As though I needed another reason to be crazy about this man.Not today. The words I’ve spoken to him, time and again. The words that mean I’m not ready. That I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
And yet, he waits. He’s still here. Waiting.
Maybe that’s what I’ve always needed. The promise of being there, with the understanding that there’s never been a rush. No demands, no selfishness. Just affection and respect.
Even with his chip gone, he won’t steamroll over my boundaries.
“Tomorrow,” I tell him, and that single word means so much more than simply the next day. Tomorrow means, I’ll tell him everything. Tomorrow means I won’t let myself be scared. Tomorrow means, if something happens, I won’t push him away or ask for more time.
And it’s like Atticus knows precisely what I mean. “Tomorrow.”
* * *
Our morning is spent surprising my parents. When they swing open the door of their quaint little home in Oakridge, one of the oldest established neighborhoods in the larger New Carnegie metropolitan area, my mother screams in delight and bounces in place, crying happily as she pulls me into a warm hug. My father ushers us all inside, announcing we’re in time for brunch just as Everett all but collides against me and lifts me up, squeezing me tight.
“Everett—can’t breathe—” I rasp.
He puts me down, his eyes wide as saucers when he spots Atticus. “Holy hell,” he gasps. “This is him? Your droid helper?”
“My colleague and fellow teacher,” I correct gently, not about to let anyone in my family mistake how much Atticus contributes to the school and to my class. “This is Atticus.”
“Strong name,” my father says, shaking his hand.
“I’m rather fond of it,” Atticus agrees with a bright smile of his own. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Warren.”
“You can call me Ed,” he replies. He’s shorter than Atticus by a few inches and built sturdy with a bit of a gut from my mother’s delicious cooking. He and I are close in our complexions, while my brother looks more like my mom. “And this is my wife, Suzi, and our son, Everett.”
My mom is already in the kitchen, pulling out all thegoodplates and cutlery to set the table with.
I follow her with a soft laugh. “Mom, I thought those were only for when the queen was visiting.”
“And so she is!” Mom replies with conviction. “And we’ll celebrate accordingly.”
Time flies so fast with my family. The TV in our living room remains untouched as we catch up on everything, just happy to sit down and chat about life and work. Dad talks about his tenure, his lack of proper raises to meet with rising inflation, and a few of his best students at the university. Everett talks about his final year at college, while madly texting his fiancé and trying to coax her to come over to meet us.
When she finally does arrive, Ausha hugs me tightly. Her fawn skin is a bit flushed, and her normally petite frame is slightly swollen from water retention, especially around the wrists and ankles. “It’s so good to see you again!”
Her belly is bigger than when I last saw it. “Look at you. How are you feeling?” I ask, smoothing my hand over her tummy. She’s such a sweetheart, and by the way she holds her hands on the small of her back, it’s obvious she’s in some discomfort. “You must be ready for eviction day.”
“I am. Two weeks away.” Ausha spots Atticus and squeaks. “This is the android, right? The one in the video? That whole thing was seriously so awesome, it’s all anyone at work talked about all week.”
Atticus offers a hand for a shake and gets bear-hugged by a pregnant woman instead.
“I’m proud of you for doing what you love again, Luce,” my dad says. “I know you and social media ain’t been on speaking terms, since—well, since. But you were always good at that sort of thing.”
“Are you gonna monetize again?” Everett asks.
I hold my hands up quickly. “No, no. I’m just doing it for the school right now. They needed help with it. Badly.”
The morning turns into early afternoon. Atticus and I sit together at the table, listening as Everett and Ausha talk about their baby’s arrival. And just like I knew they would be, they’re more than just accepting of Atticus. They treat him like he’s been here the entire time. I watch in quiet adoration as he helps my mother wash dishes and put things away, but that quickly turns into silent terror as she starts pulling out the holo-projector.
“I got all of Lucy’s baby pictures all through her schooling, her sports, everything, if you’d like to see,” Mom tells him, guiding him back to the living room with the projector in her hands.
“Mom,” I groan. “Please, no.”
“Don’t you ‘mom’ me. He’s gonna see.”
Resigned to my fate, I settle down on the couch with my family while the fire in the fireplace flickers and dances. Before I know it, my mom is scrolling through me as a baby, doing everything mundane from my baptism, my birthdays, the time I broke my foot holoboarding in fifth grade, all the way through college graduation.
