He takes my hand and I let him. “I’ve lost the right to ask you to change your mind. Maybe once I’ve done some hard work, I’ll begin to deserve you. You can decide.”
“What happens to WAI?”
“That’s up to you.”
“When all of this went down last night, my first thought was we’ve worked too hard, we’ve done too much, to let it go. But maybe we have to shut it down, Cy. We killed someone. We can’t just go on.”
“You’ll fix it. You know what to do.”
I say the one thing that is still hovering between us. “Marco and Rory—all that talk about the apocalypse, the end of the world—it’s happening.”
Cyrus nods. “But I was still wrong.”
“I’m scared, Cy.” There, I’ve said it. The truth is, I’m afraid to face the world without Cyrus. But once the words are out of my mouth, they lose some of their power, and Cyrus tells me not to be afraid, because though he wishes desperately for us never to be apart again, I am strong, and I don’t need anyone to see me through this. Not even him.
* * *
The moment I hear the door close, I want to run after him and tell him to come back, tell him it’ll be okay, that I will take care of everything: him, the company, our marriage. The world is no longer a safe place—where will he go? He should be here. I should let him stay. But I give myself the gift of not doing that. Instead, I allow him to make his way downstairs, to walk out of the building and onto the street.
What would happen, I wonder, if we could return to that other time, the time where we drifted without purpose? Making s’mores in a fireplace. Sleeping under a sloping roof, our limbs entwined. Perhaps that time is over forever—not just because of what we have done but also because it was just a moment, and that moment has passed; the world has moved on, and perhaps those kinds of casual pleasures are gone forever. Perhaps, in the aftermath, Cyrus and I will tether ourselves together in a new way, with rules written in light of the ones we’ve already made and broken. Maybe our promises will be different this time.
I linger for a few more beats on the sensation of Cyrus, of holding Cyrus, pressing my face into his neck, his smell like rubbing a leaf against my hand.
And then I turn my attention to the thing we have broken. How I will fix it. Whether there is a way to fix it at all. I think about what will happen when I turn up at the office in a few minutes, whom I will talk to first, whether I will sit behind Cyrus’s desk or remain where I’ve always been, leading from the middle. I wonder if our users will take me seriously, if they will forgive me for what happened to Stephen, or if they’ll turn against the platform and shut us down. And I wonder about Rupert and Craig, whether they will let me run the company and if they will ever listen to what I have to say. More than anything, I wonder if it all will have been worth it. All that time trying to anticipate what people want and how to give it to them, how to answer their collective need for connection, while keeping sight of my own human self. And even if I solve that, will there be any point to it if the world as we know it collapses around us? I think of the question Li Ann asked me from the start, about what we will do when all the things that are familiar are gone, when the scaffolding of our lives comes apart and leaves us with the terrifying opportunity to start over. I would usually turn to Cyrus to answer these big questions, but it’s up to me now. All of this is ahead, in the minutes and hours and days before me. I gather my coat and lace up my shoes, close the door behind me, and move toward a future—uncertain and unknown—and of my own making.
Acknowledgments
My thanks, first and foremost, to Roland, for being the kind of real-life romantic hero I can only hope to capture in writing, and to Rumi and Roxy for helping me find my funny bone. I love you all so much.
Thank you to Sarah Chalfant, Alba Ziegler-Bailey, and all my friends at The Wylie Agency for more than a decade of support, cheerleading, encouragement, tear wiping, and for humoring me when I tried to publish this book under a pseudonym because I was worried it wasn’t serious enough. Sarah, you are the best agent and friend a girl could ask for, and I will always be grateful for whatever stars conspired to bring you into my life. My love, also, to Daisy and Clementine, for letting me watch you both grow into such beautiful, opinionated young women.
My gratitude to Jamie Byng for publishing all my books with the enthusiasm and spirit of adventure that only he can summon, and for setting me up on the world’s best publishing blind date with Nan Graham and Kara Watson at Scribner. Thanks also to Jenny Fry, for many dumplings and much encouragement over the years, to Ellah Allfrey for superb editorial guidance, and to Francis Bickmore, Alice Shortland, Lucy Zhou, Gill Heeley, Aa’Ishah Hawton, and all the magicians at Canongate. Thank you to Nan Graham for taking a chance on Rose Lanam. To Kara Watson: making you LOL over email has become an important life mission. Thank you for reading countless drafts and for your insightful, intelligent, gracious editing.