Previously on Haverbrook [read the full episode here]
And there was the end of hope for reclaiming my former life. From here, I would have to decide to either go back to the city and start again alone. Living for months in shitty victim housing so I could maybe find a job half as good as my last one. Or I was staying here with John. Safe and warm, his life, and I was tagging along.
I decided to sleep on it.
I attempted to sleep on it. At 2:00 am, I was still staring at the shadowy-gray ceiling. There was nothing left for me in the city. But beyond that, I was trying to convince myself not to stay with John because of a question I couldn’t answer: why had John made the offer to let me live here? Who lets a stranger live in their apartment? And why was he so concerned about my safety?
What about that feeling that I knew John from somewhere? Maybe we weren’t strangers, but he never told me how we knew each other. What if we were at school together, and he’d had a crush on me back then, but I ignored him? Or was a jerk to him?
But when I saw John a few days ago at the grocery store, it wasn’t like seeing an old classmate. It was more like seeing a ghost, like running into someone you thought you’d never see again.
Then it was the smell of coffee and the sunlight streaming through the window - I must have fallen asleep after all. John wasn’t in the kitchen. I looked down the hall to his office; the door was closed. I looked at my phone, and it was already 8:30.
There was one egg left in the fridge, and I fried it up for my breakfast. I still had a few dollars to buy some eggs and half and half for my coffee. Plus, I could see if the bank was open.
I showered and dressed in a new-to-me pair of jeans and a teal sweater. These Haverbrook thrift stores really did have the nicest stuff. The cold air shocked my face as I walked out of John’s building. Yesterday the air had been crisp and fresh, but today it was heavy and burned my nostrils.
At the store, I headed straight for the bank counter. It was still closed with the same sign about illiquidity from yesterday. It was Friday, and I wouldn’t be able to check again until Monday. But I needed to be realistic; these illiquidity events took at least two weeks to resolve. And with all the rioting a few days ago, the bank may be closed longer.
I tried to comfort myself with the fact that I had John’s food to eat and his moderately comfortable couch to sleep on. But at some point, I would need more clothes or other supplies. We would need extra food. I started to get a lump in my chest. Like peanut butter stuck in my throat. Just buy your eggs and have a freak out later.
Back at John’s, I put away the groceries and contemplated how to spend the rest of the afternoon. There was plenty to watch on Netflix. But the built-in bookshelves that bordered either side of the TV caught my interest. What sort of books did John read? Provided he’s read them, and they’re not for show. To impress the ladies or poor homeless waifs he meets in grocery store parking lots. I picked an “A Brief History of Time” by Stephen Hawking, and settled into my couch/bed for a read.
Around 1:00, I got hungry and reheated the leftover lasagna from last night. John hadn’t left his office for lunch. I knocked gently on his office door. He opened the pocket door halfway, “Do you need something?” There was an abruptness in his voice.
“No,” I started. “Sorry, I was wondering if you wanted some lunch?”
“No thanks, I don’t usually eat lunch on workdays,” and he slid the pocket door closed.
Ok. Don’t disturb John while he’s working. I ate my lunch and tried not to be bothered that I had annoyed John. After lunch, I reabsorbed myself in my book.
Around 3:30, I put the book down. I read the words on the page, I knew what the words meant, but the ideas weren’t sticking in my brain. I guess that’s why I was in marketing and not a rocket engineer. Maybe John can explain it if he wasn’t too annoyed with me.
I switched on the TV to catch a bit of news. A destructive habit, but one I couldn’t quit cold turkey. The disaster porn had eased up, and I began to get hopeful about my job. But Cynthia hadn’t called me back.
At 4:00, John’s office door squeaked open, and he sauntered into the living room.
“How about we go out to eat tonight?” John suggested with a clap of his hands and a grin on his face.
“You’re in a good mood,” I replied. Happy that John forgot my interruption from this afternoon.
“I received the approval to join the new Outer Frontier project I mentioned yesterday. I feel like celebrating. We can go to the central district and eat. Did you see any interesting places while you were in town,” he asked.
“Do you like pizza?”
I changed into my dress for the occasion, and John warned me that we would be traveling by teleport. We walked to the lobby of his apartment block and turned a corner down one of the white paneled hallways to a door marked “Teleport Room.” Inside the empty, windowless room were various teleport control panels lining each wall. John instructed me to stand close to him and then pressed a series of controls. In an instant, we were in the courthouse square, me a little dizzy, John holding my arm and waist to steady me.
The courthouse square was sparkling with lights outlining each awning and storefront. The same lights outlined the windows and doorways of the courthouse. Lights wrapped the trees and lampposts that circled the courthouse lawn. It was the kind of display I used to only see at Christmas. I guess every day was a holiday in Haverbrook.
John and I walked to the pizzeria I found yesterday. The place was busy, and we sat at the bar until our table was ready.
“Two glasses of red wine,” John ordered from the bartender.
“What will I drink?” I asked playfully at his presumption to order for me.
“Sorry,” he said as he looked at the floor for a moment, “What would you like?”
“I like the red. I was just giving you a hard time.” I grinned at him, and he reciprocated with his special half-smile.
At dinner, I tried to ask John about his new project, but it was also classified.
“I was a bit surprised when the head of the project messaged me,” John said. “The work is more theoretical than what I’m doing now. But I’m good at building stuff – working machines, not just models.” As he spoke, John leaned toward me and added extra emphasis with his hands.
“When do you start?”
“Not for another month. It also means I can’t work at home anymore,” he said as he leaned back into his chair. He sounded less enthusiastic. “I will be going to the Outer Frontier facility here in Haverbrook. And in the beginning, there may be some late nights. I don’t feel good about leaving you alone.”
“That’s the last thing you should be worried about. I can take care of myself,” I sounded confident, but the night before, John comforted me while I sobbed into his shirt.
“You’ve been through a tough time, and I don’t want you to feel abandoned,” he said as he put his hand on mine. This time I didn’t pull away.
When John closed his apartment door behind us, I wrapped my arms around his neck and gently touched my lips to his. His lips parted, and mine matched. My hands moved to his chest and caressed the soft cotton of his shirt and the smooth mounds of muscle beneath. John bent his head downward to deepen his kiss, and my lips reacted to match his excitement.