Neverending

30

Donna, it turns out, has been busy.

'So you've been where?' I ask, not sure I've heard her correctly.

'Mini Citi,' she says, frowning as she stabs at the teabag in her cup.

'Is it... made of Lego?' I ask.

Donna looks at me. Then starts laughing. 'Damn, Tinder, I can always rely on you to crack wise.' She takes a sip of her tea. 'Mini... let's just call it HQ – it's the only political place in here.' Donna catches herself. 'Actually, it's non-political. That's how they pitch it.'

I spot a ceramic jar on the breakfast bar with a tiny sticky that says Help yourself and really hope there are cookies inside. Jackpot.

I offer Donna the jar. 'And what do they do there? And what were you doing?'

'You know what? I was after answers. This whole thing,' Donna makes a dismissive gesture. 'It's chaos.'

I look at her.

'Yes, yes, ok, it's also officially Chaos, before you start in.' I'm letting Donna talk uninterrupted, partly because I know she'll get to her point and that it'll be worth hearing. The other reason: these cookies. Damn.

Donna looks earnest. 'I think it's great here. I really do. They're doing amazing things.' I think the same, though I feel as though there's a lot I don't yet understand about how this place works. 'But I don't get what their game plan is. What's going to happen when hoards and hoards of people turn up at their door? Are they just sealing it off, the rest be damned?'

I say nothing. It's not great. But also, I can't help but feel my empathy is driven by my selfish feeling of safety.

'So that's what I went to ask. The Collective.' Donna takes a bite of a cookie, then looks at me, eyebrows raised.

'I know,' I say, reaching for a third. My body can take it: I've been following the apocalypse diet for almost 24 hours now. 'Did you find out anything? What did they say?'

Donna rolls her eyes. 'It took me three hours to even get past Salvete. And I really didn't feel that welcome.' She sighs. 'I'd love to think that this place is genuine but, I don't know... Is it even possible for something like this to work without jurisdiction?'

It's something I've given a lot of thought to, especially around the time that both Terrafirmes were built. They were constructed simultaneously, arch by arch, though on opposite sides of the globe. In part, I think, to demonstrate how much of a collaborative the concept really was. Walking the walk. It was all we could talk about on campus, for a couple of weeks, at least. Democracy without an actual democracy. 'I'm not sure,' I say. 'But I'm glad we're here.'

Donna smiles, 'You're right, Tinder. I've got my boys. That's the thing.'

I smile. I realise I'm feeling the warmth of family. I also realise I'd been anxious about when I might feel it again.  The strength of relief overwhelmed me when I saw Donna.  I was no longer alone.

I try to sound casual. 'Did Suze say anything about Seb?'

Donna eyes me. My attempts to conceal my concern clearly pathetically transparent. 'What about Seb?'

'Umm, I don't know. He's fine. I think. I mean, I haven't seen him but...'

'So why that face?'

I look around the room the towards the front door. Suzie said she was running an errand but I'm well aware that it her popularity book, I'm scrabbling around pretty near the bottom, waist-high in her barely-veiled apathy. I don't need her to hear me say anything that might further damage our already tenuous friendship. 'He sounded weird on the phone last night.' I pause and think. 'And then today, I thought he might call me back and he hasn't.'

Donna starts, 'But -'

'Ok, but also, Suzie's being really vague about where he is.' I know I look annoyed. 'Why can't she just be straight, for once?' I think about the well-crafted Bohemian vibe Suzie has going on. And to almost everyone, she does seem like a sourdough-baking organic yogi saint. But... maybe it's some sort of competitive thing she has, because I'm Seb's closest friend. I don't know, but if pressed, I'd guess it was this.

Donna gives me a patient smile, one that I know is taking a herculean effort. She has been forever smoothing the ground between mine and Suze's mutual intolerance for one another. 'Let Suze be Suze, Tinder,' she says, offering me a fourth cookie.

Fuck it – the world's ending. I take one.

'And I know where Seb is,' Donna says. 'I saw him about half an hour ago.'