Page 130 of Gifted & Talented

“I just wanted,” Dzhuliya began, and I knew what she was going to say, that she wanted to be one of them, because I felt it, too. (Obviously I was eavesdropping at the time—I think that’s pretty clear.)

Anyway, I knew what Dzhuliya was thinking, that she wanted to be a Wren and it was an uncontainable madness; it was inexplicable and insane. And pointless. Not a single one of the Wrens was happy, but there just seemed such… potential. Such possibility, shining like a diamond in the dark.

Eden, am I right?

“I know,” said Eilidh, and she reached her hand out to lightly brush Dzhuliya’s hair from her shoulder. An intimate touch, a lover’s touch. Dzhuliya looked up and her lips parted slightly, promise held between them, a fragile little plea. “Oh, no,” said Eilidh with a quick shake of her head. “I mean… you’re carrying my dead father’s child. This is absolutely not happening.”

“Right,” said Dzhuliya. Spell broken.

“But—” Eilidh exhaled heavily. “We’re going to see each other a lot now. You’re in my life forever and I’m in yours. We will… adapt.”

“Right,” said Dzhuliya.

“Everything will be normal and fine,” Eilidh said. “Or at very least, it will be fine.”

“Right.”

Eilidh nodded, looking away like she was going to invent a reason to leave, but then she thought better of it.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” she asked Dzhuliya. “Again, not in a propositioning way. Just because I can’t stand being here and also, I want a burger.”

Dzhuliya was desperate for meat. Iron deficiency. It was a constant craving. “I could do that.”

Eilidh looked over her shoulder at me then. It was the kind of look that made me wonder if she was clearing space on a shelf for me. She opened her mouth like she would say something, then shook her head and shrugged. I realized that if Eilidh Wren asked me to get a drink with her I’d probably say yes. But it wasn’t the time, obviously, so I just raised my glass—of Diet Coke—in her direction, like a toast. “To your badness,” I mouthed.

She made a face. Who knows if she understood me, but I think she got the point. God, but she was pretty when she was silly. What was it with theWrens? It was diabolical. I needed psychiatric help. I’d discuss it with my therapist on Monday.

Eilidh left with Dzhuliya, and I thought to myself, that girl will be fine. Not sure which girl I meant but it felt right, felt organic. I thought, you know what? Good for her. And then I turned to close the book and leave.

78

Of course, right when I chose to leave, Gillian died.

“I do not understand,” Yves had been saying to Gillian and Arthur at the time. “You want me to… stay?”

“Emotionally,” Arthur explained.

“And also physically,” Gillian added.

“It’s just that I love you,” Arthur said.

“And I think I probably could love you as well, albeit differently,” Gillian contributed.

“And while it would be… unconventional,” Arthur hedged, glancing at Gillian.

“We think it could still be worthwhile for all of us,” Gillian said with a nod. “Though, of course, we understand if you’re looking for something else.”

“It’s been a strange week,” said Arthur. “I’ve accepted that it may simply be a strange life.”

“It seems to make a lot more sense when you’re present,” said Gillian. “Which I’m realizing now is maybe small potatoes as far as reasons to reorient your entire life.”

Astonishingly, Yves had not predicted this. While he had caught flashes of Gillian and Arthur at their later ages in various moments, he hadn’t seen anything noteworthy—no deaths, no atrocities, no major instances of anything recognizably dire. He assumed he had been seeing little glimpses of their future selves, drinking coffee and arguing about the groceries, and thus he had not committed any of it to memory, thinking it was all the mirage of any unremarkable domesticated life.

He hadn’t seen himself in any of these future projections, and had assumed that was because he would be elsewhere by then, moved on in some way, but now that he thought about it, he realized he hadn’t seen himself because hewashimself—that is, in these visions, he was observing Arthur and Gillianfrom his own future body rather than theirs. This happened to him occasionally, predicting his own future, but it was impossible to separate what would inevitably happen from what Yves merely imaginedmighthappen.

There was no knowing if it was the future he saw, or merely the future he wished.

He considered the question as well as its various practicalities. “A life in politics may become very difficult under unconventional circumstances,” he said slowly. “Although I am not opposed to the preservation of your private life.” It would be no different than it was before, he supposed, although now it would meanhewas the extraneous detail rather than Arthur.

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