“You sound like a lawyer.”
“That’s because I have one,” Jason says. “I had to get one.”
“Who even are you right now?” I ask. “After everything we’ve done for the company? You’re really going to do this to us?”
But it’s like he doesn’t even hear me. “Choose wisely, Aaron,” he advises. “I really don’t want to be the enemy here. We’re friends, you and me. Remember, the money from this game, it’ll help you go to whatever college you want. Or start your own studio. That’s what you want, right? You can get away from your doctor parents and—”
“You keep talking about money, but you haven’t even paid me yet! Or Ryan! And friends?! You’re trying to use that against me? Fuck off, Jason,” I tell him, but I feel my voice cracking. There’s a sob in the back of my throat, and I’m not about to let it out. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
My lip quivers as I hang up the phone, tossing it onto the desk. I lean back in the office chair and stare at the computer, and then around at the waiting area. At my future. The hard, inevitable future of this place, the fluorescent lights and angry patients and years of medical school that I don’t want to go through. I feel the tears, hot and heavy, streaming down my face, and I hurry to wipe them away. All those nights, all that time spent working on that damn story, and all last year, fussing over that puzzle game Jason released, copyediting shitty menu text and tutorials.
And now there’s nothing.
Well, I guess that’s not entirely true.
There’s either nothing, an NDA, or there’s a lawyer and some sort of legal battle to keep my name on the game and the story. Except I don’t see my mom being down to bankroll a lawyer and court case.
I look over at the door to her office, still closed. I’m surprised she hasn’t come out, with all the shouting I was doing. I glance at my phone, upside down against a corkboard full of to-dos and business cards, and wonder how Ryan is taking the news. His parents will certainly take it better than mine; even if things go entirely south, it’s not like he has to prove himself the way I feel like I have to. He’ll probably get a scholarship to art school and be just fine next year, anyway.
The scholarship for people who want to write video game narratives doesn’t quite exist yet, at least as far as I know.
I move to grab the phone when something catches my eye on the desktop: a folder squeezed all the way into the corner of the screen, as though somehow that would prevent someone from seeing it. I select it, the tiny edge of the pixelated folder barely large enough to get the mouse cursor over, and drag it over where I can actually see the full folder.
Dad’s Files.
I stare at the folder and wonder if this is where he stores that game he’s been trying to hide. I click it open and feel my eyes go wide.
There’s an icon for a game called Ultima Online—just like Ryan had suspected when he saw the photo I took—as well as what looks like hundreds of Word documents. Their file names all have long strings of numbers and letters, all nonsensical, with dates that stretch back... God, years. Over a decade. I scroll down, down, down... They just keep going.
There are Word files in here older than Mira.
I glance away from the computer and peek around the office, as though my father might walk in while I’m here thumbing around. The waiting room is still empty, the only sound the hum of the old PC and the soft voice of my mother talking in the back. She must be on the phone, since I haven’t seen a patient come in yet.
I open one of the Word docs, my eyes flitting back and forth from the screen to the waiting room as the old computer opens Microsoft Word, the hard drive whirring angrily. It’s as though the computer is trying as hard as it can to do what I’ve asked, the ancient beast making actual sounds. It’s something newer computers rarely do, unless there’s something wrong with them.
When it finally blips up on the screen, I squint at it, not entirely sure what I’m looking at.
It’s a letter.
My Dearest,
How many days has it been? Or has it been weeks? Without you, time has no meaning in this place, where I’m surrounded by strangers. I walk through this world, listless, and find no joy in the treasures that surround me. For what is the point of any kind of riches, whether they are found in wealth or in friends and family, when I cannot share them with you?
Soon I will see you again.
I will return to you, my queen, my love.
Yours, as ever.
My stomach drops, and I feel as though I have to force myself to breathe, inhaling and exhaling. I grip the soft foam-rubber armrests of the office chair and slide myself back, staring at the computer in horror.
My dad.
He’s...having an affair?
Suddenly, the door to one of the patient rooms swings open, and my mom walks out with an older woman, the two of them chatting about...something... I don’t know. Everything feels like a blur.
When did a patient walk in? How did I miss that?
Their words are floating through the air and landing on my ears unheard. There’s a laugh, and I see someone wave. My mom? The patient? I turn my attention back to the office PC, hurriedly closing all the windows and hiding Dad’s secret folder down in the corner again.
His secret folder.
His secret life.
Am I really hiding this for him? Why?
Some of those Word files are over a decade old. How old was the one I opened? What else is in there? What other secrets are in these letters? Has this person been in the picture before Mira? Is there more than one? Was he talking to this woman while Mom was pregnant?
My heart plummets down into my body, past where my stomach maybe was, and everything inside me feels hollow. Empty. It blends intensely with an awful swell of anxiety, an urge to open that folder again, to find out more.
“Aaron?”
I blink and look up to see my mom standing at the desk, an inquisitive look on her face.
“You okay?” she asks, crossing her arms. “You don’t look so great. Are you...are you crying, sweetie?”
“No. Yes,” I mutter, and wipe at my eyes. I didn’t realize that was still happening. I shake my head as my mom leans on the desk, and I feel myself digging for anything else to talk about. In the span of ten minutes, I lost my summer job and all the plans I’d laid out for myself, then stumbled upon this...thing...with my dad...
I clear my throat. “Jason, the ManaPunk guy... He has to let me go. Because of the Internet stuff.”
“What Internet stuff?” my mom asks, giving me a confused look.
“There’s...” I exhale. My heart starts pounding again as I realize I’ve never explained any of this to my mom, to anyone in the family, really, and that if I don’t dig into it properly, she’ll likely unplug me from everything. And right now, I’m not sure who I need to protect more—myself and these dreams I’m barely able to cling to, or my mom from all this nonsense tucked away on the computer here.