Read Chapter 11: Friday

Eleanor spent four days pretending Montreal was not a variable.

This failed.

She did not ask Theo what he planned to do. She told herself this was respect for autonomy. Arun called it “weaponised restraint.”

“Do you want him to stay?” he asked.

They were testing the new consent flow in a lab.

“That is not relevant to the model.”

“I asked you, not the model.”

“I don’t know.”

“You do.”

“I have known him for eleven days.”

“Humans have started wars faster.”

“That is not reassuring.”

Arun looked at her.

“Do you like him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want more time?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps communicate the previously unavailable requirement.”

“You sound like a bad chatbot.”

“I work here.”

At 15:30 on Friday, Theo messaged.

Can you meet tonight?

Eleanor stared at it long enough for her desk to dim.

She replied:

Yes.

He chose the South Bank.

The evening was cool and clear. London’s skyline reflected in the Thames: old stone, new glass, drones blinking above bridges, St Paul’s unchanged at the centre of it all.

Theo was waiting near the National Theatre.

“You look like someone died,” he said.

“Did you take the job?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Theo.”

“Yes.”

The word landed.

“You took it.”

“I did.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“When do you leave?”

“Six weeks.”

Eleanor nodded.

She had prepared for this.

The preparation was useless.

“It’s a two-year project,” he said. “New transit interchange. Adaptive acoustic safety.”

“That’s good.”

“It is.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

They began walking.

Eleanor kept her hands in her coat pockets.

Theo said, “You’re angry.”

“I’m not.”

“You are walking at evacuation speed.”

“I always walk quickly.”

“You have passed a child on a scooter.”

She stopped.

People flowed around them.

“I’m not angry that you took it.”

“Then what?”

“I’m angry that the forecast told me before you did.”

Theo’s expression changed.

“That is not my fault.”

“I know.”

“And I told you as soon as I decided.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we fighting?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with information about a future that becomes more likely because I saw it.”

Theo was quiet.

Eleanor continued.

“If I ask you to stay, am I acting because I want you to stay or because I want to defeat the model? If I say go, am I respecting you or performing autonomy because the model predicted conflict about autonomy? Every choice feels contaminated.”

Theo looked at the river.

“Then stop trying to make the choice clean.”

“What?”

“There is no uncontaminated version of us now. We know the score. We know the forecast. We know your company. We know my sister. Pretending we can remove that is another kind of control.”

She hated that he was right.

He turned to her.

“What do you want?”

“I want more time.”

“With me?”

“Yes.”

“In London?”

“Yes.”

“And if I go?”

She hesitated.

“I still want more time.”

Theo nodded.

“That sounds like an answer.”

“It doesn’t solve anything.”

“Neither does love, usually.”

The word appeared between them.

Eleanor looked at him.

“You said love.”

“I said it as a category.”

“That is cowardly.”

“Yes.”

She almost smiled.

Theo stepped closer.

“I am going to Montreal.”

“I know.”

“I am not asking you to wait two years.”

“Good.”

“I am also not interested in pretending the next six weeks don’t matter because they have an expiry date.”

Eleanor felt the future rearrange itself.

Not disappear.

Rearrange.

“All right.”

“All right what?”

“We have six weeks.”

Theo kissed her beside the Thames while tourists moved around them and a projection on the opposite building advertised Lattice’s new campaign:

THE RIGHT PERSON SHOULD FEEL EASY.

Theo pulled back and looked at the slogan.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Eleanor started laughing.

She laughed until her eyes watered.

Then she took a photo.

“For evidence,” she said.

“Of what?”

“That product marketing can be wrong.”