"Does it hurt?" Mira asks, peering at the ground, and I'm filled with gratitude for her presence.
       On the cracked pavement before her is a big green beetle bug, stuck on its back, legs flailing, and wings unable to beat. My heart wrenches at her empathy. The poor insect is unable to right itself, even when she gently nudges it with a stick. The most it achieves is a half tilt before flopping back again.
       Mira sighs. Her breath sounds just like mine after a long morning of writing, when I have to jam the words out of my fingers, nothing smooth or flowing about them. She captures the way I feel when I leave the office for the automatic kettle and notice the house is an echo chamber for my solo footsteps.
       Mira is also my daughter who wasn't. I see her Mondays and Thursdays, the time periods I've designated almost exclusively for her. It's a meager allocation, compared to what I really want. I would occupy all day, every day with Mira if I could--but who has that kind of money?
       The sun is high overhead, beating down on Mira, the bug, and me. It feels like I'm sweating through my shirt, even when I know the sensation is just an illusion.
       "Mommy," she intones, liquid brown eyes looking up at me. "Help me turn him over."
       Mira has on a dark red skirt and lemon tank top. From where she crouches, I can also see the black stretch shorts underneath that keep her from flashing her undies. Her hair is gathered in two braided pigtails, a band with yellow bobbles holding each in place. I've never seen someone so wholly absorbed in observation. I imagine her as an entomologist one day, the way she cares for anything with six to eight legs and a thorax. Yes, she would make a perfect scientist.
       The first sign of an Altern pill wearing off is the fade. Mira's hand, still holding the stick, goes translucent, and her little Adidas shoes disappear. In one moment, she's my girl--whole, giggly--and in the next, I'm forced to accept that our time together is almost up.
       When her world shimmers, I have always forgotten myself, lost hours to a different kind of reality. Mira's environment is one where I never ran out of time, never had to see pity on the gynecologist's face, telling me the answer before she spoke.
       Mira thrives within the depths of Altern, encapsulated by the muted room. Here, I have a chance to know her, for all her sweetness and curiosity, the way she loves with complete abandon. But Mira's dimension is not my own. I don't belong here, not permanently.
       "Mommy?" asks Mira as her forearm flickers, "What do you do when we're not together?"
       Now her torso has lost definition, and I'm having difficulty making her out in the bright light. Before I can answer, Mira, and the hot concrete she's been examining, wink out of sight. I'm back in the gray room alone, soft walls poor comfort for a mother's gaping arms. I feel the residual pulse of Mira as the retina image fades, and I realize this time I forgot to tell her, "I love you."

       They say not to jar oneself by transitioning too quickly from the muffled space of an Altern room into vividness and sound, but I need both. I walk straight through my galley kitchen with its sink full of plates and the stovetop crusted from last night's chicken marinade. The screened side door welcomes me back to the world of sunshine and true sensation.
       My body feels strange under the waves of summer heat. Most houses are quiet, neighbors at work downtown, or watching TV inside.
       I remember the bliss of first moving here--the feeling that my life was finally safe and uneventful, how eagerly I embraced domesticity and trivial suburban dramas. The beige and gray craftsman homes haven't changed over nine-and-a-half years. Not much tends to change here, not even the people.
       Mira and I were just playing in view of these houses, in the same weather, on the same front yard. I scan the sidewalk for her pigtails before remembering she inhabits a different plane of being.
       My retired neighbor Zeke waters his lawn across the street. It took a couple years for him to stop griping about how long I leave the trash bins out on garbage day, but we're good now. He feeds Marlon and changes the kitty litter when I travel for a new client. And I stop to talk to him for a minute as I head out on my morning jogs. I let Zeke pretend these conversations aren't his primary social interaction for the day; I'm not exactly a social butterfly myself.
        "The tomatoes look great, Ginny," Zeke hollers.
       He turns his hose off and gestures at the raised beds below my kitchen window. Red-orange hues splash the tender, trellised blobs. My garden is modest but earnest; basil nestled between the vines, and rosemary flourishing in a separate pot. I should have put the winter squash in the ground by now, but I've been distracted.
       I thank Zeke and consider going for a walk to clear my head. But I already feel like I'm in a dry oven. I fetch a pair of gloves from the hardware box by the door and pull weeds in the shade. Zeke goes back to his own lawn in silent solidarity.
       I build lists in my head--the kitchen still needs to be cleaned, plus there's groceries and another bag of food for Marlon. Vacuuming, if I'm feeling ambitious. Thoughts of Mira continue to tug at my attention; I can't help but long for her compact body. I ache for the whirlwind of her energy, a power sourced deep from the earth.
       I think I'll take notes of my doings this afternoon. I can compile them into a journal entry before going to sleep. Even though she might find my day boring, Mira will want to hear how I fritter away the hours. Without taking a record, I would never know.

        I built the add-on at a steep discount, courtesy of an Altern promo. I wasn't sure why I wanted a room in the first place, only that I kept seeing the commercials and reading about life-changing experiences through their VR program. I found myself on their website one stagnant afternoon, and an hour later, I was coordinating with a sales rep named Danilo to schedule the installation team.
        The first time I activated the simulation, I marveled at how the padded container disappeared into a perfect replica of the living room I left behind. I scanned left to right and took a cautious step forward, not able to move too far in any direction without hitting a wall.
       Then I spotted Mira. She was hazy, Altern still translating my idea of her into projected image. Her wavering three-foot-high body fit snugly into a navy dress with two yellow ducks on it, a fringe of fabric at the bottom undulating over her ashy knees. It was exactly the sort of outfit I would have bought her.
       Mira's hair was gathered in an afro puff, a red tie holding the curls in place. Her eyes were the most beautiful deep chestnut, and her lashes begged to touch my cheeks in a butterfly kiss. The full picture added up to instant love.
       "Mommy?" Mira sensed who I was without my telling her. She appraised me with no apprehension.
       "I'm here," I kneeled to her level. "I'm here, Mira Bug."
       She smiled and held out her arms to twirl.

        Mondays and Thursdays are an obscene distance apart.
        Working from home doesn't help, so most mornings I haul myself to the watering hole coffee shop around the corner--middle-aged laptop and notebook in tow. I'm not sure what vibe I'm giving off, but the baristas seem concerned. I imagine their huddle when I turn away from the counter. Does she have any friends?
        Somehow, the right day does always come around. But the Mira I visit is not the same as the one I saw three days ago. She's gangly now, as though only a few years from puberty. Mira's neat braids have been replaced by lopsided buns, and she's wearing a neon green jumper that makes her otherwise rich tone look sallow and washed out.
       "Mira? Mira Bug, is that you?" She sits listlessly at the edge of the lawn, rather than jumping up to greet me the way she usually does.
       I can tell this girl is Mira, but her face is all wrong. Her usual bright eyes look hard, like square-cut diamonds today, and the pudge of her cheeks is gone. From the beginning of the session, she already looks as though she's fading away.
       "Do you want to hunt beetles with me?" Mira shakes her head no. This isn't my girl. My girl is curious. She should be prodding some living being. I'm unnerved at her state.
       "What about a board game? We can go inside and--" But we can't go anywhere. If I move too far, I'll hit a wall. I pace four minuscule steps back and forth.
       I ask Mira what she's thinking about, if she's tired or thirsty. Not that I can do anything to help. Most of my questions meet silence, and when she does answer, Mira seems irritated, apathetic. I can't figure out what's shifted.
       I call customer service as soon as the session is over, seeping with anger as I navigate the phone tree to an actual representative.
       "Altern Incorporated, my name is Jessica. How can I help you today?" My teeth are like rocks that I'm grinding to sand.
       "My daughter isn't okay. You messed her up. How did you mess her up? She was perfect."
       "Alright, ma'am. So, you're experiencing some difficulties with the Altern visual display. I'd be happy to help you out with that. Can you tell me your name and the plan you're on?"
       I seethe but give her the information anyway.
       "Just one moment, ma'am." She sounds less attentive now that she's found out I'm on the second-cheapest option. I bet she thinks I'm one of those Altern junkies, taking extra shifts just to afford some twisted fantasy. The perfect woman, now legally available for the low price of your monthly paycheck.
       "She's my daughter," I say again so that Jessica won't get any ideas.
       "Thank you for the clarification, ma'am. I'm reviewing your last few sessions. Can I put you on a brief hold?"
       The line switches over to a cheesy jazz bebop before I can answer. I drum my fingers impatiently on the countertop. Outside, Zeke is pruning an orange tree, shears thrust diagonally into the foliage, leaf and branch bits showering down. Seeing him reminds me that I haven't been outside today, that I should probably leave the house at some point.
       "Thank you for holding," says Jessica. "Your most recent logs were today at 9:51 a.m. and Monday at 9:43 a.m., correct?"
       "Yes."
       Jessica tsks. "Our servers have been finicky lately. We've had several glitch reports, and our coding team is putting together a patch right now. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. We recommend a device reset using the red button on the inside of the remote's bottom panel."
       "That's it?"
       "Ma'am?"
       "That's all you've got to say--that the servers are overwhelmed? This isn't just some display issue. She's acting like a completely different person."
       Jessica doesn't respond.
       "This is my daughter, this is my life, and I don't have enough credit to go back in today. She's going to be--"
       Except, she's going to be fine. Of course, she's going to be fine. She's not going to be anything actually since she doesn't even exist. I glance down at my hand on the counter and can't remember the last time I really looked at it or stood in front of a mirror for more than the amount of time it takes to brush on a coat of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss. Mira has been taking up all of my mental space for months now, and I've lost perspective. Somehow, I've let Mira become more real than I am to myself.
       "Thank you," I say. "I mean, that's all. I--nevermind."
       Jessica's voice is kind now. "Not a problem, ma'am. I'm happy to help." She waits a moment. "You know, it's not uncommon for scenes within Altern to shift over time. It's possible what you're experiencing is a reflection of subliminal changes in your request to the system."
       Too much for me to process. "Thanks," I say again before hanging up.
        My next call is to Alexis, my old college roommate, who lives the next town over. I haven't seen her in ages, but she's a writer too, which is probably why we still talk. She understands the ebbs and flows of the life--how I drop off the planet under a big deadline and then have more free time than I know what to do with a month later. Alexis sounds genuinely happy to hear from me, so we arrange to meet up a week from Sunday.

        The hours are a slog. For the first time since buying the setup, I have no interest in Altern. I avoid even looking at the room when I pass to throw laundry in the wash. My editing gig goes poorly; it takes three times longer than usual to go through the client's manuscript.
        I'm bored out of my mind by the following weekend, grasping onto the impending coffee date with all I've got. Alexis must sense that something's up because she folds me in a tight, lingering hug as soon as she sees me.
        We enter the downtown Blue Goat café, get drinks, and settle into a cozy booth along the windows. She looks vibrant, her pressed ebony hair cut to a chin bob, and I'd love to own the supple lace-up sandals that peek into view as she crosses her legs.
        "Looking good, girl." My voice sounds fake, like I'm trying to project into a past version of myself.
       She shrugs with a sheepish expression. "You know how I get after an hour at Macy's."
       Alexis has always been more about image than I am, but she's sweet, trustworthy, and generous--just the person you want in your corner. She's always had a knack for knowing when I need to talk. She cuts the small chat after quick comments about the weather and how she likes my braids, even though they've definitely seen better days.
       "How are you, Ginny?"
       I sigh. "I think I'm in a slump."
       "I figured, since I heard from you before the end of a project."
       "It's Altern," I admit. I take a breath. I've never talked about Mira to anyone else. "I've been seeing my daughter. The daughter I never had."
       Alexis doesn't freak out, so I continue.
       "At first, it was amazing. I was having such a hard time accepting what the doctor said, and then all of a sudden, I could see her, see who I was missing. I sip my milky decaf with both hands, and Alexis mirrors me with her mocha.
       "Damn Gin, that's real."
       "I think I've gone too deep. My life is all about Mira now--when I'm working, when I'm not working, when I'm trying to go to sleep. I don't know how to live in the real world and also be her mom."
       Alexis looks thoughtful. "Do you have the Senso update?"
       "Can't afford it, but I wish. She always looks so vulnerable. I want to wrap her up and protect her. It's probably for the best that I don't have Senso. It'd be even harder to keep my head straight."
       Alexis sits back. "I think you should come see my Altern room."
       I draw back and almost tip the chair. "Alexis, did you hear anything I said? I can't handle Altern experiences."
       "No, you can't handle your Altern experiences. There's a difference. You jumped into heavy stuff. The daughter you never had, wow. I do have Kiara, but I don't think I would try to bring Grandma back or anything."
       "Then, what do you use your room for?"
       "Whatever I need that day. Last week, I had this nightmare session with my publisher, so I went for a zen garden. Well, I thought of somewhere quiet, and then I was standing on sand in the middle of a bonsai forest with a rake in my hand. Altern takes on a life of its own sometimes."
       "I know." I shudder, remembering the new Mira.
        "Most of the time, I'm looking for an upper," Alexis continues. "You know how hard it is to connect with people these days. I've got a half teaching load this semester, and I'm always coordinating with Tan about who's going to pick Kiara up from swim team. Plus, there's the writing itself, whenever I can squeeze that in. Everyone has the same stuff going on. So, when I need to feel like a regular human being again, I do an Altern party."
       "You use your room to go out?"
       "Best thing to do with it. Better than what you've been up to at least. Jada and I organize trips with a couple other line sisters." Alexis winks at me. "You should join. Remember clubbing?"
       I'm sure I look skeptical, but Alexis has always responded to my cynicism as a challenge.
       "Alright, you're going to come see my console." She plucks her purse off the back of her metal chair and gestures at me.
       I'd rather eat Marlon's food, but once Alexis decides on an activity, it's guaranteed to happen. I let her usher me out to the parking lot, tepid beverage in tow.

       I follow Alexis's green Subaru to her house and park my Honda Accord behind her. Her car is way cleaner than mine; even the side mirrors shine with recent attention.
       Alexis puts together a snack in the kitchen while I reacquaint myself with her living room. The family portraits are familiar. Kiara in a freshly-ironed smock dress smiling for an elementary school photo. The same goofy grin fills the next frame, where she poses in a ballet leotard, leg bent to create the number four. Then Alexis and Tan on their wedding day, running down the chapel steps as friends and family (I'm in there somewhere) shower them with rice.
       The brown couch is worn but still nicer than all my IKEA furniture. I relax into the corner that the cushions form, and Alexis is back a few moments later. She nibbles a cracker as she sets the platter down.
       "Do we really have to do this?"
       "Yes. I mean, no, obviously, but you need some serious cheering up. What's the happiest place you can think of?"
       My mind draws a blank, and Alexis frowns.
       "Nothing? You're in worse shape than I thought." She considers. "How about that place we used to study in college? What was it called? Ponceyard?"
       "The park? Did we study there? I can't remember ever cracking a book."
       "So, maybe we did more talking than reading, but still, it's something."
       She's got a point. I feel lighter just thinking about our afternoons in Ponceyard, during those odd stretches between class and dinner.
       "Do you think it can locate us somewhere that precise?"
       "It's all about concentration. Focus hard on the specifics." She holds out a pill. "Ready?"
       I guess I am. I chase the purple capsule with the last of my coffee and wait for the familiar headiness. The door to Alexis's Altern setup is right next to Kiara's bedroom. As I pass, I see that the yellow bedspread and teddy bear have been replaced by a mature slate gray comforter, edged with green. Kiara's photos line the walls, hanging from twine by clothespins. I haven't been here for a while.
       The Altern den is similar to mine, spongy walls and a couple of armchairs in the middle. Nothing you could hurt yourself on. Alexis's room is bigger, though, and I wonder what the experience will be like with her upgraded display and Senso pack. She hands me the remote, a smooth black disc, and smiles.
       "Think hard."
       I hold the control with both hands and close my eyes. The park--what was it like? When we went to Ponceyard, I always saw the pond first. Shallow, muddy water ringed by a path that took no more than ten minutes to circle. I picture the lazily swinging willow branches that arched over the surface and a cluster of ducks paddling the circumference in an unhurried train.
       I open my eyes, and the entirety of the pond stretches before us, even though I know it can't fit within the dimensions of the room. My chest opens as I smell algae, reeds, and grass.
       "Nice detail!" exclaims Alexis. "I completely forgot about the guy on the bench."
       She's peering to our left, where an older man with a close-cropped beard sits reading the newspaper. He was always there, I remember like a statue maintained by the park's caretakers.
       "Let's walk the lake," Alexis suggests.
       As we wander along, I marvel at what the Senso pack feels like. Tiny movements of our legs produce the effect of a full pace, so we can walk without taking actual steps. The moist earth cedes beneath each footfall, and I revel in the satisfying squelch.
       "See, isn't this a nice change of scenery?"
       She's right.
       I'm reminded of who I was before I became Mira's mom. Ginny of the old days had a lot fewer cares. She wasn't afraid to bask in the sunshine or be silly, especially with Alexis as wing woman. Alexis was the one who got me to skip class for the pond, or to chase the girl I had a crush on to afterparties that started at three a.m. Former Ginny wasn't so burdened by life. Maybe she would have better accepted a changing Mira.
       The younger Mira would have loved this park, and this walk. She would have held my hand and asked questions about the old man whose name I never learned, or the reason why ducks float so easily.
       Even with thoughts of Mira, I can tell this trip is doing me well. Alexis points to a tote bag I didn't know I had on my shoulder, and I pull out the picnic blanket inside. We spread it out on a gleaming patch of grass, and for the next hour I chat with Alexis about what's going on in her life. In-law drama, plans for the remodel, Kiara zipping from place to place.
       At first, we sit upright, but eventually we lie back with hands hooding our eyes. It's perfect weather, only a few wispy clouds marring the sky. Gradually, my body relaxes, and by the time Alexis calls an end to our session, I've let the day's warmth lessen some of my heartbreak.

       On the drive home, my mind wanders relaxed and unhurried, as it hasn't been in months. I barely consider my to-do list, and I don't even curse at the man who cuts me off in traffic. The evening is a glass of white wine and a four-episode marathon of my favorite cooking show. I sleep as though I'm still lying tranquil in the park.
       Monday morning has me holding a new Altern pill, contemplative. Normally, I wouldn't go in back-to-back--I'm not used to that frequency, and I've always been wary of bad side effects. But being with Alexis shifted my perceptions, and I'm curious. I feel buoyant now, and I've been replaying my conversation with the Altern rep in my mind. She'd said there was a glitch, but the other part--the part about Altern picking up what's in my subconscious--is what has me puzzling. Maybe for some reason, I wanted to see Mira change. Will she be different this time too?
       I pop the pill and let it slide down my throat.
       I can't see her in the beginning. I'm out in front of my house again, like when Mira was still her old self. Then, I spy a braided ponytail in the shadows of the oleander bush next to me, and see her sitting cross-legged, a board balanced between her knees. Mira's hands lay embroidery floss colors across one another in a developing chevron style.
       This Mira is even older than the last one, maybe fourteen. No dress or jumper today. Instead, she's wearing khaki shorts and a clashing red and yellow Hawaiian shirt. She's got a rhinestone barrette at the end of her braid, and her shoulders are hunched over the project.
       "Who's that for?" I ask, pointing at her craft.
       "Myself," she mutters. Mira glances up quickly before returning to the threads.
       I open my mouth to ask another question, then decide against it. Instead, I sit down next to her and draw my legs up to my chest, arms folded over them. My limbs feel awkward next to Mira. They want to be wrapped around her, but they are also confused, remembering a former version of this girl. I squeeze myself tighter.
       It's evening in the simulation, and sprinklers hiss on nearby lawns. The light filtering through the leaves is orange-tinged and luxuriant, like we're in a pudding of it. Mira crafts for a while, crossing strands as I try not to watch too obviously. After a few minutes, she finishes a section and sets the board down.
       "Why do you keep coming back here?"
       "I like spending time with you."
       "But why?"
       "Why not? I like you." I reach out to smooth her hair before remembering that I can't. She flinches anyway.
       "Why? Why do you like me?" She's biting her lower lip and fidgeting. I can tell she's uncomfortable with the conversation, with herself. The red bumps of new zits constellate her forehead and cheeks.
       "You're beautiful," I say.
       As soon as the sentence is out of my mouth, I know it's too much. Mira stiffens.
       "You don't have to try and make me feel better. I'm not a baby."
       It's true. She's lots of wonderful things, but she might not be my Mira Bug anymore. She's exactly as she's supposed to be--a surly, irritable teenager who confounds and distances me, who is mired in insecurity. I've been trying to control the way Mira appears in the simulations, but under the surface, I must have been giving her permission to grow.
        "Mira, I didn't mean--," I start, but she's tuned me out.
        She gets up with her bracelet and heads to the house without a backward glance, arms stiff and swinging. Before she can complete her snub by slamming the front door, Mira starts to shimmer. The air between us goes wavy, while her form stretches and distorts. She goes translucent, stutters in her gait, and then she's gone for the last time. I finally know that it's time to move on.

        It takes three months before I can open the foster website, but once I do, I can't look away.
        Each rectangular profile picture leads to a different story. Homes lost, struggling parents, the money never there. I can only click through a couple of photos a day.
       A girl named Latasha, with a round face and hazel eyes pleads with me to open her bio. She looks nothing like Mira physically, aside from the hue of her skin. While Mira was lanky and loose-limbed as a kid, Latasha is thick and self-contained. But in other ways, they are similar. Latasha challenges the camera with Mira's same gaze, even while clutching tight to a stuffed rhinoceros.
       The page gives me her background. Latasha is from the big city that's an hour and a half from where I live. She's got two brothers, also in the system, placed with different families. The social worker is waiting to see if their mother can keep out of rehab. Words warn that the foster situation may only be temporary. If all goes well, the birth family is on track to be reunited.
       Getting to know Latasha would be nothing like passing time with Mira. But surely, I can meet her. Give our relationship a chance. Take a baby step.
       I haven't gotten rid of my Altern setup yet. I've been thinking, however, about clearing space for new possibilities. A young someone could make much better use of that alcove than I ever could. If she were the right match. If she wanted to come live with me.
       Walking past the room feels different now. There's no insistent pull, only wisps of ideas that stir my curiosity. I prefer it that way. My footsteps down the hall have gotten louder, and some afternoons, it already sounds like I have company.