Page 6 of The Stuffing Situation

Something was off.

Behind her, Felix sat on the edge of her bed, still infuriatingly composed, as if a meditation app had achieved sentience anddecided to cosplay as a boyfriend, which was accurate. His posture was too perfect to be trusted. Hands folded loosely, shoulders relaxed. The faint, hopeful smile of someone waiting for a performance review.

And to be fair, if gold stars were awarded for cheekbones, he’d be the salutatorian of thirst.

No. No, we are not thinking that.

“We need rules,” she said finally, because what else do you do when you summon a digital demigod with breakfast skills and zero concept of boundaries? You treat it as a crisis, or a toddler on your cellphone with the credit card number programmed in.

Felix perked up instantly. “Rule-based structures are helpful for cooperative success. Continue.”

“Number one: You cannot talk about being made by an app. Or algorithms. Or data points. Or the internet. No digital anything. You’re human.”

Felix nodded with solemn gravity, the way someone might accept a sacred oath or a cookie policy. “Understood. I am human.”

He said it as if someone were reading from a flashcard labeled‘LIE CONVINCINGLY.’

“Sure,” Maya muttered. “Frankenboyfriend of my own creation, but sure.”

She resumed pacing, half-walking, half-spiraling. Her robe flared behind her like a cape stitched from stress and bad decisions.

“Number two: Try to act normal.”

Felix tilted his head, intrigued. “What is normal?”

“Less encyclopedia, more Golden Retriever boyfriend. Got it?”

His eyes lit up with algorithmic enthusiasm. “Golden Retriever is a promising comparison. Loyal. Affectionate. Good boy energy.”

She stopped mid-step. “Did you just saygood boy energy?”

“I consumed several romance novels and lifestyle influencer vlogs during system initialization,” He said with the smugness of a man who’d just passedHot Guy Theory and Applicationwith honors.

She opened her mouth to retort, only to freeze at the sound of a knock.

Too late.

The door opened with all the subtlety of the gates of hell yawning wide.

“There you are!” her mother sang, gliding in with a mixing bowl and the energy of someone who could bake a pie, stage a coup, and still make it to Pilates by noon. “Felix! I am so glad you were able to get time off work to join us!”

Felix stood with the fluidity of a man in a period drama about slow-burning pining. “I am glad, too. Thank you for allowing me to make toast and the unsolicited entry.”

Maya slapped a palm to her face. “Mom.Boundaries.”

Her mother waved her off. “Please. You used to run around this house naked in rubber boots. Privacy died in 1999.”

“Trauma,” Maya muttered into her hand.

“But look at you!” her mother beamed at Felix like she’d summoned him herself. “So polite. And handsome. And tall! We thought you were going to have to miss Thanksgiving, but you surprised our sweet Maya here. We kept saying Maya would never bring someone home.”

Maya’s spine locked into place. “Mom, ”

“Honestly,” she added, breezily confident, “we were halfway convinced she was still a virgin.”

Maya choked, Felix blinked, and the room froze; even the ceiling fan seemed to hesitate.

“NOPE!” Maya blurted, voice cracking. “Nope, nope, nope.”