these little clusters—they tell us who our best matches are in life, essentially,” he said.
“Sort of. They illustrate the constant presences in our lives, and when there are confirmed overlaps, we can see the strength of the relationships,” Caleb said.
“He’s a robot,” I whispered.
“Cameras are not his friend,” Nat agreed.
“It’s a very intriguing exhibit.” Phoebe turned to the lens. When I looked closely, I saw it: the slightest tick of her eyes as she read the teleprompter. “The exhibit is now open, and we encourage you to visit the website on the screen to register your own soulmate.”
