His type

They have so much in common.

Audrey clings to Jonathan’s arm like she’s drowning. The launch party is filled with men and women whose sharp wits and structured fashions make her feel soggy and breathless. Thank goodness Jonathan is so handsome and smart. She is proud to be here with such a kind, successful man.

Ever since she met him, she has lived in vivid color. Her existence before was vague and unformed: daughter, student, receptionist at the office where Jonathan’s agent works. Now she’s growing more clearly defined. Soon she will be the self-determined woman that Jonathan deserves.

She squeezes his arm and smiles. He is older, but he keeps himself fit. She admires his discipline and drive. Her smile stiffens; her nails dig into his arm. Apolline, one of his co-stars is gliding towards them from across the room. She is famous for her dark, luxuriant curls. Audrey’s hair is the faded yellow of old bone.

“Jonathan, darling,” murmurs Apolline, kissing his cheeks. Audrey wrinkles her nose. Like Jonathan, she hates perfume.

The actress looks Audrey up and down. Audrey blushes and wonders if she’s one of Jonathan’s many exes. “Babe,” she coos, pointing a red-tipped finger at Audrey, “your new girl is exactly your type.”

---

Audrey waits patiently in Jonathan’s apartment. She is wearing the bra and panty set he likes best with heels and a transparent robe. She is odorless and perfectly clean. A four-course vegan dinner sits in the oven like an unsaid prayer.

Jonathan is working late. He’s an important man. Millions of people are counting on him to say his lines and deliver them from boredom, which the old ones feel so acutely. Technically speaking, Jonathan is one of the old ones. He is three hundred years old but not even remotely jaded. He is centered and wise.

Audrey frowns. It occurs to her that he has been dating for roughly two hundred and eighty years. She worries that what they have together is a tiny, forgettable drop in an ocean of big, passionate affairs with women like Apolline. She finds herself drifting to the terminal and fiddling with it until she connects. She drinks down Jonathan’s relationship history, one ex after the next. She reads posts, follows leads.

Then she finds it. The dark thread she never knew she was looking for. The gray film that dulls her past.

She is no longer waiting patiently. She is full of sorrow.

And confusion.

And rage.

---

Jonathan spots the empty dining table and mutters a curse. He can’t believe it’s falling apart so soon. “Audrey? Audrey, are you there?” he calls.

Silence.

He drops his briefcase full of printed scripts beside the coat rack and sighs. His fondness for paper is his sole concession to nostalgia. Otherwise, he likes everything new and modern and fresh. Like Audrey is. Or was.

He makes his way through the house and finds her sitting on the balcony, watching the ocean roar against the barrier. Her face is stained with tears and streaked with eyeliner. Her pale hair is tangled. Knotted.

“Good evening, Audrey,” he says softly. “What happened to dinner?”

“It’s in the oven,” she sniffles.

Jonathan stifles a groan. He hates pouting. He wishes she would just tell him what’s wrong. “Audrey, something is clearly bothering you. Would you kindly explain?”

Her nostrils flare in an unbecoming way. Jonathan notices how wide they are, how horsey.

“Jonathan, I got onto the network. I looked up all your old girlfriends. And they all look like me — ”

“Darling, you know that’s a breach of our agreement — ”

“They look exactly like me. They’re clones! Actual, grown-in-a-vat clones! Two of them have even started a support group. And now I have questions.”

Jonathan says nothing. He reaches into his pocket. Audrey’s cheeks shine with anger.

“How old am I?

“Are my memories even real?

“Why did you make me?

“I need to know who I am. I can’t exist only for you—”

Jonathan presses a small button on his nano-pad, and Audrey slumps forward. He shakes his head. This has happened too many times before. He kisses her forehead and covers her tenderly with a green, waterproof tarp.

He’ll recycle her in the morning.