Jacob

By the end of the baby shower, Connor and Amy’s living room was barely visible.

Gift bags covered the couch. Tiny clothes were stacked across the coffee table. A stroller sat half assembled in the corner while James studied the instructions as if they had personally insulted him.

Connor held up a piece of the frame.

“I think that goes underneath.”

James shook his head.

“It absolutely does not.”

“You’ve been holding it upside down.”

James turned the instructions around.

“That explains the diagram.”

Maya carried in one final box and set it beside two others she had hidden in the garage.

Connor looked at the stack.

“That’s all one gift?”

“Yes.”

“What did you buy us?”

“You’ll see.”

Connor opened the largest box first.

“A Surface all-in-one?”

Amy looked between him and Maya.

“What is it?”

“It’s Livonne,” Maya said. “The same system we use for family game night. It’s also what helped me look after Connor’s grandfather.”

Amy looked back at the Surface.

“So this is what connects everybody.”

“That’s part of it,” Connor said.

Maya nodded toward the screen.

“And now you won’t have to join game night from your phone.”

“That alone might be worth it,” Amy said.

The second box held a Livonne Bedside for their room.

The third held the nursery pieces: a camera and a Guardian Health sensor that could track the baby’s breathing and heart rate from beside the crib. It would work alongside the Angelcare under-mattress monitor they had already bought.

Amy looked across all three boxes.

“You got us all this?”

Maya shrugged.

“You’re going to need it.”

They mounted the Surface all-in-one in the living room. The Bedside went beside their bed. The camera and Guardian sensor went into the nursery.

Connor turned on the Surface.

“Hey, Connor.”

“Hey.”

“I brought over your personal profile from your family’s Livonne. Your preferences, contacts, and the apps you still use are ready.”

Amy stepped closer.

“And me?”

“Hey, Amy. I started a new profile for you. We can set it up together whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay.”

“I also hear there’s a baby coming.”

Amy smiled.

“There is.”

“What should I call him?”

Connor and Amy looked at each other.

They had chosen the name weeks ago, but had not told anyone yet.

Amy nodded.

Connor turned back toward the Surface.

“Jacob.”

Maya’s expression changed.

“Jacob?”

“That’s the name,” Amy said.

Maya repeated it once, more quietly.

“Jacob.”

James leaned into the room.

“That’s a good name.”

“You say that like you helped,” Maya said.

“I emotionally supported the process.”

“You learned it eight seconds ago.”

“And I’ve been supportive the entire time.”

Connor laughed.

For months, everyone had called him the baby.

The baby’s room.

The baby shower.

The baby clothes piled across the living room.

Now he had a name.

Amy did not use Livonne much at first.

Connor spoke to it naturally because he had grown up with it. He added reminders as he walked through the room, updated the shopping list, and sent things to Maya without picking up his phone.

Amy watched him use it for a few weeks.

Then she came home from a prenatal appointment carrying a blood-pressure cuff and an email from her doctor listing everything she was supposed to track.

Blood pressure every morning.

Heart rate.

Symptoms.

A few other things she was already afraid she would forget.

She dropped her phone on the counter.

“I have to do all of this every day.”

Connor looked over the email.

“Forward it to Livonne.”

“Can I just do that?”

“Yeah. And you probably don’t know this, but Livonne keeps our memories separate. Anything you put in stays with your profile, not mine or my family’s. There’s a whole explanation if you ever want to read it.”

“Maybe later.”

Amy forwarded the email.

Livonne organized the instructions and set up the daily routines.

The next morning, Amy took her blood pressure and read the numbers aloud.

Livonne recorded them.

Later, she added her heart rate from her watch and answered a few quick questions about how she was feeling.

That was it.

At her next appointment, everything was already organized on her phone.

The daily readings.

The notes she had added.

The questions she wanted to ask.

She did not have to reconstruct two weeks from memory in the exam room.

After that, whenever something new landed on her plate, Amy knew where to put it.

A new instruction.

A form from the hospital.

Something they needed to buy.

Something they had already bought and could no longer find.

As the due date approached, Connor and Amy created one routine for leaving for the hospital.

Livonne would notify Maya, send the family an update when Connor and Amy were ready, and move the information they needed onto their phones and into the car.

They practiced it twice.

The first time, Connor forgot the hospital bag.

The second time, he remembered the bag and checked the car seat.

Then he walked out the door without Amy.

After that, the Surface reduced his part of the plan to three things.

Amy.

The hospital bag.

The car seat.

Then, late one night, Amy stood at the top of the stairs with one hand against the wall.

“Connor.”

He looked up from the living room.

Something in her voice brought him to his feet immediately.

“I think it’s time.”

The Surface woke.

Amy.

Bag.

Car seat.

Amy looked at the screen.

“I can’t believe I’m on the list.”

“I did forget you on the second dry run.”

Connor grabbed the bag and checked the seat.

Livonne notified Maya.

This time, he remembered all three.

Together, they left to meet Jacob.