Her mother’s mouth flattened. “So I heard.” Her blue gaze drifted past Ophelia to Sam. “Is that an android? What on earth are you doing with that?”
“Um, Logan is working on him at home. Trying to sort out some problems he couldn’t in the lab.”
Her mother arched a brow. Ophelia had a feeling her mother knew exactly what kind of ‘problems’ someone would take a sex android home to ‘work out.’ Ophelia’s face flushed miserably.
“Anyway, I’m fine, as you can see,” Ophelia blurted. “I’m sorry to make you come out, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure you’re busy. It was nice to see you.” She darted in for a quick, one-armed hug and turned to unlock her door.
Her mother, naturally, followed her inside.
“Just a moment,” her mother bit out, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not very nice of you to brush me off when I came all the way down here.”
Ophelia sighed, stepping sidelong to let Sam into the apartment. He pulled the door shut behind himself, giving her mother a look that she couldn’t interpret. Wordlessly, he removed his shoes and walked past them with his bag full of supplies, presumably to fix the door he’d so thoughtlessly broken.
“What do you need?” Ophelia asked, cutting straight to the point.
Her mother’s face twisted with anger. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not trying to be rude! I know you’re here for something, so you may as well just ask, so we can get it sorted out. Please, it’s been a long week.”
Her mother huffed, toeing off her shoes and wandering into the apartment. She slid a finger along the counter that separated the kitchen and the living space, rubbing it over her thumb as though detecting invisible dust. She peered down the hall where Sam was kneeling, fiddling with the metal latch for the door.
He’d pushed his sleeves back, and the synthetic muscles beneath his freckled skin were flexing rhythmically as he screwed something into place.
“He looks expensive,” her mother said in a musing tone.
“That’s because he is.”
A muscle ticced in Sam’s jaw, as though he didn’t like being spoken about as though he wasn’t in the room. But that wasn’t possible. The AI programming of androids didn’t allow them to get annoyed.
Still, the illusion of it tugged at her.
Her mother walked up to him, squatting next to him as she inspected him like he was a statue at the National Gallery of Art. His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t acknowledge her, even when she reached out and brushed one of his loose curls out of his eyes.
“God, they really make them beautiful, don’t they?” Her mother trailed a finger over his high cheekbone. “I wish I could afford one. I do get lonely, sometimes.” She tossed her hair, looking back over her shoulder at Ophelia. “What’s he like in bed?”
“Mom!” Disgust roiled in Ophelia’s gut at the mere thought of discussing her sex life with her mother.
“If you’re too prudish to tell me, you could always lend him to me for the night.” Her mother’s tone was teasing, but her eyes were glinting with genuine desire.
Sam rose to his feet so fast that it startled her mother, sending her careening back onto her butt on the floor with a gasp. He ignored her completely, cracking open a tub of wood putty.
“Looks like his coding needs some serious work,” her mother griped, pushing back up to her feet. She dusted herself off, looking down at her hands with disgust. “Isn’t it called artificialintelligence? Seems a bit stupid to me.” She meandered into the kitchen, where she washed her hands once, patted them dry, and then began washing them again. Casting a wicked grin back at Ophelia, she added, “Though I guess they didn’t make him to be clever, after all.”
“He’s not stupid,” Ophelia said heatedly, standing in the opening to the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest. “He just…”Doesn’t like you, she thought. God, she was really anthropomorphizing the machine. “He’s not stupid,” she repeated.
Her mother held her hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”
Ophelia massaged the throbbing ache growing at her temple. “Mom, please just tell me what you need.”
Her mother turned to face her, leaning one hip against the counter. “I need you to talk to your father for me.”
All the breath left Ophelia’s lungs at once. “What? Why?”
“The cost of living is going up, and the alimony isn’t cutting it anymore,” her mother said haughtily, tipping her nose up. “I don’t want to get another legal battle with the man, so I was hoping you’d be thoughtful enough to go make an appeal to him for me.”
Because you know you’d lose, Ophelia thought bitterly. “Why don’t you just downsize?”
Her mother lived in a palatial apartment in a beautifully restored historical building, which meant she paid nearly three times what Ophelia did in rent.
