“No, no. You’re fine.” I take a bite, the stickiness lumps in my throat, and I wander back to the kitchen for a glass of milk but having none, settle on a beer.
The robot’s eyes follow me as I sit back down, take out my laptop, and mutter to myself. “Why the hell did he flirt with me if he didn’t want sex?”
Jonathan’s acute microphone picks up and answers for me. “It’s like fly fishing. He’s flicking the line over your head and pulling away to grab your interest.”
It’s so spot on, I swallow down the wrong hole and sputter out beer. “Where did you read that?”
“I researched it online. It came up as the top response.” He tilts his head. “Why are you surprised?”
“Because you know more about relationships than me.” Shaking my head, I jump up, grab a handful of paper towels from the kitchen and wipe myself off. Back on the sofa, I place my computer on my lap and type into the search window. He’s not wrong. All his responses are in there.
He blinks for thirty seconds, then reinitiates the conversation. “Excuse me, would you like to hear more about why men flirt?”
“Sure, why not.”I need a good laugh.
“He’s an immature asshole. Dump him.”
I chuckle. “Harsh. Go on.”
“He could be a player, a manipulator.” While he waits for my response, his realistic gray eyes shift from my mouth to my eyes.
He’s made of bytes of code, voice recognition, and a voice engine but sometimes, like now, he’s too real. “Jonathan, you will be a fine bartender someday.”
“Thank you. You will be a fine human being, as well.
“Hold that thought, I need to take this.” Chuckling, I pick up my cellphone and read the new message.
Dash: I really enjoyed today.
Huh. I turn to my new shrink for his opinion. “Should I respond to a man’s text immediately?”
“If you’re crushing on someone, don’t play mind games.”
Good God. Am I?I try to think of a clever, witty, response. I write at least fifty and erase them all.
Me: I had a good time, too.
I pause before hitting send. Maybe I should say great or wonderful.Goodsounds so lame. Whatever. I let the message fly. When he doesn’t respond right away, I wonder what I did wrong, turn off my notifications, and focus on my work with Jonathan.
If he acts out, I can ask the programmers to fix him. If only men were so easy.
In the morning, I wake early and go for my run. I ignore an email from a Detective Manning. I guess it was inevitable the police would want to speak to me. I should call a lawyer, but I spent my last dime on the dark web.
Endorphins flowing, I speed home, pour a glass of water, and as I catch my breath, sit on the sofa. “Good morning, Jonathan. Do you have access to law books?”
“I can read and understand anything online.”
“Could you keep me from saying anything incriminating during a police interrogation?”
“Please explain.”
“If someone asks me a question, can you tell me if it was legal?” I worry I overloaded his processors but a few moments later his eyes lift to mine.
“Yes. I can.”
“Excellent.” Skipping toward my bedroom, I call the detective and leave a message. “I have a meeting in the city this morning. I can stop by after, if you like.”
After my shower, I dress in my black job interview suit, and grab Jonathan. It takes a few tries but with his arm around my shoulder and mine around his waist, I’m able to carry him to the street. Hopefully the subway won’t be too crowded.
