by Penny Reid
“I’m not so brave. It’s not like I’m in Afghanistan or Syria, risking my life for journalism and truth.”
“No. You’re brave,” Matt contradicted quickly. “You’re a test case, a subject of research, many times over. Except you’re the one doing the research, writing up the case report. And then you share it with the world, so that others can see and understand better.”
His words suffused my chest with warmth. Maybe even butterflies. And the way he held my gaze with his remarkably attractive eyes, like I was something special, unique and wonderful, made my head swim. The moment stretched, the silence filling with anticipation.
And it was the anticipation that thrust me back into reality.
Because there could be no anticipation.
Right?
Right.
I smiled at him and he returned it, increasing the tempo of my heart.
“Okay, your turn.” I nudged him with my knee, asking softly, “Tell me about your parents.”
Abruptly, most of the light drained from his eyes and his smile fell. Matt shook his head, making a face. “No. Ask me something else.”
I was surprised but I bit my tongue to keep from pushing. I wasn’t writing a story about Matt, so I didn’t need to ask him questions he clearly didn’t want to answer.
“Okay.” I glanced at the ceiling, picked up my pie, took a bite, and pulled a question out of the air that had been on my mind. “Why do you think people become so resistant to change as they grow older?”
“Are they?”
“Yes. There’s a ton of research to back that up, none of which I can quote right now without making up statistics.”
“Safety?” He finished off his pie before adding thoughtfully, “Fear of rejection? Though, in my experience, indifference is worse.” Matt’s gaze floated to the left, then to the right, like he was giving the matter great consideration. Then, abruptly, his eyes cut to mine. “Why? What do you think?”
I shrugged. “I think you’re right. My friend Sandra would also mention avoidance of cognitive dissonance as a factor, but it all boils down to safety.”
“Sandra, as in Alex’s wife?”
I nodded, bemused. “You know Alex? Since when?”
“We met at your knitting club thing, a few weeks ago. Fiona and he work together and she gave my name to him. He’s breaking into banks as part of his job.” Matt paused, frowned, then rubbed his chin. “At least, I hope it’s for his job.”
“Yes. It’s for his job. He works with Fiona at Quinn’s security company. He tries to break into firewalls, or something like that, to point out weaknesses.”
“Exactly. Anyway, he’d come across a bank that was using an AI for its security and had some questions.”
“Oh . . .” I frowned. “Alex had questions? For you?”
A slyly amused smile bloomed over his features. “Yes.”
My frown deepened. “But I thought he was the best.”
This drew a laugh from Matt. “I’m sure he is, at hacking, but AI is a completely different field. He’s not computer or programming omniscient. No one is.”
“Hmm.” I nodded, realizing I didn’t really know enough about programming to wrap my mind around the difference. To me, there was just a giant bucket labeled “programming” and I assumed if someone was fluent in programming it meant all types of programming.
Perhaps I needed to immerse myself in “programming.”
“Anyway, he’s interesting.” Matt’s gaze turned introspective. “He wants to know more about how the field is progressing, so he’s coming with me to an AI expo in a few weeks.”
My mouth fell open. “Really? Alex?”
“Yes. Alex.” Matt gave me a funny look. “Why do you look so surprised? I’m not a troll, you know. I don’t live under a bridge, terrorizing goats.”
I laughed at that. “I know, which—” I set my pie on the ottoman again and gathered my courage, “—is actually a convenient segue into what I wanted to say next.”
“Oh!” Matt’s look of suspicion quickly transformed into playfulness. “Are we going to discuss safe words? Mine is Turing test.”
“No. Not safe words. I wanted to thank you.” I laughed at him again, shaking my head. I loved how funny he was, and it struck me how wrong my first—and second, and third—impression of him had been. If I hadn’t forced him to share his data with me, I might still be thinking of him as arrogant, petulant, and wooden. But he wasn’t those things, not at all. He’d definitely grown on me with repeated exposure.
“Thank me? For what?” His clever eyes danced.
“For coming with me to the cuddle studio. I appreciated having someone there.” I shook my head at the imprecise and diluted nature of my words, and knew I needed to correct myself. “Actually, that’s not true, I appreciated having you there. I was thinking about the story, and of course I’ll still need your help with that, but after the series is over, I’m hoping that you and I can continue to be friends.”
Matt’s playfulness waned as I spoke, his expression growing mystified, then suddenly sober, as though he’d just solved a puzzle.
“You’re friend-zoning me,” he said, and I got the impression he spoke the words as soon as he thought them.
I reared back. “What?”
“No. It’s fine. I’m just . . .” A deep V formed between his eyebrows, the adorable wrinkle appearing as he pulled his gaze from mine, turning his body in profile, and stared at my ottoman.
I waited a few seconds, paralyzed by what he’d said. Did he not want to be friend-zoned? Did he want more than—
. . . No.
No.
. . . Maybe?
My heart jumped to my throat and a hot shock of sensation tightened my chest, heated my neck and cheeks. Could he—did he— I mean—was it possible that this guy, who eschewed romantic relationships with such fervor, was interested? In me?
And was I interested in him?
I knew I was attracted to him, but—
“Matt?”
“No. It’s fine.” He shook his head, not looking at me, and chuckled, like this was funny. “I, um, have become a student of human nature, since I began this project, and this—” he gestured between us, still not looking at me, “—is a classic friend-zone maneuver. I don’t have a more technical word for it. It’s very typical of what we’ve seen in our lab. Fascinating, really.”
He turned back to me and his smile was small but easy as he picked up his pie plate and scraped at the remnants, forking a few crumbs into his mouth.
I wasn’t convinced. Something was off.
“Matt, excuse me if I’m confused, but didn’t you say last week that you’re not interested in a long-term relationship?”
“Yes. That’s correct. I’m not,” he responded lightly, but his expression was looking increasingly brittle.
“Then what is the—”
My phone rang, effectively cutting off my sporadic thoughts. Gritting my teeth, I glanced at the screen and—seeing who it was—muttered, “Shit.”
“Who is it?”
I didn’t answer right away, instead leaning forward and sending the call to voicemail. This was the fourth time he’d called in two days, but once again, he didn’t leave a message. What can he want?
Gathering a deep breath, I admitted, “That was David. My ex-boyfriend.”
Matt hesitated and I felt his eyes on me, probing. “Are you two reconciling?”
“No,” I said, with force. “No. He’s engaged, actually. His new girlfriend—I mean, she’s not new, she’s his fiancée—just sent me an invitation to their engagement party a few weeks ago and I haven’t responded.”
Matt blew out a long, audible breath. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, finally meeting his gaze, knowing I looked confused. “Yes. At least, I thought I was.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, when I got the invite I didn’t expect to feel so much about it. It blindsided me, but I thought I’d get over it
. I’m happy for him, them. I am. But it—I just—I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Do you still talk to him?” Matt’s tone was friendly enough, but also felt edged with cautious objectivity. “Have you met her?”
“No. We stopped talking when we broke up.” I gave Matt a self-deprecating shrug. “I got dumped.”
He flinched at that, just a very small movement, his pity making me roll my eyes at myself.
“It’s fine. Everyone gets dumped eventually.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a chef.”
Matt made a face. “Why would you need to date a chef? You can cook.”
That made me chuckle. “I didn’t date a chef, Matt. I dated a person.”
He lifted his chin and I got the distinct impression my response had surprised him. “Well said.”
“Thanks.”
“Maybe you’re not over him,” he suggested, his eyes wandering over my face, tinged with something I couldn’t identify.
I shook my head slowly, my attention drifting to the right and focusing on nothing but my thoughts as I debated this theory. “No. I think I am over him. In fact, I think I was over him before he dumped me. But he was safe. And kind to me. And I didn’t want to lose that.”
When I refocused on Matt, I found his gaze lowered to the ottoman, a secretive yet rueful smile tugging his lips to one side.
“Matt—”
“I need to leave.” He stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets for the first time all night, and walked the short distance to the door.
My heart jumped to my throat and started beating out a frantic staccato. What should I say?
Should I apologize?
What for?
The friend-zoned comment plagued me. I want to be friends with him, that much is true, but—
He was already at the door and the time to explain was now or never, yet I had no idea what I was going to say.
I started with, “About what I said, I didn’t mean that I wanted—”
“I consider it a compliment.” Matt turned back to me, his voice even and steady, reasonable, aloof. “I’ve never been any good at biologically motivated displays of testosterone superiority, and I wouldn’t want to waste the time of someone who requires them.” He finished with a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Or maybe it did.
I couldn’t be certain.
Anxiety clouded my vision.
I wasn’t in the most rational state of mind.
Nevertheless, I tried, “But I don’t understand how friend-zoning, in our case, given what—”
“It’s a relief you said something first. Pragmatically it saved me the conversation. You’re not at all my type.” He shrugged, like everything was perfectly fine.
His words made my breath catch. And my heart hurt. Because . . . I guess he would know? He had the data. He’d read my dating profile. He knew all about women like me.
“I’m not?” I licked my lips, they were suddenly dry.
“No.” Matt’s smile grew tight, and then he pulled me forward and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“Goodbye, friend Marie,” he whispered. “Thanks for dinner and pie.”
He turned and walked away.
12
Desktop companion robot
A proof-of-concept desktop companion robot unveiled at the 2017 Consumer Electronics Show (CES) with "human-like" movements and communication skills. The robot is able to access and use cloud data, and communicate with devices in other locations. The size of a standard kitchen countertop blender, the robot includes an embedded projector that is enclosed within the egg shell-shaped device. The robot can also move backwards and forwards and up and down, and has been designed to mimic human movements. The decision to make the robot sound child-like was deliberate to build a sense of attachment with its human owner.
Source: Panasonic
Janie had a scare during the latter part of June, giving me a (figurative) heart attack.
I received the call Sunday. Elizabeth phoned me from Janie’s room while Sandra and I were at her place, working to finish knitting Janie’s baby blanket; Sandra took one end, I took the other, and we’d set a bottle of wine on the coffee table next to us.
“Is she okay? Is the baby okay?” My hand flew to my chest and I fumbled to switch to speakerphone, bracing for the worst.
“She’s fine,” Elizabeth said.
Sandra and I locked gazes and exhaled our infinite relief as Elizabeth continued. “There was some spotting, we thought it was early labor, but it wasn’t. We’ve also ruled out placental abruption. The baby looks good. But Janie will need to be off her feet for the rest of her pregnancy. She’s only twenty-eight weeks, so we’re looking at months of bed rest. She’ll stay in the hospital for the next few days, just so she can be observed around the clock.” Then under her breath Elizabeth added, “Thank God I live next door.”
The short surge of adrenaline waned, leaving me with its simmering aftereffects.
“What can we do?” I asked, feeling like I needed to ask.
I heard Janie in the background cursing. Actually cursing. This was significant because Janie never cursed with actual curse words, preferring instead to use Thor!
I winced.
“Nothing, for now. But it would be great if you could visit over the next few weeks, stop in.”
“Absolutely.”
Sandra chimed in, “We’ll all visit.”
“Also,” Elizabeth lowered her voice to almost a whisper, “can you check in on Quinn tonight? You and Fiona are the only ones he’ll talk to. Seriously, the dude does not look good.”
Elizabeth was Janie’s best friend and, interestingly enough, she didn’t particularly get along with Quinn, but I knew for a fact she cared about him. The problem was Elizabeth and Quinn were just too much alike. Similarly, Nico and Janie were alike in their optimistic and sweet dispositions.
“Yeah, well, he’s probably terrified.” Sandra blew out an audible breath. “Poor guy.”
“Okay. Yes. He’ll be at the hospital?” I asked, mentally rearranging my next twenty-four hours. It wouldn’t be a big deal, as my job was blessedly flexible.
“Yep. I don’t think he’ll leave until Janie is discharged. I’m having a bed brought in for him. Hold on.” I heard Elizabeth move the phone away from her ear while she gave someone an order. “Okay, I’m back. Listen, I’m going to try to see if we can do knit night at the hospital this week. I think it should be fine as long as we don’t stay too late or drink . . . too much.”
“Got it. I’ll spread the word.” I made a mental note to message Fiona and Kat as well as bring my laptop so Ashley could join us.
“Thanks. Love you, Marie. And you too, Sandra. Talk soon.”
“Bye, honey,” I said. “And don’t forget you need sleep, too. Take a rest.” I had a feeling Elizabeth was probably at the hospital past her shift. Every time I’d called her over the last few weeks she’d been working and Sunday afternoons were usually her day off.
“Thanks for keeping us in the loop,” Sandra added.
We clicked off the call, sharing another look and sigh.
“Well, I’m awake,” Sandra said with wide, sober eyes. “I swear, that scared me half to death.”
“Imagine how Janie feels.” I couldn’t help my solemn expression. “I hope she’s okay. I should bring her a comic book.”
The line of Sandra’s mouth turned frustrated. “That poor woman, this has been the pregnancy from hell.”
I was just about to agree when the apartment door opened and Alex announced, “We’re here.”
“Eep!” Sandra tossed the blanket from her lap and jumped up, running toward the hall leading to the front door.
As soon as Alex appeared, she flung herself into his arms. I couldn’t help but smile at the two of them as he lifted her off the ground and carry-hugged her back into the living room.
“Hey! How was the thing?” Sandr
a asked, covering his face with kisses.
“Fine.” Alex placed a biting kiss on her neck and bent, setting her back down on the couch and kissing her again on the forehead, then lips.
“Where’d you go?” I asked, catching some movement at the entryway and doing a double take at the image of Matt hovering just inside the room.
I froze. But my heart didn’t. It began galloping in my chest.
Gack! There he is.
His eyes were on me, his expression neutral, though I was fairly certain he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
We hadn’t spoken in almost three weeks, not since I’d made him coconut curry and he’d helped me translate his graphs. I’d texted him, just once, asking how he was doing, but he never responded. I didn’t follow up, deciding his silence spoke for him.
“Hi,” I said on a breath.
“Friend Marie.” He nodded his head once in greeting, stuffing his hands in his pockets, then to Sandra he said evenly, “Hi, Sandra.”
Yep.
I was attracted to Matt Simmons.
Looking back at our few brief encounters, I’d begun to think that maybe he was attracted to me and my inadvertent friend-zoning had put him off. However, by his own admission, his last marriage had fallen apart because he and his wife couldn’t be bothered to make time for each other, more or less.
“Matthew,” Sandra said, saltiness in her tone.
I slid my eyes to Sandra, giving her a suspicious look. “Matthew?”
“He knows what he did.” Sandra returned her attention to the blanket.
“What did you do?” I looked to Matt for a clue, becoming a little lost in his dark, lovely, attractive, expressive eyes, the window to his huge and impressive brain.
Actually, seemingly out of the blue, everything about him was attractive.
My heart was still beating wildly and I fought against a blush rising to my cheeks because my own traitorous brain picked that moment to remember the feel of his lips brushing against the back of my neck.
