Mindscan

Even in the dim light, Tyler must have seen that my body was artificial: he looked at my proffered hand as though I'd extended some hideous mechanical claw. He did finally take my hand, but he shook it with no enthusiasm. "Hello, Tyler," I said, bringing all the warmth I could to my electronic voice.

He was clearly Karen's son, although he looked almost twenty years older than she did now. But his basic facial structure was highly similar to hers: broad, with a smallish nose and widely spaced green eyes. "Hello," he said, his voice ironically sounding flat and mechanical.

I smiled and he looked away. I knew that my smile appeared slightly wrong — but, for Pete's sake, his mother's old smile had been the lopsided smirk of a stroke victim. "I'm glad to meet you," I said. "Karen has told me a lot about you."

A brief wince; maybe he didn't like me calling his mother by her first name.

Karen led us into the living room, and I took a seat on the couch, crossing my legs.

Tyler continued to stand. "Your mother tells me you're a history professor," I said.

He nodded. "At the University of Michigan."

"What's your specialty?"

"American history. Twentieth century."

"Oh?" I did want him to like me, and people usually warmed to talking about their work. "What topics do you cover?"

He looked at me, trying to decide, I guess, whether to accept this olive branch.

Finally, he shrugged. "All sorts of things. The Scopes Trial. The Great Depression.

WWII. JFK. The Cuban Missile Crisis. Vietnam. Apollo. Watergate. Iran-Contra."

Apollo had gone to the moon, and WWII and Vietnam were wars — but I didn't have a clue what the others were. Jesus Christ, the twentieth century. Karen's century.

"I'll get you to tell me about those some day," I said, still trying to ingratiate myself.

"It all sounds fascinating."

He looked at me. "You must remember some of them," he said. "I mean, I know you've chosen to look young now, but…"

Karen glanced at me, and I shrugged a little. It had to come out at some point. "This new face is only a little bit more youthful-looking than my original." I paused. "I'm forty-four."

Tyler blinked. "Forty-four? God, you're younger than I am!"

"Yup. I was born in 2001 — on the first of January, as a matter of fact. I was the—"

"You're younger than I am," repeated Tyler, "and you're dating my mother."

"Tyler, please," said Karen. She took the seat next to me on the couch.

His eyes drilled into her, emerald lasers. "Well, that's what you said on the phone — you wanted me to meet the man you're dating. Mother, you're eighty-five, and he's barely half that."

"But I don't feel eighty-five," said Karen. "And I don't look it anymore."

"It's all fake," said Tyler.

"No, it's not," replied Karen firmly. "It's real. I'm real, and I'm human, and I'm alive — more alive than I've been in years. And Jake is my friend, and being with him makes me happy. You do want me to be happy, don't you, Tyler?"

"Yes, but…" He looked at his mother. "But, for God's sake…"

Karen frowned, something she rarely did. There was a strange bunching of her plastiskin between her lower lip and her chin when she did so; she'd have to get Dr. Porter to fix that. " 'For God's sake,' " repeated Karen, and she shook her head.

"You want me to be dating someone my own age — someone who's about to die? Or would you rather I wasn't dating at all?"

"Pop would—"

"You know I loved your father — I loved Ryan Horowitz totally and completely.

This has nothing to do with him."

"He's only been dead two years," said Tyler.

"It'll be three in November," said Karen. "And besides…"

"Yes?" said Tyler, as if daring her to elaborate. I knew what Karen wasn't saying: that Ryan had had Alzheimer's for years before his body had finally given up, that Karen had essentially been alone for much longer than just since he'd died. But Karen wasn't about to be sucked into that trap. Instead, as was her wont, her gift, her raison d'etre, she told a story.

"When I was nineteen, Tyler, I fell in love with Daron Bessarian, a nice non-Jewish boy. Now, you barely remember your grandfather, I'm sure, but he was a Holocaust survivor, and he didn't want me dating somebody who wasn't a Jew. He kept saying to me, 'If they come for us again, this boy — he would hide you? When they try to take your home, he would stand up for you?' And I said, 'Of course he would.

Daron would do anything for me.' But my father didn't believe it, and when Daron and I got married, he refused to come to the wedding. Now, yes, Daron and I eventually divorced, but that was for our own reasons. But I didn't let my father dictate who I should be with back then, and I'm not going to let my son dictate it now. So, mind your manners, Tyler, have a seat, and enjoy the evening."

Tyler took a deep breath and let it out noisily. "All right." He looked around, found the chair furthest from me, and plopped himself in it. "When do we eat?"

I dropped my gaze to the floor.

"Oh, right," said Tyler. "When do I eat?"