The Circle

Country.”
    And they had proceeded with dinner. Afterward, Annie had, at Mae’s insistence, shown
     her some documents, ancient yellowed papers detailing their family history, a beautiful
     black portfolio of genealogies, scholarly articles, pictures of grave old men with
     extravagant sideburns standing near rough-hewn cabins.
    In other visits to Annie’s house, her family was equally generous, unassuming and
     careless with their name. But when Annie’s sister was married, and the extended family
     arrived, Mae saw a different side. She was seated at a table of single men and women,
     most of themAnnie’s cousins, and next to Annie’s aunt. She was a wiry woman in her forties, her
     features similar to Annie’s but arranged with lesser results. She was recently divorced,
     having left a man “beneath my station,” she said with pretend haughtiness.
    “And you know Annie from …?” She’d first turned to Mae fully twenty minutes into dinner.
    “College. We were roommates.”
    “I thought her roommate was Pakistani.”
    “That was freshman year.”
    “And you saved the day. Where are you from?”
    “Middle of the state. Central Valley. A small town no one’s heard of. Sort of near
     Fresno.”
    Mae drove on, remembering all this, some of it injecting fresh pain into her, something
     still wet and raw.
    “Wow, Fresno!” the aunt had said, pretending to smile. “I haven’t heard that word
     in a long time, thank god.” She’d taken a swallow from her gin and tonic and squinted
     out at the wedding party. “The important thing is that you got out. I know good colleges
     look for people like you. That’s probably why I didn’t get in where I wanted to. Don’t
     let anyone tell you Exeter helps. So many quota spots to fill with people from Pakistan
     and Fresno, right?”
    The first time she’d gone home transparent had been revelatory and had burnished Mae’s
     faith in humanity. She’d had a simple evening with her parents, making and eating
     dinner and while doing so, they’d discussed the differences in her father’s treatment
     before and after they became insured through the Circle. Viewers could see boththe triumphs of his treatment—her father seemed vibrant and moved with ease through
     the house—but they also saw the toll the disease was taking on him. He fell awkwardly
     while trying to make his way upstairs, and afterward there was a flood of messages
     from concerned viewers, followed by thousands of smiles from all over the world. People
     suggesting new drug combinations, new physical therapy regimens, new doctors, experimental
     treatments, Eastern medicine, Jesus. Hundreds of churches put him in their weekly
     prayers. Mae’s parents felt confident in their doctors, and most viewers could see
     that her father’s care was exceptional, so what was more important and plentiful than
     the medical comments were those simply cheering him and the family on. Mae cried reading
     the messages; it was a flood of love. People sharing their own stories, so many living
     with MS themselves. Others spoke of their own struggles—living with osteoporosis,
     with Bell’s palsy, with Crohn’s disease. Mae had been forwarding the messages to her
     parents, but after a few days decided to make their own email and mailing address
     public, so her parents could be emboldened and inspired by the outpouring themselves,
     every day.
    This, the second time she’d gone home, would, she knew, be even better. After she
     addressed the issue with the cameras, which she expected was some sort of misunderstanding,
     she planned to give all those who had reached out the chance to see her parents again,
     and to give her parents a chance to thank all those who had sent them smiles and help.
    She found the two of them in the kitchen, chopping vegetables.
    “How are you guys?” she said, while forcing them into a three-way embrace. They both
     smelled of onions.
    “You’re sure affectionate tonight, Mae!” her father said.
    “Ha ha,” Mae said, and tried to indicate, with a rolling back of her eyelids, that
     they should not imply that she was ever less affectionate.
    As if remembering that they were on camera, and that their daughter was now a more
     visible and important person, her parents adjusted their behavior. They made lasagna,
     with Mae adding a few ingredients Additional Guidance had asked her to bring and display
     to watchers. When dinner was ready, and Mae had given adequate