When the self-driving cab pulled away from the quaint farmhouse-style home, Monica knew she was stranded. She couldn’t call it back. She couldn’t order another. The only way now was forward.

Monica took a breath, then hiked up the porch stairs and knocked on the regal wooden door. Once. Twice. No response. 

She glanced around to see if any neighbors were spying. It had been ages since she’d been in the suburbs, and she’d forgotten just how green everything was in late spring. It was like a painting made of neon Jello-shot vomit. Birds were flitting through the trees, teasing her with merry songs, while squirrels chittered in the branches, waving their feather-boa tails like the high-society cousins of the big city’s rats. Even the nature out here was elitist. Monica wouldn’t have been surprised if the chipmunks’ stripes were designer.

No one was looking, so she knocked again. 

This time, muffled footsteps brought acid to her throat.

The door swung open. Julia looked her up and down, taking in the bags in her arms and the boxes on the sidewalk. 

“You could’ve called.”

Monica pulled out a plastic baggie containing the shattered remnants of her phone. “Not really.”

“Things with Mike went sideways?” 

Julia didn’t sound too heartbroken about it. Monica wasn’t surprised. But she was far too sober for an ‘I told you so’.

The words she needed to say clung to her tongue like bonded magnets, but she managed to push them out.

“Can I come in?”

In the front sitting room —sorry, the parlor— Monica raised an eyebrow as she accepted the teacup her sister offered. It was pink and flowery, just like everything in Julia’s house. 

“Brandon doesn’t mind living in The Secret Garden?” Monica asked as Julia poured the tea. She watched the steam rise in lazy rivulets.

“No, he thinks it’s nice,” said Julia, setting the kettle onto a little copper stand on the table. “Do you even know what The Secret Garden is about?”

“A garden? I dunno. Never read it.”

“There’s a copy on the bookshelf if you’d like to, now that you’ve got the time.”

Monica hid an eye roll behind a sip of tea. 

The two sisters steeped in the silence for a long moment before Julia asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Monica scoffed. “Do you really care?”

“I do, Nicky. I always have.” 

Monica’s fingers tightened on the teacup’s handle. Julia had always been like this— acting like she’d been right all along, pretending to care. She had the better job, more money, a perfect family; of course she knew best. It was all so self-serving.

“I’d rather not get into it.” 

Julia shrugged. “Well, I told Brandon you’d be staying a few days. You can take the guest room, though you’ll have to move Summer’s toys. It’s become her playroom.” 

Monica tried to do some math to figure out how old her niece was, but her thoughts fizzled out. “Thank you.”

Julia studied her for a moment. “Were you expecting me to put up more of a fight?” 

The question was unexpected. Monica thought about it. 

She almost wished she had. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel like she’d hit rock bottom. It would just feel like old times. 

In the morning, Monica woke up to a pair of round blue eyes staring right into her soul. She sucked in a breath and sat up. It was a little girl, maybe seven years old, in a bright pink cowgirl hat. 

Summer squinted. “Who are you?”

“I’m your aunt,” Monica said. “Your mom never showed you a picture of me?”

“No. Have you always been my aunt?”

“Yes, I’ve always been your aunt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Summer!” came Julia’s shout from down the hall. A moment later, she poked her head into the room. “Oh, Summer. Sorry, Nicky, she’ll be off to school in a sec. Then I’ll call you a car to the cell store. Alright? There’s breakfast downstairs in the autobaker, help yourself.” With that, she wrestled the protesting cowgirl out of the room.

Monica sat for a moment. It wasn’t like they lived in the same town or city, and she hadn’t attended a family get-together in years. It was perfectly understandable that Summer hadn’t recognized her. So why did it make her heart sink?

She got dressed and sat on the porch until the self-driven school bus came and went, whisking Summer off to learn her ABCs, or whatever kids her age were doing these days. Everything was so safe now that the country had switched over to a fully autonomous system. The smart vehicles and ever-improving computers had all but eliminated accidents, and the tens of thousands of annual road deaths had diminished to near zero. Monica was certainly pleased to have her hands off the wheel; she’d never been the best at paying attention to where she was going.

“You’ve got the address?” Julia asked as she loaded up the car-calling app. 

Monica held up the scrap of paper she’d written the cell store’s details on. So old-fashioned.

“I’ll see you later then. I make dinner at 5.” Julia stepped back inside and closed the door. 

Monica turned to face the street and closed her eyes. Dinner at 5. All she could imagine was herself sitting at the dinner table, eating mac and cheese out of a bright pink bowl just like Summer. Was this her life, now? 

The car came within two minutes, a nice newer-model single-seater with a sunroof. Monica clambered inside, but as she did so, a not-so-gentle breeze suddenly tugged the paper out of her hand. 

“No! Come back!” she exclaimed as the address fluttered away and out of sight, but she couldn’t get out of the car to chase it without forfeiting the vehicle to another caller. And the thought of banging on Julia’s door, telling her what had happened, and begging her to order another… 

Monica pressed her head into her hands. Of course, this would happen to her. Of course, it would happen today, of all days, when she didn’t even have a phone.

But did she need a smart phone when she was in a smart car?

Monica tapped on the screen impatiently before it lit up.

“Welcome to Moirai, your personalized car service. Please select manual, compound, or intuitive entry.”

Monica groaned. Some new model. Who needed all these options? 

“Intuitive, I guess.” She hoped that meant easy mode.

The screen made a cheerful little chirp, then went to a login screen. “Please enter your Standard Access credentials to continue.”

“Oh, come on,” Monica muttered, tapping in her information on the keyboard it provided. 

The car made a polite ping. “Successfully connected to Standard Access profile. Your search history has loaded. Please put on your seatbelt.” A little GPS map appeared onscreen, previewing the route.

Monica blinked. “But I didn’t put in an address…”

It didn’t seem to matter, because the moment her seatbelt clicked, the car sped off. 

Fine, Monica thought, figuring it had found the search she’d done for the cell store on Julia’s computer. Maybe there was something to be said for the Standard Access system. It already knew where she needed to go. 

Or not.

Ten minutes later, Monica found herself cursing under her breath as the car slowed in front of an all-too familiar house. And worse, when it stopped right in front of the old man mowing the lawn, who immediately cut the motor and squinted. 

“Nicky? Is that you?”

Monica blanched. “Hi, dad.”

Ryan dusted off his hands as he came up to the window, limping slightly. His hair had gone white and the lines in his face had deepened since she last saw him. Had it really been that long?

“I wish you would’ve called, your mother’s out right now…”

“I’m not here to stay. I’m just passing through.”

Ryan tilted his body, peering into the car. “Where’s Mike?”

Monica ground her teeth. The last thing she wanted to do was explain the situation to her ex’s biggest critic. Last time they’d visited, Mike had ended up at a hotel after her father had called him a scumbag, and Mike had called her father worse. 

“He’s gone.” 

“Ah. Just like that?” 

“He cheated. I kicked him out. Then he reminded me he owned the place.” 

“Right. This was last night?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Where did you stay last night?”

“With Julia.”

Ryan nodded. “Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“I didn’t burn the place down, if that’s what you think.”

“That’s not— I’m just happy you saw her as a place to go for help.”

The word made Monica cringe. “Yeah.” It wasn’t like there was anywhere else for her to go.

Ryan managed something of a friendly smile. “Well, you’re always welcome here.”

Now that Mike’s out of the picture? Monica wanted to grumble. But instead, she just said, “Thanks.”

Her father didn’t seem to know how to back out of the conversation, so he stuck his hands into his pockets. “So… what’s your plan?”

“Right now, I’m going to get a new phone. After that… I’m not sure.”

“Well, kiddo, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Ryan’s smile lines furrowed. Then he started patting his pockets. “You got a pen on you by any chance?”

Confused, Monica pulled out the one she’d used earlier. She passed it through the window to her father, who scrawled something on what looked like an old paper receipt. He slipped it back to her. It was his phone number. 

“I’ll be your first contact,” Ryan said. “Oh, unless that silly Standard Access saved your contact list. Does that stuff go into the cloud?”

“I dunno,” Monica said, even though she was quite sure it did.

Ryan shrugged. “Well, maybe you want a fresh start.”

“Because my life’s such a failure?” 

“What? No. You’re many things, but a failure isn’t one of them.”

“Just a disappointment, then.” Monica’s skin prickled with resentment at the word.

The old man gave her a strange, sad look. “You’ve never been a disappointment, Monica.”

“Right.” Monica glanced back at the car’s dashboard. Julia was going to be pissed about the extra charges. “I’ve gotta go. I’m already late to my appointment.”

“Alright,” said Ryan, stepping back from the curb. “You can call anytime, you know. If you want.”

“Sure.”

“I really appreciate you stopping by.” 

Monica nearly told him it was a mistake, but something in her couldn’t bear to see the gleam fade from his eyes.

Well, that was strange, Monica thought as the car zipped the other direction, having made certain the destination in the GPS was the cell store. 

She didn’t think she knew anyone in this part of town, so she didn’t think much of it when the car paused at a light. But then— 

“Monica?”

Monica jumped in her seat. Peering at her through her still-open window was her former boss, Lana. She was dressed like she was out for a jog, pulling out her earbuds as she stepped closer to the curb. 

To Monica’s dismay, the car didn’t move when the light turned green, or when she pounded furiously on the controls. 

“Hey, Lana,” she said, hoping her grimace looked at least a bit like a smile.

“What brings you back to town?”

“Just needed a change.”

“A change from the change, huh?” Lana laughed. Monica was unamused. She figured Lana was referencing her resignation letter, in which she’d excused her sudden departure with some half-true bull about needing a ‘major life change to more closely align herself with her goals’. 

It had been almost four years since she’d quit small-town advertising, clawing towards the big city’s major agencies but falling short in each of her gigs. Mike had been the one with the finance job, who made enough to buy his own place. Monica had been as much a part of his apartment as the perfectly fine sofa they’d thrown on the curb last summer when he’d decided to get a bigger one. 

“It wasn’t what I expected,” she said honestly, knowing any other excuse would open her up for more invasive questions. 

“I know the feeling,” Lana said. “I tried it once myself, you know. I was sold on the big city glory. People were always telling me things were better there, I could go higher. Make more money, you know? But after a couple years working my ass off, I realized no one had ever told me I’d be happier there. So, I came back.”

Monica was surprised; Lana never talked about her time in the city. She couldn’t understand how someone could gloss over something like that. Hadn’t she felt ashamed, dragging herself back to this sleepy little suburb? Hadn’t she felt defeated, like the city had won and spat her out? 

“Well, it was good seeing you,” Lana said when it became clear Monica was reluctant to chat. “Oh, and if you know anyone who’s looking for ad work, we’ve actually just had a position open up. Tell them to call HR anytime. Ah, here. I know people don’t do paper anymore, but we just got some new cards.” Lana dug in her fanny pack and beamed as she handed Monica a business card. 

“Thanks,” Monica said as the car started up again of its own accord. “I’ll think about it.”

After she’d rounded the corner, Monica made the car pull over. She prodded the dashboard, trying to get that first screen to reappear. “Manual entry. Manual entry!”

“Now recalculating route,” the car replied.

“No! No recalculating! Let me type the address!”

“Recalculation complete. Now continuing guidance.”

“Argh!” 

The car dipped back into the flow of traffic, despite Monica’s attempts to halt it. Eventually, she gave in; at least the cell store icon was displayed up ahead. Then the car stopped, this time for construction traffic.

“Oh, come on!” she shouted. With the new system, traffic was meant to be a relic of the past. She’d had enough of the past for one day. 

Then she glanced out the window, and immediately wanted to bury her head in her hands. 

Staring back at her from the next car over was Nate, her previous ex.

Monica let out a defeated sigh. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him. Not when the traffic was deadlocked, and both of their windows were open. 

“Hey, Nate,” she said after an awkward pause.

“Hey, Nicky.”

“I didn’t know you were still living here.”

“I didn’t know you were back.”

“I’m not back. I’m just… recalibrating.”

Nate arched an eyebrow. “The big city wasn’t everything you thought it’d be?”

Better than being stuck in a tiny shithole, she wanted to retort. It was probably what he expected her to say. After all, they’d ended things when she’d called his desire to build a life here ‘the fantasy of failure’. Because she was going to do so much better without him, right? Four years later, she’d sure shown him.

Her throat tightened. “No. It wasn’t.”

Nate frowned. “Did something happen?”

“No, it was just…” Monica glanced away, but no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find the words.

“It just wasn’t for you?” Nate finished for her.

Monica shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m moving on.”

Nate searched her expression for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright. Hope things work out for you.”

Monica stared. That was it? He’d been right, in the end. She’d been wrong. Didn’t he want to make that clear to her? Didn’t he want to gloat? 

The traffic still wasn’t moving. She couldn’t even see what was causing it up ahead. Now they were stuck here in an awkward silence, her cheeks burning like she had a fever. Why was everyone being so nice to her, as if they’d forgotten all the horrible things she’d said and done? Did she really look that pathetic? 

How could Julia not be judgmental, her father not disappointed, her former boss not indifferent, her old ex not smug? 

Wasn’t that how they’d been before?

That was how she would have felt.

She looked at the dashboard. The Moirai logo danced ambiently on the GPS screen, the car in its ‘resting’ state until the deadlock broke. The route was still pointing towards the cell store, despite the detour. But Monica was starting to gather that this wasn’t the only thing it had pulled from her data. 

If it was trying to embarrass her, it had succeeded. She really had nothing left to lose.

“Nate, wait,” she said, even though neither of their cars were moving. “I’m… sorry, for the things I said. About your dreams, about this town. We had different goals, and I didn’t understand that. I hope you’ve had better luck with yours than I have with mine.”

Nate looked surprised. “I dunno about luck. Things have been up and down since then. But now I’m just taking it as is comes. Every problem has its place and time, right? It’s like these cars— you can try to map your route as much as you’d like, but sometimes you just hit construction that isn’t in the system. You could get out and pick a fight with the builder-bots, or you can just relax and wait for it to clear.” 

“That’s very Zen of you.”

Nate shrugged. “Makes things easier to manage, I guess. Or maybe it just makes them less disappointing.”

After years of imagining his life had improved meteorically after their breakup, Monica was stunned. But before she could respond, the line of cars ahead began to move. 

“Ah, looks like we’re free,” he said. “Look, if you need someone to talk to, you can give me a call anytime. Being stuck in traffic feels a bit less shitty when you know we’re all stuck in it together, doesn’t it?”

That evening, Monica sat in her sister’s guest room with her new phone. A blank slate, her memories backed up safely to the cloud. 

From her pocket, she withdrew three pieces of paper— a receipt, a business card, and an unfolded football. 

Anytime, they had said, and Monica realized they actually might have meant it.

She picked one and dialed.