In the After

apartment. Out of habit I was completely silent. In the living room, I noticed kids’ clothes on the couch, a toy truck on the floor. My mother must have taken Adam to bed with her, not wanting to disturb us.
    I quietly opened the cabinet doors until I found a glass and filled it with water from the pitcher in the fridge. The cool water soothed my throat and I drank it greedily. I drained the glass and filled it again to the brim. Then I brought it back to Baby in the bedroom in case she wanted some later. After I put the glass on the nightstand, I snuggled with her under the covers.
    When I woke again, it was eight o’clock, and light was streaming in the window. Uneasy, I got up and surveyed the view. My mother’s apartment looked down on a smallish park area that people were walking through on their way to other buildings. The area had the same look as the structures, minimally maintained.
    I closed the blinds and shivered with the strangeness of it all. There were dozens of people down there. A pregnant woman read while several children ran around her, playing. I wondered, How many people live in New Hope?
    I made my way to my mother’s room, hoping to spend time with her before she left for work. I looked for my old clothes but they were gone. In their place were two jumpsuits. One was Baby’s size and was a bright yellow, and the other, larger one was red and must have been meant for me. Underneath them were two pairs of shoes, the same colors as the jumpsuits. Both pairs were way too small for me and too big for Baby. I placed them on the floor. We didn’t need shoes anyway.
    I woke Baby and showed her the new clothes. She loved the yellow color, but all I could think was how impractical it was. You couldn’t blend in; you couldn’t hide. It was like wearing a big flashing sign that said, “Come eat me.”
    I buttoned up my own jumpsuit and looked in the mirror. It was big and the extra material billowed out, making me look several sizes larger than I was. I rolled up the sleeves and pant legs and resigned myself to looking stupid for a while.
    My mother wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, but I found a note on her bedroom door.
    I’ll be back at eleven to show you around. You can watch TV until then. Snacks in the fridge. Love you, Mom .
    My mother the workaholic, just like Before. Unnerved, I put the note on the counter and turned on the TV. Ours at home could still play videos, and sometimes Baby watched with the sound off. I flipped through the channels, finding only five stations. One had old sitcoms, another one showed cartoons, and there was even one with movies, all from Before.
    The last channel was a news station, minus the slick studio feel. The “anchor,” an older man, sat at a plain metal desk with nothing but a white wall behind him. I turned up the volume, and Baby covered her ears. The man spoke directly into the camera: “Grave news today, another Guardian has lost his life while defending New Hope. We will honor his memory Friday night at Memorial Hall.”
    I was startled by a death, after all my mother’s assurances that we were safe here. How often did it happen? I listened to the news for a while, understanding very little of the context.
    “And finally we have a breakthrough in our post-ap research, thanks to Director Harris.” I stared at the screen as the camera panned left. My mother looked back at me.
    “This is indeed a bright day, for I believe that we are close to realizing the dream that so many of us share.” This is the mother I knew, professional and commanding. “We would like to put out a call for volunteers, once again. Any interested citizens should report immediately to the clinic for suitability testing.” Suitability? For what?
    After fifteen minutes the news repeated itself, so I turned the volume way down and flipped to cartoons for Baby. I searched the fridge, which was pretty bare except for some questionable-looking plastic bowls, their contents even more questionable. Great snacks, Mom . I did find a block of cheese wrapped in a cloth. On the counter was a loaf of coarse, homemade bread. Cheese sandwiches it was.
    I toasted the bread and cheese in the oven and it smelled delicious. I hadn’t had real cheese in a very long time. My mouth started to water. The oven dinged and I transferred the sandwiches to a plate. The smell of melted cheese filled the room and suddenly I was brought back to another time. I was watching TV in our old