Simon wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing when I told George I was applying for the job. “You don’t understand,” I told him. We’re not like colleagues, we’re like soldiers. We’ve been through a lifetime together in a few years. He walked me down the aisle. He’s become like a father to me. I knew he would support me for the CDC job; a dream come true. He helped me with interview prep every afternoon for two weeks.
And now, I’m on a plane, which feels unbelievably exotic, going back to my old life with a new husband, a new job, a new everything. I can remember what Elizabeth Cooper was like a few years ago but it feels so distant, it’s like a childhood memory. I was lonely, far from friends and family. I’ve always been good at making acquaintances but struggled to convert them into deep friendships. It kind of makes sense my best friend is now a sixty-five-year-old male professor.
I stretch my arms and look up at the rest of our section of the plane. It’s hard not to play spot the difference with the last time I was on a plane. Last time it was mainly men on my overnight flight to London, dressed in suits with pseudoscience books, crime novels and newspapers tucked under their arms. Now, it’s a sea of women interspersed with the occasional man sticking out. Obvious and intriguing just by being male. The woman to the right of Simon is holding a book I’ve heard about but don’t feel I really have the right to read. Are You Fucking Kidding Me?, a children’s book for adults. It’s written by a widow and meant to help people feel comforted by . . . well, I’m not sure. That they’re not alone, I suppose, having either lost their partner or feeling despair at this scary new world. I feel a twang of relief that Simon’s by my side. Lovely, lovely Simon. My husband. I skim a kiss across his cheek and he smiles in response.
I turn to the TV and flick through the channels. Since TV and films started being made again, I’ve noticed there are only two types of shows: classic family sitcoms and fantasy dramas. Nostalgia or imagination. Take your pick. I thought I was going nuts, or my Netflix was playing tricks on me, and then I saw an interview with the head of content strategy at Netflix and she said that’s all people want right now. People want to dive into the past when the biggest concern was whether your crush would invite you to prom, or imagine an alternative reality. True crime is out, she said. I can believe it. I used to love true crime podcasts; now they’re too heavy. I don’t want to hear about miscarriages of justice. Life has been a miscarriage of justice recently.
Oh, I know what I’m going to watch. The Luke Thackeray documentary. Ordinary guy from England is an out-of-work actor in the States. Goes home to say good-bye to his dad and his three brothers and await his death. Turns out, he’s immune and gets a call from his agent when the film and TV industries pick up. There’s a shortage of actors in Hollywood for the first time in history. Eighteen months later, he’s one of the biggest movie stars in the world. He’s spoken a bit in interviews about the conflict he feels: his father and three brothers died, yet the Plague killed almost all of his competition and now he’s one of the world’s most successful actors.
“You okay?” Simon asks.
“I’m good, just going to watch a documentary.” Simon makes an impressed face. I won’t mention it’s a documentary about a cute actor. “Everything’s going to be okay, okay?” Simon rubs my hand gently as he says this and I feel the bit of tension in my shoulders about my first day tomorrow evaporate.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I repeat back and, do you know what? I believe it.
ARTICLE IN THE WASHINGTON POST ON JANUARY 12, 2031
“Finding love in a new world”
by Maria Ferreira
The world has changed immeasurably. That much we all know. I have the newest iPhone and it’s as small as the iPhones of a decade ago because Apple realized that women have smaller hands than men （who knew?） and so the tablet-size monstrosities they expected everyone to buy didn’t fit in women’s pockets or hands. I can now type comfortably with one hand for the first time in years. Women are now 57 percent less likely to die of heart attacks because treatment protocols have changed to recognize the different symptoms men and women experience. The first drug ever to treat endometriosis has been discovered; it is expected to create billions in profit over the next decade. Female police officers, firefighters and members of the armed forces are now less likely to die doing their jobs because they have uniforms designed for them, rather than simply wearing small men’s Kevlar vests, boots, helmets and uniforms that don’t fit.