Chapter 3
Poor Rorie.
And yet I can't help but laugh as I cover her eyes and stare in shock at the spectacle her father has made of himself. Naked in our candlelit living room. Fumbling for a pillow to cover himself. Is that Air Supply playing in the background?
"Jesus Christ, Trin! Didn't Morpheus give you the spoon?"
"Yes, but…"
I trail off as he scoffs, throws his hands in the air, and rushes into the bedroom for his clothes. "I sent you a goddamned spoon! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"What? Is a bent spoon your sexual calling card?" I holler back, still chuckling a little. "From now on, that's the secret code for a booty call?"
"It's not funny."
"What?"
"Rorie."
"Rorie?"
"Saw it. Me. For God's sake, Trinity!"
I look down at our daughter. The two brown orbs remind me of a deer staring into headlights. I bite my lower lip. "Babies her age have night blindness," I reply, making it up as I go along. "She couldn't have seen in this light."
"Seriously?"
"Sure."
He gives me a skeptical look from the doorjamb as I join him with the baby. "And I'm sorry," I say. "My plan was to check on her and then come up alone but… she was a little fussy and I couldn't leave with her so upset…"
"Trin."
"Well, what do you expect, letting Morpheus take her without even asking me?"
"I told you that they had offered-"
"And I said I wasn't ready. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" I repeat his choice of words from earlier, italicizing every one.
"Niobe dropped by and asked again. You weren't here. I made the decision."
"You should have called me."
"Called you where? You disappear for hours at a time."
"You knew perfectly well where I was!" I whisper back harshly, both of us doing our best not to upset Rorie. "You think I like leaving her? You think I enjoy splitting myself down the middle, tearing myself apart and still pleasing nobody?"
"Which is why I let Niobe take her, Trin. I don't want you to stop working; I just want you to accept the fact that you can't do it alone. I'm thinking of you."
"You conspired with Morpheus to get me into bed!"
It sounds more ridiculous aloud than it had in my head. I must be tired. Neo seems to agree. Giving a strange look (which I return), he takes the baby from me 'before the damage is irreparable.' I surrender her without argument, knowing my husband is better at putting Rorie down than I am. And why is that? I wonder. Why does everything I do feel like a mistake?
I hear Neo softly murmuring from the nursery as I look around the living room, noticing for the first time how much work he put into this. Candles everywhere, supper on the table. And he tidied up, I realize, catching the faint scent of furniture polish and rosewater. I didn't even think he knew where we kept the cleaning supplies. Perhaps Niobe showed him. In another conspiracy, Trinity? I shake my head at myself and take the two meals to reheat.
"I'm sorry about not asking you first," is the first thing he says sometime later, joining me in the kitchen. "I wanted it to be a surprise."
"Well, Rorie was certainly surprised."
"You said she couldn't see."
"And how would I know?" I ask dryly, pouring us a drink. "You must know by now that I haven't a clue."
"You seem more nervous than anything. Stressed."
"It isn't just that." I hand him a snifter of clear liquid and sip my own without proposing a toast. "I think the gods are playing some kind of joke on me, sending me a child."
"Or the joke is on me, sending me the two of you."
I narrow my eyes over the rim of the glass. "You know, up until that comment I was actually considering having sex with you tonight."
He seems thoughtful, and the seriousness in his manner catches me off-guard. He takes his plate from the microwave and picks at the food, standing at the counter. "That isn't working either, I think," he says, putting the fork down without taking a bite. "You haven't been happy. With me?"
I look away, heart in my throat. I constantly underestimate how perceptive he is, especially when it comes to us. "It isn't you," I manage to say. "Tonight… all this… it's wonderful. I don't know what's the matter with me. Why I can't just…"
He kisses the back of my neck, and I think I might cry. He's trying so hard. And so am I. I'm trying so hard it hurts, as he moves to my shoulder, and slides an arm around my waist. I used to melt when he did this, spontaneous and sultry, and I will myself to melt again. Free your mind, Trinity. Free your mind.
We used to make love, fully clothed in the Neb's engine room, the buzz of the pads drowning out his grunts and my vehement cursing. My breeches chafed against my hips and the metal wall was awkward and uncomfortable on my back, I remember. And he wasn't gentle with me. There was no time to be gentle. We saved our tenderness for Zion, or for the rare night our sleep shifts overlapped. But the truth is, my most cherished erotic memories are of those heated trysts in the bowels of the ship. Stealing away with him in the middle of the day after a shootout in the matrix, after a close call with an agent – this was my fetish. It still is. I can't help it.
Our mattress is too soft, my lover is too careful. My daughter is too beautiful, her eyes are too brown. I feel like I'm sixteen again, rejecting the code, rejecting the fantasy. But this isn't a fantasy. This is my life. It's the life I've never allowed myself to want. And after Neo, that was the hardest thing I ever had to do. To accept that we'd never have this.
By the time I return to the present, leaving the Neb and the war behind, I'm nestled under a hand-woven duvet, my head on his shoulder. This is how we used to end all our arguments- we'd just make love, and everything would be better. It used to be enough. So many things have changed.
"I need two eggs."
"I don't like eggs."
"You won't taste them once the cake is done."
"Then why put them in at all?"
"It makes all the other ingredients stick together," I reply. "Eggs are like glue for bundt cakes."
"Then let's use glue," Aurora proposes. "Glue tastes better than eggs, anyhow."
I arch an eyebrow at her. She has a plastic tiara on her head, glitter on her cheeks, and a mischievous grin on her lips. "Mom, I'm just kidding!" the princess squeals, delighted that she thinks she tricked me. "I haven't eaten glue in decades!"
That's the word of the day on Sesame Street. Decade. "You are only five. That's half a decade. And you ate an entire glue-stick just last year. Nearly gave Daddy a heart attack."
"I didn't."
"I need those eggs. Be careful with them. No juggling acts today."
"I'm a good juggler. I'm going to join the circus when I grow up." She pirouettes over to the fridge and I wince as she precariously holds the eggs between her thumbs and index fingers. "I'm going to be a lion tamer so I can set all the animals free."
I bend down to rescue the eggs and press her nose like a button. "A monkey taming lions. I'd pay to see that."
"I'm not a monkey."
"You're a squirrel?"
"I'm a marble bundt fairy."
I chuckle. Her father taught her that. It's becoming a tradition. On his birthday, she and I will bake Tom his favorite dessert.
As I crack the second egg, my hand freezes. Tom. The name strikes me as incorrect. Thomas. No, that's worse.
"He's here!" she exclaims wildly, peering through the curtains. "Mom! Hide!"
"This isn't a surprise party."
She squeaks and races towards me, grabbing my hand. "Hurry!"
The sound of the key in the front door sends her into gales of nervous laughter. She latches onto my arm and pulls as hard she can, dragging me down with her behind the island.
"Jo?" he calls out as the door croaks open. Rorie covers her mouth and plunges her face into my stomach, her body shaking with glee. I run my fingers through her hair and lean back on the cupboards. Tom would have to be deaf not to hear her.
"Anybody home?" he drags out each syllable, playing along. "Jordan? Aurora?"
And there is that feeling again. Jordan. Aurora. Tom.
"Those aren't our names!" she calls out. "Call us by our right names and we'll come out!"
"Ah. But what if I find you first?"
"You won't! We're invisible!" (Where does she come up with this stuff?) "It'll take you decades to find us!"
Now I'm laughing. She pulls at my apron and leads me out into the open with her. "Invisible!" she declares with absolute confidence. "You can't see us!"
My husband looks straight into my eyes. "A pity," he remarks, and his gaze roams a bit lower. I shake my head and look away.
"Say our real names to break the spell," our daughter instructs. "It's magic."
He nods, and walks to within touching distance, deciding that, "Magic requires pixie dust."
He pinches some flour from my mixing bowl and sprinkles it onto Rorie's head. "I proclaim thee, marble bundt fairy, lowercase apprentice."
Rorie. That's it. That's what we should call her.
"And as for you…" he runs his powdery index finger down the slope of my nose, and onto my chin. "…you're The Marble Bundt Fairy. Uppercase Queen."
"Happy Birthday," I whisper, as our lips meet. He kisses me deeply, pushing our bodies together as if we'd been separated for a lifetime. Time stops for a moment – it always does when he kisses me – and I melt. My hands on his blazer, over his collar, to the knot in his tie. A pocket-protector. A nametag. Thomas Anderson.
No.
"I missed you," he breathes.
"I can tell." As the words come from my mouth I realize they've been spoken before. The sensation of déjà vu is disorienting for only an instant before I realize what's happened. "This must be a dream."
"If you think so now, wait until tonight," he murmurs into my ear, brushing the lobe as he speaks.
"No. No, I…" I back away and look around, taking everything in for the first time. The house is cozy and warm, with beige fabrics and earth tones... photographs everywhere. I hurry over to the window and look into the front yard. Thank God, no picket fence. But there are tulips, and a flowering cherry tree. We are somewhere in the suburbs. And if my memory serves me correctly… yes, there it is. The minivan. Goddamned green Dodge Caravan. I used to enjoy blowing these monstrosities off the highway. "I've got to get the hell out of here."
"Jo?"
"That isn't my name," I reply.
"Marble Bundt Fairy, then," he chuckles. "I suggest you get this cake in the oven before your Imp and I eat all the batter. Not that I think there is anything… the batter with that."
Oh, God. This apparition even puns like Neo. "I need to wake up."
"I should say so."
"No you… you don't understand." I turn around, catching Rorie snatch her finger back from the aluminum bowl and guiltily slip it in her mouth. It all seems so real. "This isn't my life…" I stutter, hoping this realization will break the spell and wake me up. "I'm having a dream."
My concern grows as he stares at me in confusion. Rorie frowns. "I want to put the candles on," she specifies, obviously hoping for a change of subject. "How old are you, Daddy?"
"I'm thirty five," he says, distracted, still looking at me strangely. I do the math. Yes, if Rorie is five, that's correct.
"How many decades is that?" she asks.
Now he gives Rorie a strange look. "Three and a half."
"Then three more than me."
"Jo, what's the matter?"
"My name is Trinity." I say it louder than I need to, as if shouting it out in protest to the dream god. Morpheus. As if he hasn't meddled enough in my personal life lately… the least he can do is deliver me from this nightmare. But now I'm the one who isn't making any sense.
"My name is Trinity," I say again. "And your name is Neo. And Aurora is Rorie, or… she is Rorie five years from now. None of this is real. We don't have a house like this, or a minivan. I drive Ducatis and you… well, you prefer to fly…"
The expression on my daughter's face is enough to make me stop talking. No - I correct myself – she isn't my daughter… she's this girl whom my subconscious would have me believe is my daughter. And yet, the eyes are the same… and she looks so much like her father. She's beautiful.
"Sweetheart, why don't you go play with your microscope?" Neo suggests. "I'll call you when it's time to put the candles on."
Rorie hesitates, but kisses the cheek he offers her, and then scowls at me on her way out. Bad mother. I suppose some things never change – no matter what alternate dimension you slip into.
"Okay," Neo says once we are alone. "What's going on? Are there cameras in the room? Am I going to see myself on some reality TV show a few months from now?"
I bite the inside of my mouth and pinch myself as hard as I can. No effect. And he's waiting for an answer. "No, everything I just said was true. Neo, we're…" I sigh. I can't believe I'm about to do this for a second time. "We are inside a dream. A dream about a life inside a computer generated illusion that we call the Matrix. Even if this were real, it still wouldn't be real. Do you understand?"
"Jo, you're starting to freak me out."
"I told you… my name-"
"Is Trinity."
"Yes."
"Trinity, like the guy who cracked the IRS D-Base?"
I roll my eyes. Figures. "Yes. That was me. I'm The IRS D-Base Trinity. But you can call me Trin."
"And I'm Neo."
"Yes."
"And, just for the sake of my curiosity… what did you call Aurora?"
"Rorie. You came up with the nickname a month ago. Everyone thought it suited her. But she isn't five. She's only nine weeks old."
"And you think you're dreaming all this up?"
"I know I am. I'm asleep, next to you… in Zion."
"Zion?"
"It's a long story," I reply, growing impatient with the conversation. "And I'm going to wake up any minute so there's no point going into it. I just… have to wait." I look up and fold my arms, as I do when I want the operator to pull me out of a simulation. But time just ticks by, and as it does, he watches me, half-concerned, half-bewildered. With a huff, I brush past him and march back into the kitchen.
"What are you doing?"
"Well, if I'm stuck here, I might as well finish the damn cake," I say. "Because I'm not going to sit and watch you stare at me like that all evening. You're always staring at me like that these days and I hate it. I am trying my best, for God's sake."
"Maybe you should lie down."
"Maybe you should pass me the chocolate before the baby gets me up for another midnight feeding."
Without sparing him a second glance, I grab a spatula and begin mixing. A moment later a frozen block is placed next to my hand. "How old did you say she was? Nine weeks?"
"Nine weeks and two days tomorrow," I reply, dropping the unsweetened cocoa to a bowl, which I place inside a pot of boiling water. I stir it around as it melts. "I can't get her to sleep through the night."
"I remember that. She goes to bed at seven and then is up at twelve. Then again at four in the morning. You were so tired you couldn't see straight."
I look up at him. "Yeah."
"But don't you remember, you had that idea to get her into a routine- you skipped the bedtime feeding and woke her up at ten instead. Then she slept until five. Worked like a charm."
I arch an eyebrow. "I had an idea? That worked?" I scoff and pour the liquid chocolate into my cake mix. "Now I know I'm dreaming."
"I don't understand."
"I mean… I don't think I was meant to be a mother in the real world any more than I was meant to be a mother here. She cries when I hold her. She struggles when I change her. I usually need a team of engineers to get her to burp. I'm useless."
I don't know why I'm pouring my heart out to a figment of my imagination, but for some reason, speaking to virtual-Neo is easier than speaking to Neo-proper. "I'm useless," I repeat with conviction, combining the chocolate and vanilla batter in a doughnut-shaped pan. "And it hurts to fail. Because I love her more than I've ever loved anything."
I take a knife and begin swirling, creating an elaborate marble effect of the two flavors. He catches my wrist, gently, and in spite of myself I give him my attention.
"Hey. I want to show you something. Come with me."
Rorie's room is pink, and her bed is canopied in white lace. So I dream in clichés, I think dryly, as Neo gives me the tour. Children's fairytales line her bookshelf, and I'm not surprised to find Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and Sleeping Beauty. But there are photographs as well, one of which gives me pause – I've seen it before, in the real world. Neo took it only a few minutes after Rorie was born. It had been a difficult labor, and I looked terrible and felt worse, my hair matted to my forehead and my skin paler than the white hospital gown I had on. In fact, I hid the photo and made Neo promise not to show it to anyone. Strange that in this universe, it's mounted in a frame.
"I don't know about anything you said to me," Neo says, sitting on her bed as I turn my attention to some of her artwork. Many are stick-figure families. Mom. Dad. Me. Consistently, she and I are holding hands.
"But I do know that you're a wonderful mother. You always have been. She idolizes you, Jo."
"That's just it. She idolizes Jordan. That isn't who I am. I haven't been Jordan, or anyone even remotely like her for fifteen years. I can't just… flick a switch and change back. It's not that easy…"
I trail off when Rorie prances in, big brown eyes sparkling at me. Like she has a secret. On instinct, I kneel down as she cups her hands around her mouth, speaking into my ear. "I caught six grasshoppers for Daddy's birthday. You need to help me wrap them. They keep jumping off the paper."
I have no idea how to wrap grasshoppers. Case and point: IRS D-Base Trinity crashes again. But before I can throw my arms up in defeat, she kisses me on the cheek and gestures for me to follow.
Neo smiles. "Well, regardless of what name you want to call yourself, Aurora still seems to love you."
I have to admit, she does. And perhaps it's foolish for me to feel proud that my imaginary daughter is tugging at my apron, sliding her hands into mine. But I can't help it. While I'm here… I might as well play along, I think. What harm could it do?
And there is something about this young girl that makes it impossible for me to say no.
"Go get a jar from the recycling bin," I tell her. "And bring me the lid. We'll catch tons."
