Remember Yesterday

36

Thirty minutes after breakfast—congee with salty egg and black chicken from the Meal Assembler—Tanner vibrates the floor and waltzes in.

I frown. Preston’s in the study with Callie, checking her vitals, so it’s up to me to play hostess. “It’s Saturday. This isn’t a TechRA lab. What are you doing here?”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the most welcoming greeting ever. It’s the best I can do.

He slowly takes off his jacket—uninvited—and slips out of his shoes—unasked. His hair is back to its silky state, falling over his eyes, and his muscular chest is hidden beneath a black thermal shirt. The fact that I was pressed against his chest not too long ago makes me frown even harder.

“Preston filled me in last night. About everything.” Tanner’s tone is neutral. He could be talking about the weather or a new record for his wind sprints.

I bristle anyway. “Haven’t you ruined enough lives? This isn’t your business.”

“It is, actually. I’m Preston’s research assistant, and now that he’s linked to the subject, literally, he can no longer be an impartial observer. I’m here to double-check his findings and run some data streams, so that we can tweak the experiment if necessary.”

I flush. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Not an experiment.”

“This experiment happens to be saving Callie’s life. Preston requested—and I agree—that we make it our top priority. I’m prepared to put my full attention on the matter. Unless you prefer I don’t?” He raises an eyebrow.

He’s talking like a scientist again, and I hate him for it. At least I think that’s hate I’m feeling. Sticky, all-encompassing, black-tar anger. I have so many reasons to hurl plates at him, so many reasons to pound my fists against his chest—and hope like Limbo it hurts. But with all these reasons, why do I only feel like I want to cry?

I shoot to my feet before he can sense any weakness. “Do what you have to do. Just don’t expect me to thank you for it.”

“You wouldn’t thank me for saving your sister’s life?”

“Not when you endangered it in the first place.” I leave the room without a backward glance. If Preston wants a host for his guest, he’ll have to come out and play one himself.

I retreat to Preston’s sleeping area. It’s the only unoccupied room in the apartment. Maybe I shouldn’t be in here without his permission, but he is my father. If only in name. If only across time. I normally wouldn’t dream of invading his privacy, but today, my desire to get away from Tanner outweighs my civility.

The room is simple, the furnishing basic. Holo-screens on the walls. A retractable bed with a temperature- and pressure-modulated mattress. A washer-closet that launders clothes when you hang them up and close the door. But no personal trinkets, no customized holos. Nothing that would reveal that this room belongs to Preston instead of someone else.

It doesn’t surprise me. I don’t think travelers can transport physical objects. That’s why Mikey’s trying to figure out how to push prosthetic limbs through time.

All of a sudden, other questions pop up, one after the other, multiplying like weeds. Why did he come here? Once he arrived, what did he do? Who did he talk to? How did he get clothes? Shelter? How was he assigned a position as a scientist, much less the lead on Callie’s case?

I wander around the room, trailing my fingers over the furniture. Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to ask him. Maybe we’ll sit, away from this chaos, unconcerned with riots and saving lives, and I’ll teach him how to build a fire—a real one, not the kind you turn on with the flip of a switch. A fire like the ones we had in the wilderness. We’ll roast marshmallows on a stick—the closest I get to cooking manually—and he’ll tell me his life’s stories. Our relationship wouldn’t be strained or awkward, and it would be like we were actually father and daughter.

He would love me the way he loves Callie.

The thought knocks the breath out of me. Is that what this is about? Am I…jealous of my sister? Maybe I am. It wasn’t easy growing up in the shadow of her greatness. It would be nice to be loved just a fraction of the amount that she’s loved. That’s all.

I turn to leave. I shouldn’t be here. Tanner’s had plenty of time to join Preston, so the eating area should be clear.

As I walk to the door, a corner of the wall screen catches my eye. The digital square cycles through Preston’s favorite feeds—a calendar, an update of the weather, the latest news, and then a static screenshot.

I peer closer—and my breath catches. I recognize that screenshot. It’s from a news article about a hoverthon I’d organized a year ago to raise credits for shelter dogs so they wouldn’t be donated to TechRA for research.

Preston not only looked up the article, but he kept it as one of his favorites. Why? Was he researching me to figure out if he could trust me?

Or maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he cares for me, just a bit.

Little bubbles pop in my chest like I’m a can of carbonated soda. But the fizz doesn’t hurt, and I’m not uncomfortable. Instead, I’m smiling as I cross the threshold.

Maybe there’s no reason to be jealous after all.