“There’s nothing to see! She’s not on camera. She’s still recovering. According to medical professionals at the Keystone Emergency Birthcenter, twin girls were delivered via C-section. . . .”
I tell myself that this is normal. I personally know dozens of girls who have been sliced open, not to mention millions of anonymous girls all around the world. But this is different. This is my sister being cut in half.
“The twins were breech and this was the optimal choice for delivery.”
I can’t even hear what he’s saying now because my ears are ringing with the roar of my stifled tears.
“Mel, what’s wrong? Harmony’s fine. . . .”
And that’s when I start bawling.
“They just cut her open!” I yell. “How is that fine?”
“It was the optimal choice for delivery. . . .” he repeats.
I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, desperate to see for myself what’s happening to my sister.
“This is all my fault.”
“How is this possibly your fault?”
“THIS. IS. ALL. MY. FAULT.”
I’m inconsolable because it’s true.
“You didn’t get her pregnant. She got herself pregnant when she decided to have sex with Jondoe. It was her choice. Not yours.”
“I should have never let her come here. I should have sent her back to Goodside when I had the chance.”
“She came here to escape her oppressive life in Goodside, Mel. She didn’t want to be married to Ram. She came here . . .” His eyes are darting back and forth faster than I ever thought possible. “Oh! Sweet Darwin!”
“What! What?”
“Your parents are doing a Q&A . . .”
“My parents know that I’m not pregging?”
“Why don’t you understand this? Everyone on the MiNet knows.”
I’m bruising my eyeballs, I’m winking and blinking so hard.
“Why can’t I log on?”
“Yeah. About that.” He smiles sheepishly. “I took the liberty of preemptively taking you off the grid.”
“You! The anti-censorship crusader! Who has never NOT hacked into a MiNet blind! You! Have taken me! Off the grid! Gahhhh!”
Yelling nonsensically isn’t working, so I reel back and punch him as hard as I can in his Ping-Pong serving arm.
“Owwwww! I did it for your own good!”
“Put me back on right now! I need to know what’s going on!”
“Trust me, Mel, you don’t need to know any more about what’s happening than what I’m telling you. You don’t want to see what the haters are saying about you right now.”
I can only imagine what the MiNet reaction is to Jondoe’s confession. I’m counterfeit. A renegger. A janky famegamer who didn’t deserve to get breedy with the likes of a perfect specimen like Jondoe in the first place. But I really don’t care about a plunge in my popularity rankings right now. In truth, I’d welcome it.
“YOU’RE NOT TELLING ME ANYTHING. TELL ME WHAT MY PARENTS ARE SAYING RIGHT NOW.”
Zen sticks his finger in his ear and adjusts his earbud.
“I can’t hear anything if you keep screaming into my ear.”
I clamp my mouth shut and watch Zen as he watches my parents on the MiNet. He’s trying to keep a straight face, but his mouth is all twitchy. After a few seconds of silence his jaw goes slack. “Ooooooooooh.”
“What?”
“Yeah . . . um . . . Your parents are . . .”
“WHAT?”
Disowning me. Unadopting me. Arranging a return on damaged merchandise with Good Shepherd Family Placement Services.
“Defending you.”
“What?” I hit him again. “What do you mean? What are they saying specifically?”
“Well,” his eyes flit back and forth. “They’re saying that no way could any daughter of theirs have done something like this because they didn’t raise you that way.”
They didn’t raise me at all. They outsourced to a team of experts.
He tilts his head as if to get a better listen. “You are a young woman of honor and integrity, who has never disappointed them or anyone you’ve ever made a promise to.”
I’m stunned. I’ve never heard my parents say anything like this about me before. Honor and integrity are not quantifiable high-revenue qualities that promise a solid return on the parental unit’s investment.
This doesn’t sound like Ash and Ty. At all.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m just reporting what they’re saying . . .”
“Which you wouldn’t even have to do if you weren’t such a MiNet-blinding hackass . . .”
He shushes me. “Ash and Ty are saying that you have always taken your reproductive responsibilities very seriously and . . .” He looks at me. “You sure you want to hear this?”
I nod.
“They’re accusing Jondoe of pulling this stunt to grab attention for his flaccid brand; you know, because he hasn’t officially bumped anyone since The Hotties went public. They’re saying you have too much compassion for the Jaydens to participate in such a scummy scam.”
Compassion. Another low-value trait I was never encouraged to develop. Do my parents really believe what they’re saying? Or are they following a PR script?
“Have Lib or the Jaydens gone public yet?”
Zen shakes his head. “No, they’re conspicuously absent from the media frenzy. They’re probably headed to the birthcenter right now, just like us.”
He pauses, then looks at me in a way that lets me know that I’ve got his full attention. At least for the moment.
“Do you know what you’re going to say when we get to the birthcenter? By the time we get there, the place will be surrounded.”
“I have no idea what I’m going to say to the Jaydens,” I reply, my mind spinning with inadequate apologies. “What can I possibly say?”
“Um.” Zen sucks on his teeth. “I meant your official statement to the media. The one we’ve been working on. Because the time is now.”
I glare at him with equal measures of disgust and disbelief.
“I know this isn’t how we thought it would happen— Jondoe kind of stole our moment—but that doesn’t mean that you can’t take it back from him. All eyes will be on you, Mel, and when you reveal that fake belly, you are representing all the girls who have been victims of preggsploitation!”
It’s almost impossible to make Zen listen when he’s going manifesto, but I try anyway.
“The Mission is not topping my to-do list. My first priority is making sure Harmony is safe. My second priority is making things right with the Jaydens. . . .”
Zen isn’t hearing a word I’m saying.
“And when you make a pro-prophylactic statement about the freedom to have sex without getting pregnant, the whole world will be listening—”
“I don’t want to be a pro-prophylactic icon!” I shout over him. “I never did!”
This shuts him up. “What are you talking about?
“I’m not against condoms as, like, a concept. I think they should be made available to teens who want them.”
“So what’s the problem? Say that!”
I shake my head. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of telling other girls how to run their sex lives. I never was.”
“You earned seven figures in endorsement deals telling other girls exactly how to run their sex lives!”
“I know! I’m a hypocrite!” I bury my face in my hands. “And I deserve to rot in Harmony’s version of Hell.”
“But we used to brainstorm solutions for the Virus all the time.”
“That was just talk to pass the downtime.”
But I always knew it was so much more than “just talk” to Zen. The whole time he was laying the groundwork for something bigger. Much bigger. He had a vision for a group of reproductive freedom fighters called Contra/Ception, who would change history by pulling pranks, not triggers. Like, we would distribute candy birth-control pi
lls on Halloween. Or hack all the digital billboards in New York City, London, Tokyo, Mumbai, and Beijing to display slogans like TO BREED OR NOT TO BREED? THAT SHOULD BE THE QUESTION!
My mission? Zen wants me to hold a press conference right after Harmony delivers. I’ll lift my shirt to reveal Zen’s Contra/Ception logo tattooed across the B$B. I’ll apply the serum and make an impassioned speech about passing pro-prophylactic legislation as my fake pregg melts away in front of billions of MiNet viewers. . . .
I was never quite as convinced as he was.
“Then why did you agree to support the Mission if you didn’t want to?” he asks.
There’s no point in holding back anymore.
“For you, you big jerk. Because the Mission was important to you. And I wanted to be important to you too.”
His face softens. “But . . . Mel . . . You already . . .” His face startles. “Whoa.”
“What?”
“It’s Ram. Wow. He cut off his beard. And he’s with some other Goodsider dude with a huge Adam’s Apple.”
“Zeke?”
“Who’s Zeke? Anyway . . . Ram’s . . . ohhhh . . . whoooooa.”
That’s it. I’m taking matters into my own hands. I lunge for the MiVuMini I hope is in his pocket. “Gimme it! I want it! Now!”
“As much as I’ve always wanted you to so aggressively try to get into my pants,” Zen says, laughing nervously, “I’m afraid I can’t let you have the goods.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer!” I put all my extra weight into wrestling the MiVuMini out of Zen’s jeans. I plunge my hand into his pocket and pull it out triumphantly.
“I feel so violated,” Zen says, half joking.
“I so don’t care. Not even ish,” I say, searching for Ram’s feed. When I find it, I can’t quite believe my eyes. “He cut off his beard! And he’s dressed like a normal person!”
I’ve never seen Ram in anything other than his Goodside suit. This slim T-shirt and snug jeans leave far less to the imagination. I hate to say it, but Ram is actually kinda hot. Unfortunately for Zeke, his Otherside makeover isn’t quite as effective. Just as Ram opens his mouth to speak, Zeke boldly and unapologetically takes his hand.
“Did he . . . ?” Zen asks, eyes flashing.
“He did!”
“Is he . . . ?”
I’m afraid to say what I know both of us are thinking.
“Shhh. Just listen.”
“Jondoe is telling the truth. The twins are his, not mine,” Ram is saying. “But ya’ll must understand that Harmony is not an adulteress. She did not cheat on me because we were never married in the eyes of God.”
“Remember when he said that last spring?” Zen asks.
I shush him again because I have a feeling that I’m about to find out if my instincts are right.
“I am a gay American!” he cries out exultantly, holding up his and Zeke’s interlocked hands. “We are gay Americans for God!”
“Well,” Zen says, nonplussed. “That’s the only part of this whole mess that actually makes sense.”
harmony
I AWAKE TO WOMBLIKE WARMTH AND DARKNESS. SOMEONE IS humming a song I’ve never heard before.
“Mother?” I whisper. “Is that you?”
Suddenly Jondoe’s face is before me. “Harmony! You’re awake.”
He speaks so softly I can barely hear him over the humming, which, as I listen harder, isn’t one voice but many voices. And somewhere in the distance.
“Where is she? My mother?”
She looked just like me and Melody, just older. I saw wisdom in her eyes, compassion in her kind smile. She had answers. She could tell me what to do.
“Your mother?” he asks. “She’s still in Goodside.” He glances toward the heavily curtained windows, where the humming is coming from. “Look, Harmony, we might have only a few minutes together—”
“My birthmother,” I say more forcefully. “I saw my birthmother. I saw her . . .”
Jondoe eyes me warily.
“Saw her where, Harmony? I promise you that security isn’t letting anyone in here who doesn’t need to be.”
“But I saw her! In the clouds! She was welcoming me to Heaven!”
When Jondoe shushes me I realize how . . . how godfreakish I must sound right now.
“Heaven has to make do with one less angel for at least another day. Because you’re still here. On earth. With me.”
I know he’s right. And yet, the Heavenly picture of my mother in my head is more vivid than Jondoe standing right beside me. He flashes a smile meant to reassure me that everything is right between us. But it’s a strained smile, which makes me even more nervous than if he hadn’t smiled at all.
“You’re still under the influence of Obliterall, that’s all.”
Obliterall. Yes. That would explain why I’m still numbed, inside and out.
Jondoe casts another look toward the curtains.
“This is a lot to take in right now, especially when you’re still dosed, but you need to know that the press is practically rioting outside the hospital. They’re really putting my security detail to the test. The National Guard might have to be called in.”
“What?”
“Legally, the birthcenter has to wait until you’ve completed the minimum post-partum recovery period before they can let anyone see you. The media has already got you on the clock. You’ll get another forty-six minutes and eighteen seconds and not a moment more before you have to make some sort of statement, though I’m pretty sure I can charm Grace into taking extra measures to protect our privacy. . . .”
I’m listening to what he’s saying but none of it is making much sense.
“But . . . why . . . ?”
“I told the truth, Harmony.”
It’s Ram. With Zeke Yoder following behind. And before he says it, I know the truth he’s referring to. I’ve known it all along.
“I’m a gay American, Harmony,” Ram says proudly. “I’m a gay American for God.”
“That’s what he told the MiNet,” Jondoe says with a slightly disbelieving tone. “So the whole world would know that you hadn’t cheated on him because you were never truly bound together by marriage in, you know, a carnal way.”
“You did?” I ask.
“I did!” Ram boasts. Then his face falls and he guiltily scuffs a pointy-toed shoe across the floor. “I guess I shoulda told you first, then the whole world.”
“There wasn’t much time Ram,” Jondoe asserts. “There still isn’t much time. . . .”
“Besides, there wasn’t anything to tell,” I say. “I always knew about you, Ram. The whole settlement knew, especially after you were caught looking at those pictures. . . .”
“What pictures?” Jondoe asks.
Ram blushes and shifts uneasily. “Just pictures, okay?” he says defensively.
Even now, years later, and after his world declaration, Ram is still shamed by the private stash of vintage pornographic magazines he’d hidden—not well enough—in the hayloft.
“We’ve always been the different ones,” I say. “The ones who couldn’t conform to the Orders, no matter how hard we prayed. That’s why they put us together.” I turn to smile at Zeke. Thank goodness he came to this conclusion before he married and fathered a child. “I’m happy that you’ve found someone who makes you happy.”
I reach out my hand for Ram to hold and am touched when he actually takes it. Oddly enough, the three of us—Ram, Zeke, and me—holding hands like this is no doubt the most tender moment of our marriage.
“And I always knew about you and him,” he says, glancing at Jondoe. “But I was afraid to confront you because I didn’t know what the Elders would do to me if you left me. . . .”
“Well, from the looks of you two,” Jondoe says wryly, “it seems like you’ve embraced life on this side of the Gates.”
Ram and Zeke exchange bashful smiles.
“I reckon we have,” Ram says. “And I wouldn’t have had the co
urage to be me if it hadn’t been for you.”
“What did I do?” I ask.
“You were brave enough to break the Orders,” he says, “and not look back.”
Brave? Me? If only he knew how petrified I’ve felt this entire time.
Ram lets go of my hand and steps away from the bed.
“You two have a lot of fat to chew,” Ram says.
“We’ll stand guard outside the door,” Zeke adds. “Keep the trespassers out.”
“Thank you,” Jondoe and I say at the same time as the couple exits the room.
Jondoe fixes his eyes on mine, doesn’t blink.
“I also told the truth, Harmony. About everything.”
Only then do I place a hand on my emptied belly and remember.
The twins.
Oh my grace.
The twins.
melody
THE WHOLE WORLD KNOWS THAT I’M THE MOST INFAMOUSLY mocked-up pregger in history. This is major gossip. A number-one trender for sure. So it’s a bit surprising to me when Zen is able to drive all the way to the Keystone Emergency Birthcenter without any slow-downs. I figured that all the roads leading up to the birthcenter would be traffic-jammed by professional scummers and amateur gossipmongers.
“Hmmm . . .” Zen says, double-checking the MapApp. “Did the media get lost?”
“Maybe I’m not nearly as popular as I thought I was,” I say hopefully. “Maybe this story isn’t that major after all.”
“They could be covering Ram’s coming out,” Zen suggests, though I can tell that he isn’t quite convinced.
And for about two seconds, I’m allowed to believe that I’ll be left alone. Then Zen turns into the driveway leading to the Birthcenter, and our peace is pierced by the peal and squeal of tires.
“What’s happening?”
No less than a dozen on- and off-road vehicles have come roaring out of the woods and are now overtaking us from all sides.
“Doooooo sooooomethiiiiiing!”
“I caaaaaaaan’t!”
The autodrive brings the car to a screeching halt.
So that’s why the route was clear. The way through had been cleared for us, to guarantee that we would drive right into their trap. By the time we realize our mistake, it’s already too late. The Aero is surrounded: dead-ended at the front and trapped from behind.