The Startup Wife(78)
Fifteen
THE END
It’s the start of a new year. Rory’s Christmas tree, the one he grew in his lab, has come down, and there’s the smell of fresh paint on the walls, and Tenth Avenue is dusted with snow, and we are in the boardroom because Li Ann has called us to a meeting. Everyone’s here: Destiny, the founder of Freud, the twins from No Touch, Rory, and of course, Jules and me and Cyrus and Marco.
When I arrived at Utopia that first day, still sweaty from the bus ride, no idea why I’d been summoned, Li Ann had told me that she was preparing for the apocalypse. The afterworld, she called it. I was inspired and possibly a little bemused by the idea, and although I showed up and built our platform and talked often about how we were going to deal with the end of the world, I didn’t for a second imagine I would see it in my lifetime.
Well, according to Li Ann, it’s here.
She says words like “pandemic,” “virus,” “death rate,” and “vaccine.” I try to thread it all together. There is a virus. It has a high death rate. It will cause a pandemic. And there is no vaccine.
“And no cure,” Rory adds.
Li Ann is calmly ordering everyone around, telling each one of us in turn what our role in this new reality will be. It’s comforting to have someone in charge, making it seem like we have some control over what’s about to happen.
“WAI, you’re in charge of ritual, community, and continuity.
“Consentify, Freud, No Touch—togetherness will never be the same—think about that and start strategizing.
“Obit.ly, you’re going to shepherd people to their end.
“And AfterLight—a lot of people aren’t going to be able to say goodbye. Maybe you can provide some solace.”
I can feel the smile creeping across Marco’s face. The world is going to shit, and my mind is turning to Marco, but I can’t help it because that means he was right. And if he was right, then Cyrus and I have no chance.
It’s the apocalypse and all I can think about is my broken heart, and how desperately I want to be near Cyrus.
Julia and Julia do a presentation called Fingerless Friendship in which they suggest we no longer shake hands or get within six feet of people we don’t know.
“No one has died from this disease yet,” Rory tells us. “So you might think we’re being paranoid. But I’ve been studying these things, and you have to trust me, there is a very strong chance that it’s going to kill tens of thousands, possibly millions, of people. Try not to become a statistic.”
We file out, stunned, but knowing better than to doubt Li Ann and Rory.
Jules and Cyrus are waiting for me on the stairs. “Let’s meet in my office,” Cyrus says somberly. “We should prepare a statement for the team.”
Every time I hear his voice, my stomach lurches. “Sure,” I reply, trying to sound normal. These days, at least 25 percent of my energy goes into sounding normal.
I have to. We still work together. All day we pass each other on the stairs and on our way to the bathroom, and we have meetings and briefings and people to hire and a customer base to please. And then, at the end of every day, we go home to separate places.
I don’t know where he goes. I don’t like the asymmetry of him knowing where I live and me knowing nothing about his life, but he doesn’t tell me and I’m too proud to ask.
We gather around the table in Cyrus’s office, and I try not to focus on every little thing that has changed since we broke up, like the reorganized books on the shelf, and the subtle scent of incense that burned off hours ago—was he here last night?—and the new pen he’s holding, something too small for his hand.
Jules and I prepare the statement. Cyrus and I avoid looking straight at each other, but otherwise he’s careful to be super-nice to me, and I’m careful to be, well, normal.
He’s still wearing his wedding ring. Small mercies. I distract myself by doing a few calculations of what would happen to the platform if we suddenly got a surge of users for AfterLight.
“Jules,” Cyrus says, “can you write to the board and tell them we’ll be suspending all membership dues until this thing passes? We’re all agreed, right, that it would be wrong to benefit in any way?”
Jules and I nod. Craig won’t mind. By the time this is over, so many people are going to be hooked on AfterLight that we can more than make up the difference.
“I’m going to put some more devs behind Obit.ly,” I volunteer. “Make sure the security is extra-tight.”
“I’ll do a special WAICast,” Cyrus says.
We run through the details, then get up to go. We have to start planning, call our families. Cyrus asks to speak with me for a moment, and my breath stops in my chest. Will he fall on his knees and beg me to forgive him?
But no.
I can’t help myself, so I say, “I guess Marco called it. He said bad things were coming.”
Cyrus nods. I look at him and I realize what he wants. He wants me to tell him he’s right, that AfterLight is going to give something real and important to people in the coming months. He wants me to apologize and ask for things to go back to the way they were. Every cell in my body bellows to be reunited with Cyrus. Can I change my mind to get what I want so very badly? I ask myself what I would do if something happened to Mira. Would I want a little glimmer of her to remain?