Forty
The young waitress looked out of place. With her long chestnut hair, pulled back into a ponytail, wide-set blue eyes, and perfectly symmetrical features, she could have been a model. I wondered what made her choose a job as a waitress in this grimy café, serving sunburned parents and screaming children and cleaning up dirty dishes.
I wondered if she had any idea how I envied her. She had the freedom to do whatever she wanted, to be whoever she wanted to be. I planned on having that kind of freedom. Soon.
A man’s shout rang out from somewhere down the boardwalk, and I stiffened in the wooden chair. I glanced out the window, and faster than ever, my android functions took over.
Target: Located.
A zoomed-in image of a short, potbellied man wearing a wide-brimmed hat appeared before me. I watched as he shouted again at two kids, who were down on the beach and running for the waves, fully clothed.
No threat detected.
If I’d learned one thing in all of this, it was that fighting the reality of my capabilities did me no good. It was better to just accept them. They made things easier.
Sometimes I wondered if being less human would make things easier.
My hand clasped around the pendant that dangled from my neck. I’d never understood why a phony birthstone had meant so much to her, but she’d wanted me to have it, and I was glad. It was the only physical reminder of her I had, and while my android logic fought against getting attached to an inanimate object, the gemstone offered me some small measure of comfort all the same.
My eyes stung, so I stared outside at where the sun burned bright, refusing to allow the tears to fall. The beachfront café’s open windows allowed the scent of salt and fish to waft inside. Seagulls screeched, the ocean rumbled, and everywhere, the sound of chattering tourists.
I toyed with the cold french fries on my plate, sipped at the iced tea the waitress had already refilled twice. Much longer, and I’d probably need to order something new to justify the booth. This was the first time I’d even attempted to eat anything since I’d escaped Holland—it seemed ridiculous to waste money on food that I didn’t really need. Plus my programmed appetite obviously responded to my emotional state, because it was nonexistent. And now that I hadn’t eaten in so long, the whole process felt . . . unnecessary.
A hint of anxiety niggled at me, as it had when I’d first ordered and found I didn’t really want anything. Like maybe when I stopped doing human things, the humanity in me would just fade away.
A few tables over, my waitress interacted with another group of customers. I watched the way she laughed down at a squirming child. She’d been nothing but friendly, smiling every time and asking me to flag her down if I needed more. She must have a wonderful life away from work to be so cheerful, I’d decided.
I looked out the window again, not expecting to see anyone I knew. He’d probably decided not to show. I couldn’t blame him. Who in their right mind would fly from Minnesota to Virginia Beach to meet a girl they’d only known for a few brief days?
With or without him, I’d evade Holland, Three, and the Vita Obscura, if they really existed, and I’d track down this Richard Grady, whoever he was. He’d tell me what he knew, and after that, I’d try to get on with my life.
I really, really hoped that life involved Hunter. But my chances weren’t looking good.
I reached down to brush a few lingering grains of sand from my flip-flopped foot. When I sat back up, I saw him. He walked down the boardwalk, his hair as long and wavy as ever, hands stuffed into the pockets of his green hoodie, his calves bared by a pair of cargo shorts. Just outside the door, he hesitated and looked over his shoulder, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to turn around and walk away. My breathing quickened. I wanted to shout out to him, but instead I sat there silently, clinging to my iced tea glass like it was my only salvation.
He had to make this final choice all on his own. And it wasn’t like I could blame him for having doubts. He had to be wondering what the heck was going on. What kind of trouble I’d managed to get myself into.
And then he was looking into the café, and his hand was pulling open the door.
I’d meant to stay reserved, so that I didn’t freak him out as soon as he walked inside by assaulting him with one hundred and twenty pounds of emotionally flawed android enthusiasm. But somehow I’d propelled myself to my feet and pushed away from the table, and by the time he entered the cafe I was running.
I paused just before I reached him, suddenly realizing what I was doing and how everyone was staring, and good grief, that he was probably expecting a handshake and here I was, about to plow him to the ground. But then he opened his arms, and I flung myself into them.
Well, carefully flung, of course. Tackling my dream boy with the force of three juiced-up linebackers, as Kaylee used to say, probably wasn’t the best way to make an impression.
“You made it,” I whispered into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him. Suddenly, my earlier anxiety about fading humanity seemed sillier than ever.
He squeezed me tight. “You still owe me another date, remember?”
I choked back a laugh as we stood there in the middle of the café, me hugging him like my life depended on it. And maybe it did.
Now that he was here, I felt like the reasons behind this impromptu meeting could wait.
Maybe forever.
