Now

Looming. Monolithic. Those are the two words that come to mind as I head up the paved walkway toward the Wekstein Memorial Building, an austere piece of architecture that looks utterly out of place on the otherwise grassy, romantic campus of Indiana University.

Clouds are rolling in from the west. I walk quickly to avoid the rain, Annaleigh in her baby carrier bouncing heavily against my chest. The path splits around a bronze sculpture—a young girl looking toward the sky, one arm outstretched like a dancer. I take in the plaque as I pass. In Memoriam Laura E. Wekstein. She looks wistful.

"Ma-ma," says Annaleigh as I climb the steps and punch in the security code Andy texted me. The massive door clicks open and we step into a whoosh of chilled, sterile-feeling air. Annaleigh scrunches her eyes in reaction to the change in temperature, and I lay a palm over her warm, fuzzy head.

A glossy white floor stretches before us like a runway. Cement walls on either side soar three floors high, creating the effect of walking through a ravine. A single line of black-and-white photographs seems to float on the right-hand wall.

I look at the pictures as I go, stroking Annaleigh's head all the while. Each photograph bears a label beneath. The first image is Andy as a kid, blowing out birthday candles on a cake shaped like a robot. His parents and a little girl I assume to be a sibling are crowded around him. In the next picture, Andy and the little girl are wearing matching costumes. Halloween candy baskets dangle from their arms. The costumes look homemade, with blanket capes and cardboard breastplates reading THE RED REVENGER. Andy grows up as I walk. Holds a freshly issued business license with a cheesy grin. Stands, arms crossed, beside a humanoid form of metal and plastic. The label: #1 WekTech Bot–LARS. The date is eight years before my launch.

I know Bots aren't considered persons, but I wonder if Lars liked being a Bot when he was awake. If he's still awake somewhere. If he might have liked to be a Synth instead...which doesn't even make sense. Bots don't have free will; he'd be perfectly content to be what he was.

"Hi, Lars," I find myself whispering, as if I need to acknowledge him in some way before moving on.

The Bots progress. The WekTech team grows. Close to the end, there's a picture taken with a fish-eye lens of over fifty people smiling and cheering. I lean close and pick out Andy toward the center, glasses askew, mouth open in what looks like a celebratory whoop, smooshed between a blond man and a dark-haired girl. The label reads, Team JULIA assembles!

I'm not sure what I'm feeling, looking at all these people who put me together. I'm even less certain how to feel about the final picture on the wall: Andy and me. The black-and-white print makes us look timeless, like this moment was much longer ago than just sixteen months. Someone must have snapped it minutes after I launched, while I was answering the Proposal producer's questions. I'm looking forward, my hand suspended in midair, a smile on my face. Andy, meanwhile, is looking at me, expression intense, the clicky end of a pen frozen between his teeth.

I look at the picture for what feels like forever. My first moments. The product of decades of his work. My open expression. His glowering focus. Me, front and center. Him, off to the side.

I have a profound feeling of disconnect. From him, from myself, from this moment. Suddenly, this tunnel-hall feels oppressively quiet.

"Ready, baby girl?" I whisper, more to reassure myself than Annaleigh.

I've reached the door at the end bearing the sign A. WEKSTEIN. I pull it open and hear Andy's voice before I see him.

"So for project ELOISE, there are some key differences—" He stops short.

Twenty heads swivel in my direction. Men and women in lab coats surround a long, metal table. On the table lies a torso and head, face down. Andy's pointing to something on its spine. And...is that Lars, on display in the back of the room, encased in a glass showcase?

"Hi," I say, feeling suddenly nauseous. What is it about reality that feels so tenuous right now, like I'm walking in a dream, like I'm peeking into a shivering crack in my own chest, and from that darkness, someone else is looking back...

"Julia, you made it!" Andy walks toward me, arms outspread. He side-hugs me because of Annaleigh on my front. "Hey, so good to see you. You brought the baby!"

I lower my voice. "Sorry to interrupt your day, but we need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?"

Also, I need to nurse Annaleigh. She's been calm so far, but after the long car ride and the eternal walk from the parking garage, her patience has to be running out.

"Of course," he agrees, in an equally quiet voice. His standard five-o'clock shadow is thicker and scruffier than usual. As always, he looks like he hasn't slept, ever, and is getting by on caffeine and nervous energy. "I just need twenty more minutes to wrap things up here. Also, you can totally say no, but would you be willing to answer some questions from these guys? They're all dying to meet you—"

"I don't know. I'm tired from the drive, and—"

"Just a few minutes. Here, give me the baby."

"Annaleigh needs to nurse," I protest weakly even as I'm reaching behind my back to detach the baby carrier buckles, causing my purse and heavy diaper bag to slide off my shoulder. Painfully.

"They've all seen boobs before," Andy says in a cute voice, like he's talking to Annaleigh, but this comment is not comforting in the way he thinks it is.

"Andy..." I begin, but a twinge of guilt stops me from objecting further. He's been inviting me to come to his quarterly seminar since I left The Proposal. But I got pregnant so quickly, and there was Josh's mom, and I had awful morning sickness, and then I was postpartum, and...

"Trust me, this won't take long," he says, lifting Annaleigh's sweaty little body out of the baby carrier as her legs frog up. She immediately reaches for his glasses, her lower lip sticking out, her eyes bright with focus.

"Okay," I say, dropping my purse and diaper bag on the floor and smoothing out my hair, painfully aware of the sweat marks on my shirt.

"Guys, guys," says Andy, Annaleigh looking dubious on his hip as he walks toward the group. "This is Julia! And her little munchkin, Annaleigh. Let's press pause on spinal mechanics and seize the moment, right?" He turns to me. "So, Julia, these are—well, a lot of people—but seriously, some of the brightest and the best." He slices his hand toward them in turn. "Robotics, psychology, computer science, linguistics, bioengineering, two law professors—and our guest anthropologist who's studying us while we study robotics!"

Everyone laughs, and a woman on the end takes a little bow.

I wave. "Hi." The long metal table is already the center of their attention, so I walk into their midst and slip my weight onto its cool surface. The torso is behind me, where I don't have to look at it. I even manage a smile. "What do you want to know?"

The questions come fast and furious. They're not questions about my mechanics like I was expecting. Instead, I get:

Are you happy to be alive?

Are you at all drawn to religion and spirituality?

How would you describe your experience around love?

At first I'm thrown. Then I remember that these people already know about my mechanics. It's the less tangible qualities they're curious about.

"What are your thoughts on the afterlife?" asks the bioengineer, a short, muscled woman with a crew cut.

"Funny you should ask," I say, and then I make them all laugh with my billboard anecdote. When the laughter has died down, I explain that I would like to dedicate more time to thinking about the spiritual side of existence, since it means so much to so many people. I just haven't had the time yet. This earns another laugh, even though I didn't mean that to be funny.

I try to stay gracious and patient as one question follows another, but Annaleigh's getting fussy. I give Andy a pointed look.

"Two more minutes," he says, passing Annaleigh to the anthropologist after I nod my approval.

From there, my sweet baby makes the rounds. The students seem genuinely delighted by her. To my surprise, she's loving it, too, making adorable gurgles, even chuckling as she makes a grab for someone's phone and successfully wedges the corner of it into her mouth. I find myself relaxing.

The questions turn to motherhood.

Did I know I wanted to be a mom right away?

Did I experience fear during my pregnancy?

As I answer, my mind drifts back to my last date with Josh before his final decision on The Proposal. We'd already talked about kids plenty of times, and what that might look like. He knew I could have normal pregnancies. He just wasn't thrilled about my donated eggs. Synthetic eggs don't exist yet, so a chamber inside me stores eggs from an anonymous human donor, releasing them in a way that perfectly simulates the monthly cycle.

"What do we know about this donor?" said Josh as we picnicked on the beach. We were sitting across from each other on a blanket on the sand, with wine and sandwiches between us. Cool air gusted in from the Pacific, blowing away little clouds of gnats.

"I mean...honestly? I haven't asked."

"But there would be genetic screening, right?"

"I'm sure they did their research," I reassured him.

"But—"

"Shhh," I said with a teasing smile as I climbed carefully over the food and wine, onto his lap, relishing every brush of skin and fabric, until my knees were locked around his hips. His hands automatically went to my waist. With a finger under his chin, I tipped his face toward me.

"Don't you worry. We're going to have beautiful babies," I whispered, not knowing that in the secret places of my body, the cells that would become Annaleigh were already fusing together, dancing in the dark.

The memory makes me feel inexpressibly tender, that something so grand could be happening so quietly.

"Julia?" A voice cuts in. Andy, tapping his watch.

I nod and smile, hoping I didn't just space out for very long.

"Actually, can I ask one last thing? Question for Andy?" says the woman currently holding Annaleigh.

"Sure," agrees Andy.

"How does it feel to be with Julia and experience her as a person? Are you able to fully accept her personhood, or does part of you, as her designer, think of her as cogs and wheels?"

There's an awkward silence. Then, as if realizing her faux pas, the woman turns to me. "I don't mean that to be offensive. I just genuinely wanted to—"

"It's okay," I interrupt.

"I mean, how does a surgeon feel after messing around inside someone and stitching them back together?" Andy is calm, he's in scientist mode, and yet no one could mistake the passion in his voice. "Do they feel like their patient is less than a person just because they have an intimate understanding of their makeup? I don't think so." His gaze turns to me, his tone softening. "Julia has been a person to me since day one. I'm proud of my scientific achievements, but that pride is separate from who Julia is. She's her own woman. And what can I say—I adore her." Now he's grinning, like I'm the only person in the room. "Always have, always will."

A hundred moments seem to collide with this one as I take in Andy's intensity, turned toward me like even though he brought me to life, I'm the one bringing him to life, too.

Shit.My husband was right.

Andy is in love with me.

The room bursts into applause. And, on cue, Annaleigh bursts into tears.