“Of course. We’ll talk about it later.” She smiled placidly at him.
“Helen,” he began, his eyes widening at her in warning.
She stood up before Lucas had a chance to lecture her, and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, smarty-pants. I want to go to Paris. Or Rome. Or Stockholm.”
He didn’t know what she meant until a city skyline appeared at the edge of the field of grass and wildflowers. There was no ugly transition, no garbage heaps or poorly designed public transit hubs, just flowers and then pavement. A gleaming city sprang into being, perfect and contained from the natural world right next to it, like a kingdom in a snow-globe.
They stepped onto the pavement, and the city and all of its noise and bustle and life surrounded them. The scent of roasting coffee and baking bread filled the air, and their noses led them to a murmuring, clattering café, half a block down.
“It’s like New York, Vienna, and Reykjavík had a baby with Scotland,” Lucas said in awe.
He looked up at the buildings, some ancient and castle-like and some gleaming and new. Right outside the tall buildings, a perfect wilderness of forests, lakes, and mountains awaited to be hiked, swam, and skied.
Lucas shook his head to clear it. “It’s Everycity.”
“Yes,” Helen laughed softly. “Every city I’ve never been to.”
“I promised you once that we’d travel,” he said, his face sad. “I’m sorry, Helen. It would have only taken us a few moments, and we could have flown anywhere together. But I never took you.”
“We had other things on our minds,” she said, taking his hand. “I didn’t build this to shame you. I built it to share with you.”
Lucas raised his face to the sky, taking in the complex layers of smells and voices.
“Well, you got everything right—except for one thing.” Lucas swallowed hard and smiled, glancing at her. “It’s a lot cleaner than any city I’ve ever been to.”
“What can I say, I’m from Nantucket,” Helen said, shrugging. “We don’t do filthy.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. Even the dirt there is clean.” Lucas laughed and turned his whole body to face hers.
For just a moment, Helen felt like he would kiss her, and everywhere in Everycity the sun shone a little brighter. But he didn’t kiss her. At the last second, he pulled back and changed the subject.
“Context clues. I know you want something to eat because you made us appear right next to a café,” he said, his voice deep and textured. He turned away and squeezed her hand, like he was trying to snap them both out of a dream. “Come on. Let’s see what you put on the menu.”
“Wait. Why?” she asked, suddenly shy.
“This world’s a reflection of your desires.” He led Helen into the busy café before she had a chance to remove anything unobtrusively. He glanced left and right at the tile-top wrought-iron tables, mismatched crockery, and the open rafters above their heads, and smiled. “This is your subconscious. I want to know what you really want.”
Too late to stop him, Helen followed Lucas as he walked into her subconscious. There was art on the walls—weird combinations of images that would never be on the same wall in a museum.
Ansel Adams and Toulouse-Lautrec somehow lived in perfect harmony in Helen’s little world. Cancan girls showed their legs next to noble pines buried deep in winter’s bleached purity.
It was everything that Helen loved about art, and everything she loved about human nature. She looked at another wall and saw a vibrant, almost violent-looking Van Gogh hanging just inches away from a soothing and orderly Mondrian.
Helen knew that Lucas saw every nuance, every dialogue between the works of art. One image informed the other as Helen went back and forth in her subconscious about what was more alluring—humanity’s ability to be rational and pure, or its need to be messy and sexy.
Lucas walked right into Helen’s unfinished internal argument and saw everything that was buried inside of her—bare skin fresh from a hot bath, and birch trees dusted with snow. Helen felt naked and laid open for him to stare at. It was so embarrassing she groaned.
She pulled Lucas into a tiny booth in the corner by the window and put up her menu, like a barricade. She tried to read the menu but it was blank. Just like her mind.
“Helen?” Lucas said gently, tugging down her menu. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. You know that, right?”
“S-sure,” she stammered, shaking.
“I’m not afraid of anything inside of you,” he pressed. “Good. Bad. Creepy. I know darkness. And I’d never judge you for having a few drops of your own.”
“Oh.” Helen looked around the room. Goya’s disturbing painting Saturn Devouring His Son captured her eye and held it. “And what if it’s more than a few drops?”
Lucas laughed. He snatched her menu away, threw it to the floor, and grabbed both her hands. “Didn’t I tell you I love you?”