The place was nearly empty. The owner was behind the counter scrolling through his phone, and some news broadcast murmured from the TV on the wall.

After a few more rounds, Solomon started to open up.

"Joseph, you've gotten thin." He pointed at me. "Back at the institute, you had this energy about you. Now you look like you've aged twenty years."

I said nothing. Took another sip.

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Honestly, man, sometimes I think you got a raw deal."

"Back at the institute, who didn't respect you? That algorithm model of yours. Marvin talked about it all the time. Said you were the best talent he ever mentored, that your future was limitless."

"And then what? You just up and left."

I picked up a peanut, tossed it in my mouth, and chewed.

Back then, I'd been leading the algorithm framework for a core project. Three straight months buried in the lab, sleeping four or five hours a night. Writing code until two or three in the morning was routine. When exhaustion hit, I'd crash on a cot for a few hours and get right back to it at dawn.

The day the system finally ran clean, the whole team exhaled.

Marvin Lawrence slapped the table during a group meeting and declared that this young man was going places.

I was twenty-one that year, my head full of nothing but architecture design and model optimization, convinced the future held infinite possibilities.

Then I met Felicity.

I spoke slowly. "The road I took was my own choice."

"I know." Solomon raised his glass. "But I think you chose wrong."

"You gave up everything for love. And what did it get you? You think I haven't heard what your life's been like with the Hensons?"

"Marrying in, doing their grunt work, getting looked down on by every last one of them. What's the point?"

I didn't answer.

He took a sip, eyeing me through half-closed lids. "Joseph, let me ask you something. If you had the chance, would you be willing to come back to the institute?"

4

I sat in silence for a long time.

The TV switched to a different program and started playing an old song.

The owner turned off the counter light, came over, and set down a fresh pot of tea for us.

I finally spoke. "Hard to say."

"It's not that I don't want to. I just don't know if I can go back."

"Technology is one of those things where a year or two away is fine, but seven years? Everything's changed."

"The work I was doing back then, nobody would have any use for it now."