Thumped (18 page)

EVEN THOUGH I’VE ALREADY GIVEN THE MINET ENOUGH
material to last a millennium—my optics must be going off the spring right now—no one interferes when Ram picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and carries me through the crowd and into the hospital. It’s all great material. The paparazzi and reporters must sense I’m going to drop out of eyesight when this day is over, so they better capture glimpses of me while they still can.

“Thanks, Ram,” I say when he sets me down outside Harmony’s room. “What you did today was very brave.”

“You too,” he replies.

“I hope you and Zeke can be happy together now that you aren’t living a lie.” He presses his hands together like he’s praying, kisses his steepled fingertips, and blows it in my direction.

“You too.”

I put my hand on the doorknob. “Are you coming in?”

“No,” he replies. “Now I have to get the Mrs.”

And he takes off before I can ask why.

When I open the door to see Harmony sitting up in the hospital bed, I’m flooded with relief. She’s still here.

“Melody!”

“Harmony!”

I’m afraid if I hug her too tightly I’ll bust her belly glue. She has no such reservations and squeezes me flat against her.

I pull away so I can get a good look at her.

“Your hair!”

She touches her bangs as if she’d forgotten all about cutting and coloring her hair.

“Just when I’ve sort of gotten used to someone looking exactly like me, you don’t look anything like me anymore,” I say with a laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Are
you
okay?” she asks, always thinking of others before herself.

“Well, the name Melody Mayflower will forever be synonymous with the biggest case of procreative malfeasance in history—”

I stop myself midsentence. There’s so much to talk about, and quite honestly, my legal troubles are the least pressing of my concerns. My sister had two babies! She is responsible for the welfare for two new human beings who didn’t exist this morning.

Is
she responsible?

“So . . . Harmony . . .” I begin cautiously. “The twins . . .”

Harmony pats the bed, encouraging me to slide in beside her. She rests her head on my shoulder, sighs.

“Our birthmother is dead.”

This wasn’t what I was expecting her to say. And yet the news of her death doesn’t come as a shock to me. I think I’ve always known that we would never meet. Still, I’m saddened by the news. Not just for Harmony, who always longed for a reunion more than I did, but for me. It would have been nice to meet my biomom, to see if I get my rebellious streak from her, or if it was the natural consequence of being raised by such controlling parents.

Parents who meant well. But . . .

“I thought she might come for the babies,” Harmony continues.

“Who? Our biomom?”

Harmony nods. “I thought she might want to make up for giving us up . . .”

“Ohhhh . . .” is all I can say as the truth dawns on me, why she wasn’t at all prepared for the twins’ arrival. Harmony has been brought up to believe in redemption stories. She truly believed that her—our—biomom would come back to redeem herself. She’d get a second chance with Harmony’s twins to make up for the twins she left behind almost seventeen years ago.

For this scenario to unfold, it would have required our biomom to regret what she did in the first place. Maybe she never had any reason to regret leaving us on the doorstep of Princeton Medical Center nearly seventeen years ago. Maybe she went on to live a rich and rewarding life, a life she would never have lived if she had kept us. Or maybe she led a punishing life, one that would have been even more difficult if she had two babies to care for. A life she wouldn’t want to wish on anyone else, especially her own flesh and blood.

This is why I’ve tried not to think about my biomom. Such speculation only leads to mystery (at best) or misery (at worst). Neither of which are particularly satisfying outcomes.

“Your idea really wasn’t so crazy,” I tell her. “If the Virus isn’t cured, Americans will eventually adapt with the rest of the world. We’ll still have babies young, but our parents—the grandparents, or even great-grandparents—will raise the babies while we grow up ourselves. Then when our own children have babies, that’s when
we’ll
step up.”

Harmony nods like this all makes perfect sense, which it should, because the concept of shared parenting isn’t so different from how it works in Goodside—only without the enforced marriage and end of education at age thirteen.

“You—
we
—are just a generation too early. All these twenty- and thirtysomethings like the Jaydens still remember the way it used to be and want it that way,” I say. “We’re the ones that will have to make the change.”

I’ve been told my whole life that I’ve got all the power. But it’s only now that I’m beginning to believe it. My days of selling junk food and perfume are over. If the world is going to listen to me, I better start saying things that are worth hearing. The problem is, our paradigm-shifting potential does Harmony no good in the right here and now. I’m trying to figure out how to broach the subject of what will happen with her twins when Harmony speaks up.

“I want to meet the Jaydens,” Harmony says matter-of-factly. “I think they’re the parents for my twins.”

Oh no. Zen had long ago warned me that Harmony might feel guilted into giving up her babies.

“Oh, Harmony!” I say, clutching her hands. “You don’t have to do this for me. . . .”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Harmony says. “I’m doing it for the twins. I’m doing it for the Jaydens. I’m doing it for
me
.”

How can she even think about giving up the twins when our abandonment by our birthmother has been such a source of torment? And she never took a single dose of Anti-Tocin. What if she
bonded
with those babies?

“Have you seen them?”

“Yes,” she says. “And that’s when I made my final decision. They deserve so much better than me.”

“But you’ll make a great mother!” I argue. “And Jondoe is ready to man up. He’s only told me so like, every day for the past eight and a half months.”

“He only said that because that’s what he thought I wanted. But we’re not ready to be parents,” she says, shaking her head. “And after hearing what the Jaydens said, and seeing their capacity for forgiveness, I know that they will be better parents to these babies than I can be right now. How can I possibly raise two daughters when I don’t know anything about the world? Or myself?”

I can see the fiery determination in her eyes, hear the conviction in her voice.

“There are so many things I’ve never done,” she says. “That’s why I need to leave, Melody. It’s time to stop pretending that only the Elders’ interpretations of the Bible will lead to grace. There’s more to life than a book that was written thousands of years ago by a bunch of men who couldn’t even agree amongst themselves.”

“Don’t feel bad about what you haven’t done. Experience isn’t everything,” I say, thinking about all the accomplishments in my file. “I’ve done a lot of things and I’m not exactly fulfilled.”

“But how much of your life was your choice?” she asks pointedly. “I was as beholden to the Bible as you were to your Surrogette file.”

Valid point.

“Being with Jondoe was really the first decision I made all on my own. And despite what’s happened since, I don’t regret my choice.”

“Well, that’s
one
thing you’ve done that I haven’t,” I say, my voice trailing off mischievously.

Harmony blushes crimson and playfully swats my arm. “Melody!”

“I’m merely pointing out that you are way ahead of me in at least one area of expertise. . . .”

And we both laugh our snorty laughs. When I first met Harmony, I couldn’t imagine making such a joke in front of her. I certainly couldn’t picture her laughing about it. It makes me excited to think about how much more we can learn about each other now that we can finally be ourselves. What a world of wonders awaits her! I want to share the best of everything on this side of the gates.

“I can’t wait to introduce you—”

She cuts in. “I
want
you to introduce me!”

“Um,” I say, not knowing where to start. “I wasn’t expecting your pop cultural tutorial to begin right this second.”

Harmony shakes her head. “I’m talking about the Jaydens. I want to meet the parents of my twins.”

Harmony is not letting go of this. She’s more certain of this than any decision she’s ever made in her life.

Not that she’s had the opportunity to make that many decisions.

“Please, Melody,” she pleads.

“Okay,” I say, before making my way out to the hall. “I’ll introduce you.”

I don’t know if she’s making the right choice, but it’s not my choice to make. I promise to support her, whatever she decides.

Because that’s what sisters do.

JONDOE OPENS THE DOOR AND PEEKS HIS HEAD INSIDE.

“Are you
sure
this is what you want?”

“I’m sure,” I reply.

He nods resolutely. “Then this is what I want too.”

He holds the door open all the way, welcoming the Jaydens into the room with a sweep of his free hand.

“Harmony, the Jaydens,” he says cordially. “The Jaydens, Harmony.”

The first thing I notice is that the Mrs. is not the same woman I saw in my dream. That woman was a figment of my imagination. The hallucinogenic product of the anesthesia.

This woman, and this man, are real.

And I believe they are the parents of the twins.

A NURSE IS WAITING FOR ME IN THE HALL.

“A handsome young man asked me to give you this,” she says, handing over a piece of paper with a smile and a wink.

WAITING 4 U. ROOF. IGNORE THE SIGN.

“Where are my parents?” I ask her.

“They’re fielding media inquiries, I think,” she says. “You should follow your friend. I don’t know how much longer I can safeguard your privacy.”

I take the elevator all the way up to the top. I’m surprised when it opens up to a glassed-in rooftop garden. I wouldn’t have thought that an Emergency Birthcenter would even bother with such an amenity when its goal is to get patients in and out as quickly as possible. It’s winter, so most of the plants are leafless, flowerless, but I imagine that it would be lush and welcoming come spring. And though it’s not as cold in here as it is outside, I shiver when my bare foot touches the bluestone walkway. My hospital gown doesn’t provide much warmth.

There’s a low fence blocking the entrance, with a sign saying:

THE ZORAH HARDING FERTILITY TERRARIUM IS TEMPORARILY CLOSED. THANK YOU FOR NOT TRESPASSING.

I climb over the barricade and see Zen posing triumphantly on top of a stone bench.

“What a speech!” Zen says. “Far more powerful than any Contra/Ception slogan I could have come up with.”

“I wasn’t saying it for the Mission.”

He hops off the bench and lands right in front of me. He chivalrously removes his insulated jacket and puts it around my shoulders. Then he leans in to kiss me again, and as much as I want to kiss him back, I have to say something first.

“I wasn’t saying it for you, either,” I say, pressing my hand against his chest. I can feel his heart beating even faster than my own. He wants me as much as I want him, but there are certain things that cannot be left unsaid. “I was saying it for me. I was saying it for Harmony. And for all the girls out there who have ever felt like bumping was the only way to make something of ourselves.”

He relaxes out of his lunge for my lips.

“And you succeeded, Mel! You’ve started a movement. You’re more famous than ever before.”

“Infamous, maybe,” I say.

“Legendary!” He’s hopping up and down he’s so amped. “Have you read any of your MiNet messages?”

I blanch at the thought of it.

“You’re a hero, Melody! Millions of girls from all over the world are thanking you for saying what you said!”

“Wh—?”

“And, yes, there are millions more who think you should rot in jail,” he says quickly, “but that’s not important right now.”

This is too much. I have to sit down.

“You’re not going to believe this. Zorah Harding came forward and confessed that she faked her last four pregnancies!”

The
Zorah Harding, the namesake of this fertility garden, who delivered ten babies in seven years? The most prolific breeder since the Virus was discovered?

Zen nods, as if he’s reading my thoughts.

“The same! She was pressured into getting mocked up because she’s a procreative role model for all American girls to look up to! The Save America Society and the National Association for Procreation were totally in on it! It’s a huuuuuge scandal, Mel! They are all in way more trouble than you are!”

My mind is blown. I’m not the biggest scammer in the history of scams after all. With my parents’ obsession with me being number one, I can’t help but wonder if this news will come as a sort of a disappointment to them.

“How are my parents taking all this?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? They’re thrilled! They’re making more media than ever before! They’re already taking credit for your transformation from traitor to whistle-blowing righter of wrongs.”

Of course they are. I have to remind myself again: My parents are who they are. I can’t change them. I can only change myself.

“And you haven’t heard the best of it, Mel,” Zen says. “Do you realize how many American teens had no idea that condoms were legal in other countries?”

“
I
had no idea until you told me,” I say, wincing with embarrassment.

“There’s already a spike in the international Free Love tourism industry,” Zen says. “We’ve been offered an all-expenses-paid trip to Oslo.”

“Oh no,” I say. “No more branding for me. I’m retired.”

“Are you suuuuure?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows with mock lustiness.

“I’m sure,” I say. “If we take a trip to Norway for some free love, it’s going to be on
my
terms.”

“Okay,” he says, holding up his palms in surrender. “But just remember that there’s no shortage of potential sponsors who DO NOT want us to procreate. . . .”

I smile weakly and Zen immediately senses that something is wrong.

“What is it?” he asks, sitting back down beside me on the bench.

“Does it ever make you sad?” I ask.

“Does
what
ever make me sad?”

“The idea that we won’t ever have a child together,” I say shyly.

“WHAT?!” He reels back in shock. “Melody Mayflower! You want my seed?”

“Ew! No!” And when Zen flinches, I add, “Um. No offense.”

“None taken, I guess,” he says. “So what are you getting at?”

“I just wonder if, like, when I’m older, like the Jaydens’ age, I’ll regret not doing it when I still could,” I say. “That’s an honest question to ask myself, isn’t it?”

Zen nods thoughtfully.

“Can you imagine being a mother right now?”

“No.”

“Can you imagine your parents helping you?”

“No,” I say with a snort. “No way.”

“Well, that’s your answer then, isn’t it?”

He takes my hand in his and holds it in such an innocent, non-humpy way that I feel like my heart is going to explode. One day I’ll tell him that the saddest part about choosing not to make a baby with him is depriving the world of a human being with half his brilliant, beautiful, nerdy DNA.

And mine.

When I lean over to kiss him on the cheek, I feel the heat of his blush on my lips.

One day I’ll tell him.

But not today.