She waited until they’d parked to say, “I don’t want to step on your toes.”
“Be yourself. Most people are pretty quiet at their first meeting. Do you want to be introduced as my mother?”
“That’s your call.”
They stepped into a long, echoing room. The floor was inlaid with chipped square tiles, drab green and drab gray, interspersed in some pattern known only to the person who had placed them. It had worn in distinct paths, showing the foot patterns of several generations of lodge members. An actual moose head overlooked a long bar covered in stacked flyers. The moose was enormous, with antlers that spread like branches, and which someone had festooned with plastic leis, giving him the look of someone who had overstayed a party. She wondered where you bought moose heads if you were in the market for one, or if you had to kill one yourself. Online auction, maybe? The postage would be obscene.
On the walls hung pictures of the lodge’s members through the years, left behind when they moved out. Juxtaposed with those abandoned old men was evidence of the new inhabitants: informational posters, medical posters, pictures of various successful actions. They’d tacked up several Pilot ads, which people had defaced, overwriting the propaganda with the truths their movement held dear.
The building clearly needed TLC, but that was secondary. The thing Val noticed when she entered—after the moose—was the vibe: the warmth of the greetings, the aroma of whatever was cooking, the way not a single person looked like they’d been left to sit alone if they didn’t want to. Her first thought was, No wonder Sophie likes it here.
Sophie craned her neck and then waved through an open office door at the back, where Gabe sat wolfing a burger at a cluttered desk. He looked out into the room at that moment and returned the wave. He took a final bite, chugged from his water bottle, and came their way.
“Sorry. I get sick of crockpot meals sometimes. Just needed a—whoa! Mama Val! Long time no see!” He threw his arms around Val, a hug she returned.
“Gabe! Good to see you. How’s your dad? Does he come to these meetings?”
“He still speaks at actions and rallies, but he’s not a meetings guy.”
Sophie glanced at the clock. “This is a touching reunion, but we should get started.” She herded them toward a circle of chairs, then rang a bell. The others in the room, a dozen maybe, took their seats.
“Welcome to FreerMind! I’m Sophie, co-head of this chapter. I’m glad you all could join us tonight. Thursdays we usually discuss media strategies, which is not the most glamorous topic. First, let’s start with everybody introducing themselves and their pronouns. You can say as little or as much as you want.”
She started on her left, so the circle would end with Val rather than begin with her. The first person was a youngish Black woman, David’s age maybe, with a forearm crutch resting against her chair. Her head was shaved, a small bandage at her temple. Val tried not to stare: she’d never seen a deactivated one before. “Hi, I’m, uh, Tommie. She/her. I had a Pilot for thirteen years, until I had it taken out last week. I wanted to see what these meetings were about.”
Thirteen years! That made her one of the earliest adopters; even earlier than David. “Welcome, Tommie” and “Congratulations” and “Freedom!” came from the circle, then they settled back into introductions.
When the circle came round to Val, she introduced herself by her first name and pronouns, adding “never had a Pilot.” She liked that better than the other phrase she’d heard, “Pilot-free by choice,” since that suggested those who had chosen were somehow better than those who had the choice made for them.
She wanted to say more, but she shut herself up. For all the things she wanted to get off her chest about teaching in a Piloted world, about her paranoias living with a Piloted spouse, about her heart aching for their daughter who had created a life out of a battle she shouldn’t have had to fight, she didn’t think that was why Sophie had invited her. She suspected she was meant to be there as a witness, not a participant, and that talking about herself would show Sophie she’d misunderstood her place. Here, at last, was something Sophie could shape and control, something that was hers and Gabe’s in a way that nothing had been theirs before. If Val spoke, she’d want to speak again, to be a part of this, which would mean Sophie would forever be stuck with her mother hanging out in the place where she had established herself as an adult.
The seizure only reinforced that. When Sophie stopped speaking midsentence, her hand clutching for something out of reach, Val knew exactly what was happening. She had barely shifted in her chair when Gabe glanced at his phone and smoothly took over the sentence, directing everyone who wanted to work on public response over to the bar. Val stuffed her hands into her armpits and forced herself to stay seated for a long minute, until Sophie came back to herself.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay.”
Gabe glanced down at his phone again, then nodded at Val, who returned a tight smile. Her daughter had people who knew what to do and looked out for her.
“Why?” Sophie asked her in the car on the way home. “Thank you, first, then why?”
Val smiled. “If you’re saying thank you, that’s why. It was your meeting. I didn’t want to step in if everything was under control.”
“Was it? Under control?”
“Gabe started talking as if it had been planned that way, and he kept an eye on how long it lasted. I don’t think anybody thought it was all that strange. If anything, they thought he missed a cue, not that you dropped out.”
“Good. That’s what he’s supposed to do. A few others know, too.”
Val put a hand on her
