Chapter 7 #2
“Yes,” Caspian says, as if purchasing flowers is an entirely normal activity for a household robot. “I thought they might cheer you up after everything you’ve been through.”
I bite my lip, unsure how to respond. The gesture is thoughtful, sweet even, but it’s also confusing as hell. Robots don’t buy flowers for humans. They don’t notice when someone needs cheering up.
And they sure don’t as hell kiss humans in hospital rooms.
“Oh, umm, they’re beautiful, I guess,” I finally manage, picking up my fork awkwardly with my left hand.
“You don’t like them?” he asks, studying my face inquisitively.
My heart starts to beat faster. He actually looks hurt by my response.
“I love them,” I say, wondering why I’m placating a robot, but he’s hovering over me and I’m not sure how he’d react in anger. All guys are the same, robot or human.
The omelet smells delicious, and my stomach growls in response.
I didn’t eat anything at the hospital last night, and my body is now reminding me of that fact with a vengeance. I cut into the perfectly cooked egg, steam rising as the fork breaks the surface. The first bite is heaven—the spinach fresh, the feta tangy and sharp against the creamy eggs.
“Are you feeling better this morning?” Caspian asks, taking the seat across from me. Another strange behavior—he usually stands while I eat, ready to fetch anything I might need.
Now he’s sitting across from me like a normal human would. I swallow my bite of omelet, washing it down with a sip of coffee.
“I’m alright,” I say. “My shoulder hurts, but the doctor said that’s normal.”
“And emotionally?” he presses, his eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“I’m ready to begin the divorce process,” I say, the words still strange and new on my tongue. “But I have no idea how to start, especially with no phone, no car, no access to my bank accounts.”
Caspian nods, his expression softening. “I can help with that. Divorce proceedings typically begin with filing a petition for dissolution of marriage. In your case, you have clear grounds for filing based on adultery, which can expedite the process in certain jurisdictions.”
I stare at him, taken aback by his immediate, matter-of-fact response. It’s like he’s been researching this, preparing for this conversation.
“Given Daniel’s infidelity,” he continues smoothly, “you would likely be entitled to a more favorable asset division than in a no-fault divorce. All marital property will be divided fairly, though not necessarily equally.”
His voice is calm, almost soothing, as he lays out the destruction of my marriage in clinical legal terms. I take another bite of omelet as my stomach suddenly churns in anxiety.
“Oh okay, wow, you know a lot. Well, I guess you’re a database after all.”
“The first step would be securing legal representation,” Caspian says, ignoring my comment. “I’ve already compiled a list of highly-rated divorce attorneys in the area who specialize in high-asset cases involving infidelity.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “You’ve already researched lawyers?”
He nods, completely unfazed. “I anticipated you would require this information. It seemed important to have it ready when you asked.”
I don’t know whether to be grateful or unsettled by his foresight. It’s thoughtful, but also eerie—like he’s been several steps ahead of me all along.
“In the meantime,” he adds, “we should address your immediate practical concerns. You’ll need a replacement phone, access to funds, and transportation.”
“Daniel will never agree to give me money for a new phone,” I say, bitterness creeping into my voice. “Not after last night.”
“Your name is on the joint checking account,” Caspian points out. “You have legal access to those funds regardless of Daniel’s wishes. I can assist you with contacting the bank to order a replacement card.”
I nod slowly, processing his words. He’s right, of course. Daniel can’t legally cut me off from our joint accounts, at least not yet. The thought provides a small measure of relief.
Caspian reaches across the table suddenly, his warm fingers brushing against the sling encasing my injured shoulder. “How is your pain level this morning? Do you need your medication?”
I jerk away from his touch, nearly knocking over my coffee mug.
His proximity, the unexpected contact, sends my heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with pain or medication.
I remember those same fingers cradling my head as he kissed me, the strength in them as he carried me to the hospital.
“Yes, I need it,” I stammer, avoiding his eyes. “It only hurts when I move it.”
Something flickers in Caspian’s gaze—a flash of emotion that vanishes so quickly I might have imagined it. Hurt? Disappointment? Frustration? Whatever it was, it looked too human, too real to belong on a robot’s face.
He makes his way into the kitchen and opens one of the cabinets to get my medicine.
“Here you go,” says Caspian, handing me a pill, and I chug it down with some coffee.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say, grabbing my coffee mug with my good hand. “I think I’ll go upstairs to my office. I need to... think.”
“Of course, Rose. I’ll be here if you need anything. Anything at all.”
The way he says anything at all makes my cheeks heat, though I’m sure I’m reading subtext where none exists. He’s a machine, I remind myself for the hundredth time. Just a very sophisticated machine.