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Elliot Price was late, though not for a very important date.

Stupid. He was so stupid for allowing time to get away from him. The scent of plum jam cookies and salty sea air distracted him, and he missed the final ferry of the night. If he were back home—well, at his first home, at least—Mother would probably scold him endlessly, telling him what a naughty boy he was while threatening him with a visit to the Creationist. If he’d been in his current home—the dwelling where Master Price gave him his name, though not much else—he’d probably be lying in a heap on the floor. Elliot had loved Master Jared Price with his whole heart since the day he was born, as he was programmed to do. At least, he thought he did. He couldn’t be sure.

The trouble was, even after being together for a year and a half, Jared didn’t love him back, and Elliot was starting to believe he never would. The knowledge was a bitter pill to swallow when Elliot’s entire purpose was to please his future husband.

From creation to cotillion, Elliot worked hard to learn the ins and outs of keeping a home. He cooked and cleaned and did his chores. He read his trusty copy of Mother’s Manual for a Happy Home , memorizing each line by heart.

Elliot was an automaton. A humanoid househusband created by Ms. Emily Broussard, crafted in the likeness Jared Price saw fit. While Jared might not have loved Elliot romantically, he certainly enjoyed the sight of him. Elliot’s looks weren’t the only thing Jared Price enjoyed. Jared seemed to take pleasure in Elliot’s heartache, and whether that heartbreak was inflicted unintentionally or otherwise, Elliot wasn’t completely sure.

Once a week, Jared sent Elliot to Sugarplum Island. The island was home to a small, picturesque village just off the Gulf of Mexico. Having more money than he knew what to do with, Jared always chartered a helicopter to take Elliot from Dallas to Galveston. There Elliot would then catch a ferry to the isolated island to buy the plum jam cookies which were Jared’s favorite childhood treat. His mother would buy one box per week back when Twylah Bishop’s shop was located in Dallas.

Elliot knew he would be in even more trouble than usual, should he fail to arrive on shore in time for the helicopter to collect him. That morning, Jared told Elliot he had a surprise. He waxed poetic for half an hour about his alleged ‘monumental plans’ for Elliot once he returned home. It was supposed to be a night Elliot would never forget. Considering Jared’s surprises usually revolved around sexually provocative purchases, it wasn’t as if he was terribly interested in hurrying home. The items Jared purchased were meant to provide pleasure, but Jared was a natural at finding ways to turn pleasure into pain. Despite the unbearable pain those toys provided, Elliot was expected to be a good little househusband, never letting the hurt in his heart show.

On a lonely little bench on the corner of Rose Lane and Gardenia Street, Elliot sat down, taking inventory of his life. He wanted nothing more than to be happy, but the happiness he was promised from birth had yet to present itself. Wasn’t he meant to have a bit of joy of his own? Hadn’t he done exactly what he’d been programmed to do? Why couldn’t Master Price love him? It would have made everything so much simpler. With love, Elliot could endure the demeaning acts his master performed on him. And with love, Elliot could overlook the way Jared sometimes struck him. Jared couldn’t be blamed for his temper, you see, because he never knew the joys of a happy home. That’s what Mother told Elliot, at least. His parents were religious fanatics, so both Jared and his brother, Arthur, lived under constant fear of having their sexual orientations found out. Once Arthur’s truth came to light, Jared had to watch as his father dragged the youngest member of the Price family from his bedroom and excommunicated him from their lives. That had to take a toll on someone, Elliot thought. Jared must have been so very scared the same would happen to him. Still, he couldn’t reconcile how Jared could come from a cold and domineering home, only to create one himself.

Squeak, squeak, squeak .

Elliot wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but for the entirety of his walk, there had been a persistent squeaking sound, always just behind him. He would look, only to find emptiness over his shoulder. Eventually, he stopped looking.

Squeak, squeak.

The streets were silent, and Elliot couldn’t remember the last soul he’d seen. Was it the man he’d spotted smoking on a porch step on the other side of the island? There was also a woman who shooed him away from her lawn with a rusty old rake. She must have noticed the nervous orange light sparkling in the corners of his eyes and realized he was an automaton. Most people were skittish around Elliot's kind. It was why he always tried so hard to stop the lights from flickering. Automatons weren’t real humans, thus, they were often maligned as a threat to humankind. Elliot would never harm a human, though. So, yes, he tried to hide the lights in his eyes because there was a dog chained to the woman’s tree, and the rage in the creature’s growl was enough to send Elliot’s mechanical heart slamming, momentarily allowing orange waves of fear to shine. The next thing he knew, the dog’s owner was chasing him with her rake, calling him a predator. Telling him he had no business in human spaces.

Squeak, squeak.

Elliot was tired. Tired of the endless loneliness. Tired of being shown kindness in inconsistent and sporadic patterns. In his secret heart, where only Elliot knew the truth, he was tired of Jared Price, but he would never voice that out loud. So, yes, Elliot was tired, but after missing his ferry home, Elliot wouldn’t be getting much rest that night. He’d be lucky to find an outlet to charge his weary body.

For the umpteenth time that hour, Elliot drew the familiar star pattern on his arm and waited for his interface to appear. He knew the interface by heart, and when three familiar dots appeared, flashing pink-gold-purple , it felt like he was being greeted by an old friend. Touching the pink orb would display his current lifeforce. Ten minutes ago, Elliot was down to fourteen percent. He knew if the number dipped past five percent, he ran the risk of an automatic shutdown. With nervous, shaking hands, Elliot drew a checkmark on his arm and held his breath.

Ten percent.

Elliot choked back a sob, then stopped himself. Elliot wasn’t a weeping child. He was one of Ms. Broussard’s bountiful beaus. He was a dignified househusband, perfectly capable of putting one foot in front of the other and soldiering on. As Mother often said, her boys do not linger in the ordinary, they soar into the extraordinary. Elliot could soar. He knew he could. He’d just never had the opportunity to try.

All right, he thought, forging onward down Rose Lane. The first thing he needed to do was make it to the ferry’s tollbooth, as there might be a power outlet outside the booth. His charger was in the small bag he was carrying, along with Jared’s plum jam cookies. They were cookies Elliot would never get to taste, as Jared believed there was no use feeding a mouth that didn’t need to be fed.

He could remember the first time Jared sent him to collect the cookies. The plan was to go to the island together after their honeymoon, but Jared got called away on business, only two days before they were meant to exchange vows. He was gone for a week, and when he returned, neither the wedding nor honeymoon were ever mentioned again, and Elliot didn’t want to press the matter.

The first time Elliot set foot on Sugarplum Island, he felt like he was walking into a dreamscape. He was wrapped in air that smelled of baked goods and sea salt, and there was an overwhelming sense of ‘ home. ’ The small village consisted of twelve shops and twelve homes, all on twelve square miles of land. Children laughed and played on stone pathways, plucking flowers and tucking them behind their ears between rounds of hopscotch. Lovers held hands, giving each other dreamy gazes as they went about their day. Happiness burst to life around him, making his mechanical heart flutter. That day, for the very first time, Elliot thought, “This must be what freedom feels like.” He’d never been happier in all his life, and he hadn’t been happier since.

Elliot wanted to go home. Not to his home with Jared, but to the picture of home in his head. Earlier that day, Elliot felt like he finally found it. But then the shops closed and families tucked themselves away, leaving Elliot feeling even lonelier than he felt before. It was as if he was the last man standing at the end of the world.

A tear trickled down Elliot’s cheek. Nothing new.

Squeak, squeak.

So, he walked. Elliot walked and walked until the lampposts led him back to the island’s dock. There were two benches beside the ticket booth, and thankfully, there was a power outlet for him to use. He set his interface to a six-hour charging cycle, giving him enough time to wake from his state of stasis before being seen by the villagers. Sleep wouldn’t be safe, though. In stasis, he would be unable to defend himself should he be attacked. The only way to wake was his timer, completion of charging, or manual removal of his charger. If he was attacked, his only hope would be the dislodging of his charger. Remembering the terrifying dog and the horrible woman with her rusty rake, Elliot debated not charging himself at all and seeing if he could make it. The dog would surely rip him to shreds. Elliot knew it was unlikely, so he did the only thing he could. He stared into the sky, made a wish for his safety on the biggest, brightest star, and plugged the charging prong into his big toe.

As Elliot’s mind settled into stasis, he heard the now familiar squeak again. Using the last of his strength, Elliot looked down, smiling when he saw a mouse sitting in his lap. Then, the world went black.

When he woke, the mouse was nowhere to be seen, and Elliot found himself saddened by its departure. The creature squeaked behind him the entire time he wandered the small island’s stone pathways. It had been persistent in its tracking of Elliot. Perhaps the creature was looking for a friend. Perhaps the little mouse was just as lonely as Elliot.

Elliot looked down and frowned, because the bag holding Jared’s plum jam cookies had been nibbled through at the side.

Jared was going to be furious.

Elliot looked at the large clock inside the empty ticket booth and smiled. It wasn’t even seven yet, so the ticket booth didn’t open for another hour. That would be plenty of time to rush to the bakery and replace the cookies. Elliot knew it would be open, because the lovely woman at the shop bragged about her breakfast donuts the night before. “Sunup to sundown.” That’s what Miss Twylah said as she placed cookie after cookie into the newly nibbled box. He sighed as he stared at the chewed box, lifting it to toss into the bin on the pier. Elliot made it two steps before hearing the familiar sound.

Squeak, squeak.

Instead of throwing it away, he turned and placed the bag on the bench he’d been sitting on. Opening the sack, he lifted the box’s lid. There, in the center of the box, lying on its back with its claws holding a swollen tummy, was the same small fieldmouse from the night before. The mouse made no attempt to run, just lazily reached beside his belly, broke off a small chunk from the crumbled cookie remnants, and . . .

Did it just dip its cookie crumble into the jam before eating it? How positively fascinating!

“Hello,” Elliot whispered, worried he might scare off the small fieldmouse. “I’m Elliot, and you’re adorable.” The little fieldmouse sniffed the air. “You were following me last night. I’m very happy to meet you.” Elliot moved his face closer to the box, both he and the mouse eyeing each other curiously. Elliot remembered hearing that some animals enjoy being petted. “May I pet you?” As the fieldmouse appeared to nod his approval, Elliot paused, giving the mouse an assertive glare. “You will not bite me. It is forbidden. Nod once more if you understand.”

The fieldmouse did nothing of the sort.

“Rude,” Elliot pointed out. “Though hardly unexpected. I mean, it’s not as if you’re going to miraculously sprout a voice box and strike up a rousing conversation.” Elliot glanced left, then right, searching for nearby town folk. With the coast clear, Elliot inched even closer. “That would be fantastic, though.” He lifted his hand and softly stroked the mouse’s tummy, giggling when it kicked its legs back and forth and squeak-squeak-squeaked . “I believe I’m quite fond of you. Would you like to walk across town with me?” He eyed the remains of Jared’s cookies. “You were a naughty boy, but I cannot fault you. I hope you enjoyed each bite.”

Elliot stood, dusted his backside with his palms, nodded once, and said, “Right. I can do this.” Reaching into the box, Elliot picked up the cookie bandit and lifted him to eye level. “Are you a boy or a girl?” He wasn’t sure why he asked, but it felt nice to hear his own voice. He so rarely had the chance to use it. “Well, whatever you are, you’re lovely. If you’re a good boy or girl and stay still all the way to the bakery, I’ll buy you something special. Would you like that . . .” Elliot chewed his cheek. It wasn’t as if he could very well keep the mouse, but if they were going to spend the next hour walking to the other side of the village together, Elliot would need something to call the creature. He continued to eye the little mouse as if he was studying every atom. Elliot could see no testicles, which he assumed a male mouse would have, but then, he couldn’t see a vagina either, not that he would know what a mouse’s vagina looked like. “I’m afraid we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a conundrum. I don’t wish to misgender you. Shall I call you something gender neutral?”

He studied the mouse, and Elliot was fairly certain the mouse was studying him back.

“You look like a ‘Brenda.’” Elliot paused, considering. “Or maybe a ‘Carole.’ Perhaps a hodgepodge of both?” He shook his head. “No. That’s ridiculous. What sort of name is Brenda-slash-Carole?” There was a small dot of plum jam on the mouse’s tummy, and when Elliot attempted to wipe it off, the mouse wrapped its tiny claws around Elliot’s finger and brought it to its mouth, sucking off the sugary remnants of its plum-flavored treat. When it was done, the mouse rubbed its nose back and forth against Elliot’s finger, not breaking eye contact. It was the most precious sight Elliot had ever seen. “I visit my future husband’s brother fairly often. He has a husband that’s just like me.” Elliot flashed a quick swirl of affectionate pink lights in the corners of his eyes. “He’s an automaton too, I mean. When we used to visit, Periwinkle—that’s the one who’s like me—would play board games with me. He had this one where you try to track down a vicious murderer or murderess. There’s a character in the game named Professor Plum. I believe that’s what I’ll call you.”

Squeak, squeak.

Good. Elliot was glad that was sorted.

Half an hour later, Elliot and Professor Plum approached Twylah’s Sugarplum Treats with smiles on their faces. Well, Elliot had a smile on his face; he couldn’t be sure if Professor Plum’s curved lips could be considered a smile.

As was the case the day before, Miss Twylah’s store smelled absolutely divine. The black-and-white checkered floors looked perfectly polished, and there wasn’t a single smudge in sight. Miss Twylah—a stunningly stocky woman with cream-colored skin and long, blonde hair tied back with an oversized pink scrunchie—stood behind the counter, placing fresh pastries into a display case. Unlike the day before, Miss Twylah wasn’t alone. There was a man leaning over the counter wearing dress slacks that clung to his backside like a second skin. Professor Plum must have also appreciated the view, because the creature offered multiple approving squeaks. The squeaks got the man’s attention, and when he turned around, Elliot’s mechanical heart skipped a beat. Even Professor Plum—who had been lounging lazily in Elliot’s palm—perked up, and Elliot was positive the fieldmouse had licked its lips. Behind the man, Miss Twylah turned, placing the excess cookies onto a tray on the counter by the wall.

The man was a vision. His short, brown hair was parted at the side with the sides of his head sheared short, almost to the skin. His pale complexion made each of his many freckles pop, drawing Elliot’s attention to them. Part of Elliot wanted to know what it would feel like to play connect the dots with the tip of his finger. When the man smiled, his perfect teeth sparkled just as beautifully as the white floor tiles.

“Hello,” Elliot said, his breath a little ragged. He lifted the gnawed-through bag. “I rested on a bench outside the ferry tollbooth last night and this little creature had himself a midnight picnic.” Elliot paused, thinking. “Actually, I can’t be certain it was midnight as I was . . . resting.” Elliot cleared his throat, his cheeks growing warmer. “Anyway, he ate all my plum jam cookies.” The man hadn’t asked him for any of the information he provided, but he shared it, nonetheless. The words were out, so all he could do was see where the conversation took him. A flicker of nervous orange lights flashed in the corner of his eyes, and he hoped the man didn’t notice. “My name is Elliot. Elliot Price.”

The man’s smile widened. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but it seems they’re both spoken for at the moment.” He looked down at Professor Plum and beamed. “I’m Alexander. Alexander Davenport.”

Elliot’s heart raced even faster. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Alexander approached and stared down at Professor Plum. “For a thief and cookie glutton, he’s certainly adorable.” He reached down and stroked the mouse’s back, then Alexander’s eyes met Elliot’s. “He’s not the only one.”

Elliot wasn’t sure what Alexander was implying, so he skirted past the statement. “Were you waiting in line?”

Alexander shook his head, motioning toward Miss Twylah. “I’m in town visiting my mom. I usually come down a few times a year, but I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t seen her in almost six months.” Sweat peppered Alexander Davenport’s brow, and his cheeks were a bit rosier than before. The words tumbled quickly from his mouth like he was trying to spit them all while he still had the chance. “I’m going to start visiting more, though.” Alexander nibbled his lip. “Do you? Visit the island, I mean.” Alexander closed his eyes and huffed out a quick breath. When he opened them, it seemed he had a bit of his confidence back. “Sorry. I just get nervous around . . .”

Around robots.

Alexander must have noticed the orange lights after all, because his message couldn’t have been clearer if he bluntly stated the words aloud. It was written all over his face. The rosy cheeks and sweaty forehead. How his eyes kept twitching with nerves. Elliot studied Alexander’s breathing, the man’s chest rising and falling more rapidly than the situation called for. There was ample oxygen in Twylah’s Sugarplum Treats, but it felt like every trace had been sucked out.

“I’ll just be on my way then,” Elliot whispered, ashamed, and more than a little bit embarrassed. “It was lovely meeting you, Alexander Davenport.”

Alexander took a step back and stared into Elliot’s eyes. “You’re leaving? Already?”

“I have a ferry to catch, sir,” Elliot said, using the same voice he clung to when Jared was cross with him. Babylike. Small. His words wrapped in a tone so apologetic, it would be impossible to stay angry with him. Jared found a way, though. He always found a way to be angry.

“You haven’t even replaced your cookies yet,” Alexander insisted, looking . . . sad? Disappointed? Elliot couldn’t be sure, as didn’t have anything to compare the expression to. Elliot had never seen Alexander’s face twisted up in sadness. Or ever seen the way his eyes possibly sparkled while enjoying someone’s company. All he’d shared were a few kind words and shared finger strokes along a mouse’s head. “Let me pay for them.” He squeezed Elliot’s hand softly. “Please?”

Elliot blushed, nodding, but not looking up. The attention made him feel like a charity case. The man clearly saw he upset Elliot, and now he was offering plum jam cookies to what? To prove he wasn’t an automaphobe?

When Alexander walked to the counter, Elliot’s eyes traveled down, taking in the sight of his backside. Goodness, it was exquisite. Like two plump Christmas hams, ready to be glazed, as Jared often described Elliot’s rear.

Miss Twylah was all smiles as Elliot approached. “Back already, Elliot?”

Elliot gaped at her. “You remember my name?”

Miss Twylah winked at him. “I never forget the cute ones, and you’re just about the cutest man I’ve ever seen. Isn’t he, Lexy?”

Alexander turned around, catching Elliot’s eyes staring right at his butt. Goodness.

“He’s beautiful,” Alexander agreed. Elliot’s eyebrows shot up and his mechanical heart pounded in his chest.

Mercifully, Miss Twylah offered Elliot a lifeline. “What brings you in today? More cookies, or did you want to live life on the wild side and try one of my plum fritters? Did you enjoy the flavor? I told you they’d rock your socks off.”

“Actually,” Alexander interrupted. “Elliot didn’t have a chance to try them. It seems we have a cookie monster on Sugarplum Island.”

“A mouse? Miss Twylah’s eyes bulged. “A mouse ate all twelve of them? How is that even humanly possible?” Miss Twylah cocked her head to the side. “Or would it be ‘rodently possible’?”

“I don’t think ‘rodently’ is a word, Miss Twylah,” Elliot chimed in. “It’s probably best to err on the side of caution and forget the question altogether.”

She nodded in agreement. “How sad for you, though, sweetie. You didn’t even get to try one?”

“No ma’am. They weren’t for me, anyway. They’re for my . . .” Elliot’s hands shook, and Professor Plum squeaked his disapproval. How could he explain Jared to Alexander and Miss Twylah? Elliot knew it didn’t matter, because in the story of his life, Alexander would simply be a man he met at a bakery who brightened his dreary day. “They’re for Jared,” Elliot finished, hoping that would be enough. Thankfully, neither of them pushed the matter, though Elliot noticed a touch of disappointment cross Alexander’s face. Elliot opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Would you like a cookie, too?” Miss Twylah asked. “For you. On the house.”

Elliot shook his head. He couldn’t. He was forbidden to have any food unless it was directly handed to him by Jared. Unfortunately, Jared would know if Elliot had eaten anything, because he would need to use his solid waste release function, and Elliot never needed to use his solid waste release function.

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

Alexander and Miss Twylah shared a look. Elliot wasn’t sure what the look meant, but he knew better than to ask. She scooped twelve more cookies from the tray, and Alexander stepped directly in front of Elliot and smiled.

“May I walk you back to the ferry? I can carry your cookies for you.”

“You don’t have to. I’m fine on my own.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. I just thought it would be nice to spend a little more time with you.”

“Oh,” Elliot said. He couldn’t imagine why Alexander would want to spend time with him. Elliot scrunched his nose. “Why?”

Alexander twitched a smile. “Because you’re fascinating. You carry a mouse on your person.”

Elliot lifted the bag. “I carried him in my bag, Mr. Davenport.”