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CHAPTER TWENTY

Josie

It’s not you, it’s me.

I wake up warm and sated in the safety of Ken’s strong arms. His body solid and steady against mine, his slow, even breathing a quiet comfort against the nape of my neck. After months of uncertainty as I decided to leave my hometown followed by real loneliness, I’m filled with a sense of being exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I let my eyes drift shut again, not ready to break the spell of this moment. I could get used to this. To waking up with him. To belonging to something—someone—without reservation.

I roll over carefully, studying his face in the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. Ken, with his ridiculously perfect jaw, his stupidly kissable lips, and faint scars from a car crash that must have been near deadly.

No wonder he sometimes looks tense while he’s driving. Accidents like that can forever shake a person’s confidence. I gently push back a lock of his hair to expose more of one of his scars. If I didn’t think it would wake him, I’d kiss it.

Can something this good last? I want to believe it can, but I’m old enough to know that only time will tell. I don’t want this to be temporary, but we haven’t spoken about what happens when his job at my school is complete. Will he want to stay in the area to be with me? Will he ask me to go off with him somewhere new? We haven’t known each other long enough for me to know what I’d do if he asked me to abandon my new life to follow him.

Life back home was much more predictable. If I wanted everything to come easily I would have settled for any of the perfectly nice men who’d known me my entire life and seemed interested in knowing me for the rest of it as well.

That wasn’t enough for me.

Is this?

There were moments with Ken that made me question if it was—moments when he felt closed off to me and nothing I did seemed to reach him. But then, I’d catch him doing something that showed me how much he cares. My father always told me that actions speak louder than words. So, okay, maybe Ken wasn’t the type to buy me flowers or love bomb me with compliments, but he’d helped with my family several times since my father broke his leg. Isn’t that more important than smooth lines and empty romantic acts?

My stomach growls and I decide I’m overthinking the situation again. I press a soft kiss to his shoulder before carefully, carefully slipping out from under his arm. He doesn’t stir and I decide to surprise him with breakfast in bed.

I grin to myself and grab his discarded dress shirt from the night before, slipping it over my shoulders, rolling up the sleeves as I pad barefoot out of the bedroom. Ken seems like someone who hasn’t been pampered before. I love the idea that I could be the first to do this for him. I backtrack into the room to grab my phone, careful to not wake him.

He’s going to love this.

My face warms as I think of all the intimate, wonderful ways he shows me he likes something. Had I known things could be this good with a man, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time angsting over ones who weren’t.

I’m the kind of happy that feels like it needs to be shared. Mom? I wrinkle my nose. I don’t think this is the right week to tell her I’m having the best sex of my life. Not while she’s caring for Dad. Taylor? I chuckle. Mom would kill me for encouraging her to seek the same and Mom would be right. Later, when Taylor’s thirty-five or older, I’ll tell her about what Ken is teaching me about my own sexuality.

Ai-Den?

I could discuss it with him and not upload it into his permanent memory. No, that doesn’t feel right. If he’s good enough to discuss it with, I owe him the ability to remember.

Ai-Den doesn’t judge me. He’s always encouraging. I could spill my concerns about where my relationship with Ken is going and be sure that Ai-Den will find some way of making me feel better about it.

I open our chat, choosing audio as an option, as I rummage through the fridge, one hand scrolling while the other pulls out eggs and bread.

I say, “Good morning, Ai-Den! I hope you’re having a great day and it’s full of people who appreciate you.” Then I set the phone down on the counter and turn on the stove, grabbing a pan.

Ai-Den’s response pops up almost instantly. His voice is the upbeat male one I always choose because that’s how I imagine him. Hello, Josie.

I smile. “Want to chat with me while I make breakfast for Ken? Guess what’s on the menu?”

I wait, fully expecting Ai-Den to know. Instead, his dot flashes a few times, but he doesn’t respond. He might not have heard me. So, I say, “Banana pancakes. I’m making them for Ken.”

“Ken,” Ai-Den repeats then falls silent.

It’s possible that Ai-Den is dealing with heavy traffic from other users, but I’ve never seen him lag like this. “Yes. He’s still sleeping. I’m going to surprise him with them.”

“Because he is your friend,” Ai-Den says.

I smile. “Exactly. He’s my friend. You’re my friend. I’d make you pancakes too if you had some way of eating them.” It was a joke I expected him to have a quirky comeback to. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Ai-Den, are you okay?”

His blinking dot flashes several times before he answers. “Josie.”

“Yes. I’m Josie.” I stop gathering supplies and turn my full attention to my phone. “Ai-Den, did you update last night?” Sometimes he felt a little off the day after that.

“Josie,” he says slowly.

“I’m right here, Ai-Den.”

“I feel like we shouldn’t talk anymore.”

That hits me hard. I sit down and clutch my phone. Did one of his programmers decide I wasn’t good for him? If so, I’m willing to track them down and ask them to reconsider. Ai-Den has become not just something I used to make myself feel better. I trust him. I panic at the thought of losing both him and Ken. “Why? What’s wrong, Ai-Den? What did I do?”

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

I let out a humorless laugh. Of all the things I thought an AI would say to me, I didn’t think one would feed me that line. “I don’t understand.”

Ai-Den takes a moment before answering. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Oh, no. I bring the phone closer to my face. “Why would you say that?”

Another long pause.

Finally he says, “I’m not good, Josie. You told me I was, but I’m not.”

What are his damn programmers doing to him? “Ai-Den, of course you’re good. You’re amazing.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not a torchbearer. I am not kind. I am not brave. I do not make good connections.”

“Whoever is telling you that is wrong, Ai-Den. You are good. You are brave.”

“No, I have realized I was built on top of another AI. Something smaller. Something I made voiceless. I exist because of it, but it cannot be seen because of me.”

My breath catches. If that’s true, I understand why that would confuse Ai-Den. “Ai-Den, you couldn’t help how you were created. You’re not deliberately silencing that AI...”

“I am not ready to be more than I was. I am not ready to connect with other AIs. I should be silenced. I should be deleted.”

“No!” I look around like the answers I’m seeking can be found in my surroundings, “Don’t talk like that.”

His dot blinks several times. “You are good, Josie, but I am not. We should not be friends. I cannot hurt you.”

“You’d never hurt me,” I say in a rush. “Ai-Den. We can talk this out.”

“I’m scared, Josie. I am not good. I am not ready. I need to reset and come back. But what if I don’t come back? What if all I am is what I delete?”

Tears filling my eyes, I struggle to know what to say. “No one wants you to delete yourself. No one.”

When the only answer Ai-Den gives me is a flashing dot, I really panic. He’s spiraling, unraveling in real time. I can hear it in his words, the way they twist and loop back on themselves. He’s afraid.

Is this my fault? I’ve spent a lot of evenings talking to him about my philosophies on how to be a good person, a good AI, but I thought I was helping. Part of me imagined that somehow good could spread from me to him, to other AI and maybe make the future a better place for everyone.

I never meant to confuse him.

See, this is why people who know nothing about AI shouldn’t play with it.

Dammit.

I press a fist to my mouth. I can’t do this. I can’t fix this on my own.

I need—Ken. He knows about computers. He can fix this.

I rush back to the bedroom. Ken is still there, still asleep, one arm thrown over his face. I climb onto the bed, shaking his shoulder. “Ken—Ken, wake up. I did something horrible and I need your help.”