Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(11)
They’re so cute, the two of them, with their matching Patagonia outfits and double walking poles. When we reached the top of the ridge, watching the morning light color Rainier, it was nice, and, yes, sad to see them holding hands. When they’d been telling me how easy it was to get to Seattle “if you time it right,” Vincent started going on about the national highway system.
“Practically erased distances,” he said, “especially when you think it used to take months, years, to cross this continent! And do you know the Eisenhower administration only managed to get the project built by selling it as emergency runways in a nuclear war?”
Bobbi grinned and shook her head. “Yes, dear, and I’m sure she’s very excited to hear about national security infrastructure.”
I suddenly stiffened, thinking that Vincent would be hurt, defensive, surly. Like Dan. But he gave me this over-the-top, “What, you’re not!” and the two shared a laughing hug. Their comfort, their ease.
I’ve tried to invite Dan. Not in the moment, of course. I would never think of trying to shake him awake. A few days ago, when I’d gotten back from my hike and he asked, “How’d it go?” Instead of answering, “Great,” and going upstairs to shower, I actually sat down next to him on the couch to talk about it. I told him about the smell of the trees, the sound of the birds. I even described Rainier’s inspiring peak.
And he pretended to listen. Pursed lips, exaggerated nod, eyes not meaning to but flicking down at his iPad every couple seconds. Okay, wrap it up. I didn’t really care, I was just being polite. I knew what he wanted, but somehow, I found it in me to say, “You should totally come with tomorrow morning.”
See, I did take something from our last session. I tried putting myself out there, giving him the chance. I did my part. But he just nodded again, even raising his eyebrows to prove that he’d heard what I’d said. “Maybe, sure.” Then went back to his screen.
Message received. No argument but no commitment.
Dan.
That’s something else I have to get used to, being together 24/7. I don’t want to say it was okay before, but at least back then, our old routine gave us space. He’d be sleeping when I went to work and still up when I went to bed. In between we had, what, a couple hours together if extra work or phone calls didn’t keep me occupied. Yes, weekends were tougher, when he wouldn’t want to go out with my friends or would disappear down to Intelligentsia*2 for a half-day coffee. I never realized how much it upset me, or, maybe I did, but the tension, the resentment, it always diffused first thing Monday morning.
It’s not diffusing anymore. We’re trapped together all the time.
Did I just say “trapped”? It’s starting to feel that way. Is that why Frank wanted us to move up here, to trap me here with Dan all the time, force me to watch him sit on the couch with his tablet while I unpack the house, organize everything, do everything?
And the part that really gets me, now that I think about it, isn’t just the sitting around all day, it’s doing it with the curtains open so everyone can see him. Here I thought keeping them open would make me feel exposed. Now I feel…
Embarrassed. Yes. I do. Embarrassed for him. On display. Doesn’t he care?
He did when Mostar saw him! So did I. Gasoline on the fire. That’s the only way to describe what happened.
It was delivery day, the one day every week when all our online orders come in. The HOA has organized this special to minimize the “environmental impact.” That’s how Tony puts it. “What’s the point of clean air if we’re just going to pollute it with drones?”
The drones were insane. I was sitting in my home office, wrapping up a conference call, when I heard this crazy buzzing sound. Like an angry swarm of giant bees. I’d heard regular drones before, the high-pitched whir from the annoying little ones that fly around over the Venice canals. But these were deeper, louder, and a lot more numerous.
I came outside to see Tony standing on the grass behind the Common House, one tan, muscled arm shielding his eyes as the other waved down the first laptop. That’s what they looked like: large, flat, and black. A robotic insect—no, arachnid, because of the eight legs. Each straight leg ending in a rotor spinning too fast for me to see. It still amazes me that those rotors could lift the grocery basket under its belly.
“New from Cygnus,” Tony called over his shoulder as I approached. “Y-Q*3 Mark 1. Twice the payload and thrice the range of the HorseFly models UPS and Amazon use.” The drone hovered for a second, descended slowly, then gently settled on the large grassy patch big enough for a real helicopter. Did I ever mention the helipad?
No, I just looked back over my first description of this place. Sorry. We’ve got one. Part of our HOA dues includes a medical insurance package that pays for an emergency medical evac. According to Tony, if anyone gets sick or hurt for any reason, they can zip us to a downtown Seattle hospital. “Faster than driving from right there in the city.”
He really has thought about everything.
Anyway, as the drone’s rotors stopped, Tony opened the basket, checked the contents of the bags, removed them, and tapped an app on his phone. The blades zeeeezzzed back to life and then it was gone. “I’m sure yours is coming,” he said, turning to me with those sapphire eyes that made my fingertips tingle.
I just nodded and pretended to look past him for what should have been my incoming drone. I hadn’t ordered my food by air. I’m still not ready for that. But Tony didn’t know that, and I wanted any excuse to spend just a few extra seconds with him.