She broke the silence, “Jared went in last week.”
“Where?” I knew, but I was being difficult.
“You know where: the clinic.”
Our living room was always small, but today it felt particularly cramped. We sat on opposite sides of the white microfiber couch. I stared at the TV.
“Is he good?” I asked.
“Yup. Got the dose yesterday. He’s recovering at home.”
When we got tested, I watched them take her blood. She was calm; I was a fucking wreck. The one thing our species wants and it comes down to a genetic lottery: if your mitochondria objects, get in line for the grave; if not, you’ve got a lot of living to do. Read the rest