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Each morning, we took breakfast together, and I soon learned how he liked his coffee - cream, two sugars. He enjoyed pancakes and eggs in equal measure. Paul wasn’t a morning person, choosing to scroll his social feeds over breakfast instead of opening up in conversation. It was fine because I wasn’t certain that I was much of a conversationalist anyway.
These were all important things for me to know as his future wife. I wondered if I should make a Paul Mae dossier - that way I would have a handbook to refer to when it came to fulfilling my role. But then even I knew how extreme that sounded - wives didn’t keep handbooks on their husbands, this was stuff that they simplyknew, holding onto that intimate knowledge lovingly.
I stared at myself in the mirror, giving myself a last once over before I braved the first day of class. I wanted to look like a college girl - someone whobelonged- someone who was beholden to knowledge and not simply The Society. Was I trying too hard? Maybe. Probably. But I wasn’t going to get another shot at this - I had three months of this, and then there would be a wedding, followed by Montgomery-Mae babies. The thought prickled at me, leaving me unsteady and off-balance. It wasn’t that I didn’t like kids - I did. When this is where your entire life was leading up to, it was kind of difficultnot tolike the idea.
Butnow?I didn’t feel like I hadlived- like I had read enough books - absorbed enough knowledge before I took this step.
But I had three months to catch-up with. Three months of thissemi-freedom.
I stared at my reflection. My tailored jeans and cream blouse screamed my mother, but I’d decided to leave my hair up in a messy bun, swiping eyeliner in a dark cat-eye that my mother would have been appalled by. It was a start. The beginning. And who knew? If Paul liked it, I might even keep this look.
I stepped out of my room, knowing full well that Paul wasn’t here - he had told me as much. His mornings started early - far too early for a girl like me to get out of bed and make breakfast for him. His words - not mine. And I had dutifully listened, only now, as I swept through our small apartment, I wondered if it had been a test that I had somehow failed. Yet another mark against me. But I had to believe that Paul was man of his word - that he articulated what he wanted and when, because if I didn’t whole-heartedly believe that, then I wasscrewed.
My brown leather satchel swung against my thigh with each step I took, and the thud of that movement was grounding in a way. I had packed a notebook, a pen, an HB pencil, and my biology book. I figured that if there was any down time to be had, I could catch up on my reading.
The first lecture of the day was Governmental Organizational Operations, taught by Military Strategist, John Griffin. It wasn’t a traditional lecture hall, but rather a replica of the auditorium we had sat in for orientation.The seats were a soft, light brown leather that felt like butter when I sank into one. I pulled out my notebook and HB pencil, balancing the two on my lap dutifully as I breathed it all in.
And then John Griffin took the stage, his delivery was monotonous, but the content was riveting. I penned a few notes about the art of control and how governments and organizations often used bullying tactics to get what they wanted. He spoke about the necessity of The Society - of the altruistic motives when it came to its existence, and, dutifully, I wrote those down as well. My hand cramped from writing so quickly, but I didn’t want to miss anything. The class was over before I was ready, and I felt a tinge of disappointment as everyone surged towards the doorway. I hung back, content to read over my notes - it seemed a better use of my time rather than standing in a line to get out of the auditorium.
By the time I made my way into the large auditorium that served as the cafeteria, most seats had been taken. People had already formed cliques and pairs, the sound of gossip and chattering echoing against the walls. The plant life was a nice touch - something that even I could appreciate. I stared at the large wall made up entirely of ferns, my gaze tracking the small piping system that was near invisible, letting off a soft mist every few minutes, feeding the ferns throughout the day. Pot plants hung from the ceiling, creating a green ambiance, and, once again, if I looked closely, I could onlyjustnote the misting pipe above it. The Society did nothing in half measures.
I glanced around at the Cafeteria once more, content to find a seat at a lone table with one chair. It wasperfect. Briefly, I wondered where Paul was and if I’d be expected to sit next to him, but he didn’t seem to be around, and I was hoping to finish a chapter in my biology book while I ate. Without overthinking it, I sat down and pulled out the heavy textbook as a well dressed waiter brought out my food. It was unnerving how they noted what each person’s dietary preferences were. I exhaled once more, taking in the chapter on the human trachea. It wasfascinating.
Once more, before I was truly ready tolet go, an old school bell rang out, indicating that our next class was about to begin. I tucked my book away, resigning myself to the fact that I probably wouldn’t finish my chapter today. I was still making progress, though. Double checking my schedule, I headed towards another lecture hall for Organizational Takeovers, lectured by none other than Ajax SinClaire. I wasn’t completely certain what the difference between this class and John Griffin’s lectures were, but I was excited to find out. My anxiety seemed to dislodge itself from my esophagus, allowing me to breathe easy, because while things may have been uncertain, The Society had unknowingly handed me a college experience - well, a version of it at least.
I stepped into the lecture hall that belonged to Ajax SinClaire. He was a few years older than me, and while I knewofhim, I didn’t know him personally, but, then, the same could be said of pretty much everyone here.
Did they view me as naive? Young? Insecure? Did they even know that I was the youngest person here?
Ajax SinClaire stood beside the podium, welcoming everyone to his class. While John Griffin’s lecture had discussed the strategy and necessity of how The Society expanded into Organizations and Corporations, Ajax discussed the need for The Society to control the pharmaceutical industry - even if their differing enterprises competed against one another. It was simply the illusion of the free market.
Still, I sat there dutifully with my pencil raised above my notebook, ready to take notes. Until someone asked about the control The Society had over our birth control supplements.
The girl sounded shocked - as if the very idea of The Society controlling our birth control was somehowoffensive. But how could it be offensive when matches and arrangements were set up upon birth, all so that we would marry and continue The Society’s legacy through the next generation. My mother’s voice rang soundly in my head, deftly reminding me of my place:It is an honor to continue this legacy - a duty to The Society and all that we do - all that we’ve worked for. Don’t underestimate your value, Madilyn, being a wife and mother is a noble position.
I swallowed down any hesitation I may have felt, knowing that I was exactly where I was supposed to be as I dutifully jotted down my notes.
***
The week flew by in a deliciously monotonous pattern of classes, broken up by lunch in the cafeteria and evenings spent alone. Paul hardly stayed in the apartment at night, and I found myself willing to look the other way - to forgive his indiscretions. Perhaps after we were married and sharing a bed, things would be different. For now, I was simply content in the notion that I waslearning-absorbingeverything The Society had to offer. I finished my biology book and dutifully moved onto the next one, as it turned out the base camp had a large library on the fifth floor - it was the kind of place you could get lost in, and I found myself losing hours between the pages of the various works they held.
On the odd occasion, my traitorous thoughts bloomed in the back of my mind, whispering notions that I had no business thinking: living a life of solitude did not seem so bad, and when I accepted that, I realized that I wasn’t certain IwantedPaul - not that I had a choice in the matter. But, to be fair, he also didn’t seem all that interested inme.
I watched on the sidelines as many of the other Society members congregated in groups in the cafeteria, laughing and joking with one another. Such interactions had never come easily to me, and while it would be easy to chalk it up to my upbringing, I was starting to understand that it may have simply beenme.
Although my current textbook on psychology would argue against such a notion, laying out hownurturedefiednatureeverytime. And while I didn’t participate, Iwatched.
I watched Paul enter the cafeteria daily, seating himself with other men from prominent families. I watched his gaze sweep across the room until he found me, before he dutifully offered me a wink - or a grin, before turning back to the conversation at hand. Sometimes, we had breakfast together, but, most often, wedidn’t, but that didn’t mean I didn’t prepare the table every morning anyway.
We were two people livingpastone another.
The only decent conversation where Paul had articulated his wants was when he told me that he didn’t think the Friday night gatherings were anappropriateplace for me. And that statement cemented what I already knew - I wasn’t a social person, and now Paul knew that. I rubbed the ache in my chest away - the one that threw up a thousand splinters of self-doubt, yelling at me that I had been foundwanting.It didn’t matter anyway, not when my place would be in our home, looking after our children and running a household.
It also didn’t help that the few phone calls I had with my mother served to reinforce hers and my father’s expectations - they were expecting a wedding soon after my servitude here was complete. And after Paul’s less than enthusiastic response this week, I couldn’t help but feel as if I were failing. I hadonepurpose, and I couldn’t even get my husband-to-be tostay at home- tonoticeme.
CHAPTER NINE: THE MEANING OF FRIDAY
O’GRADY
