Chapter 42 #2
“No. We're just friends,” he says with a tight smile, trying to hide his emotions.
“You look very disappointed for just being friends.”
“I am a little bit disappointed. She told me that… I don't know.”
“She told you what?”
“That she was moving on from him.”
“Well honey she lied to you. Because the screaming that she was doing this morning.
The screaming that Lincoln was doing. Yeah those two are definitely…
let's just say there's no moving on. As long as they're both living in that house together that's just something that you're going to have to come to expect.
I really hope you weren't catching feelings for her or anything cuz that would be kind of pathetic,” I chortle as I press a hand to his shoulder encouragingly.
There's that tight smile again that I know means his heart is breaking.
The poor thing. But I don't care because I know exactly what I'm doing. Now this could either go two ways.
At first I was thinking that I could maybe encourage her and Fabian to be together but I'm experienced enough to know that she is still in love with Lincoln. And as long as Lincoln is in the picture, everybody else is just going to be a rebound for her; even if she doesn't realize it.
The other reason I decided to blow this up right now is because I might be able to use Fabian.
I'm not giving up on Lincoln and I know that Lincoln still has feelings for me but right now the smell of stench is all up in his nose because he has no choice, having to see that woman day in and day out.
I don't want her to have a reason to feel like she needs to stay here and I also can't have Lincoln being distracted at work seeing her flirt with Fabian.
But maybe if Lincoln also sees me flirting with Fabian he'll realize what he lost because the truth is if he meant what he said while he was coming, that he hates Gabrielle and there's no love for her anymore.
Clearly she hurt him enough to make him feel as though he's drowning under those toxic emotions.
Just because people fuck each other doesn't mean they necessarily like each other. And, as he told me, he didn't see me as wife material just because we were fucking either.
And that's completely my fault.
Now mind you, I don't want to get married, but I still want guys to see me as wife material. That's important to me.
Scratch that.
It's important that Lincoln sees me as wife material. I've been thinking about it and the thing is I don't think I would get married for love but maybe I would consider it for its advantages.
If Lincoln and I got married out of obligation it would be annoying.
If we got married out of love that would be delusional.
But if we both agree to be married so we could reap the social and financial benefits of that maybe we could talk about that.
I mean for crying out loud one of my cousins married someone who paid him so that they could get their green card.
It was literally a contract for the advantages. He got paid $4,000, and that person got a green card. Not a bad deal especially if they had to be married for 2 years. I personally would have asked for way more money but, whatever.
Gabby comes in 3 minutes late. I'm surprised she comes in at all.
Fabian looks at her and looks away.
I pretend I'm talking to two other co-workers just so I can eavesdrop on their conversation.
“I'm glad you had a great morning,” Fabian quips at her.
Gabrielle tilts her head like she doesn't know what he's talking about. “I wouldn't say I had a great morning.”
“Really? You're practically glowing,” Fabian says with that tight smile, his teeth giving away all the discomfort and disappointment he feels.
Dude is down bad.
“I don't know what you think I'm glowing with but trust me it's not what you think. I'm exhausted.”
“Yeah, I'm sure you are. I kept you pretty late. I'm sorry. I figured you would have gotten a couple of hours sleep.”
Their chatter drowns out as Lincoln finally storms in, hair still damp from the shower he barely took time for. His jaw is locked tight, eyes bloodshot, not just from lack of sleep.
My heart races seeing him. But he looks so downtrodden.
Tom is asking him if he's okay, to which he merely nods and keeps walking.
“Hey. You look like you wrestled with your cat and you lost,” I try to keep things light.
Usually he would smile at something like this but he is focused. Laser. He only glances over at Fabian and Gabrielle for a quick second before looking past me.
“Just get in the chamber we need to rerun the clutter drift sequence,” he says.
I don't even waste time and quickly put on my mocap suit.
“Okay Mr. Sunshine. Are you sure you're good to calibrate?” I ask lightly.
“Yeah why,” he asks tightly, rolling up his sleeves.
I swear it looks like the man didn't have sex. He looks more pent up than he probably was before.
Glancing over to Fabian's station, Gabby's already gone, having taken her cart.
“I don't know, it just looks like you're vibrating,” I tell him warily.
Lincoln, already strapping on his facial trackers, barely looks at me. “I'm fine. Load the last overnight log. The one where it hesitated on the laundry.”
My fingers tap my tablet, causing the lights to dim further.
Auralis stands motionless in the center of the mock living room set; cluttered floor: scattered clothes, toys, books, a half-folded blanket draped over a chair.
Auralis powers on. Its eyes glow soft cobalt, its voice that calm and soothing lilt that disarms people.
“Good morning, Sarah, Lincoln.”
“Morning,” Lincoln says roughly.
“How was your—” the robot starts but Lincoln quickly skips past.
“Beginning household assistance protocol,” the robot confirms.
Lincoln's voice is clipped as he gives it commands. “Initiate laundry retrieval task. Target: red sweater on floor, left quadrant.”
Auralis steps forward smoothly at first, then its head jerks slightly, scanning the mess. It reaches for the red sweater… but its hand closes around a pair of black leggings instead.
“There it is. Delay spike,” I let Lincoln know.
Lincoln leans closer to the monitor. “Latency hit 2.8 seconds. It’s second-guessing the visual parse again.”
Auralis lifts the leggings, pauses mid-motion, arm frozen at a strange angle, then abruptly swings the garment like it’s trying to fold it mid-air. The motion is too sharp; the fabric whips and knocks a small lamp off the side table. Glass shatters.
“Shit—” I mutter as my heart rate lurches. “Override! Code-7-0!”
I lunge forward as Auralis’s arm keeps moving in a glitchy loop, servos whining.
“Sarah! What the hell are you doing? The kill switch!”
“Sorry,” I fumble like an idiot as I grab the emergency kill switch on the wall.
I hard press the red button, causing Auralis to freeze mid-swing, arm still outstretched, leggings dangling like a surrender flag.
The chamber lights flick back to normal. Silence except for my breathing.
“That was… not good,” I state the obvious.
“Yeah, that's an understatement,” Lincoln says, looking as tired as I feel suddenly.
“What the hell was that?” Tom enters.
“Just working out kinks,” Lincoln says as he stares at the frozen robot. “It miscalculated the fabric weight. Thought the leggings were heavier and tried to compensate with the wrong torque response.”
“Torque response?” Tom asks as he steps in, nudging a glass shard with his shoe. “We tightened the dynamic mass estimation loop three patches ago. Shouldn’t the inertial comp layer have caught that by now? We’re supposed to be sub-2-second on adaptive grip across variable payloads.”
“We tightened the clutter filter last week. It shouldn’t be drifting this hard,” I cut in.
Lincoln rubs his temple. “Run the log. I want to see the exact frame it lost context.”
I give him a nod, already pulling up the replay on the wall display.
At least he’s in work mode. Lincoln turns away slightly, jaw tight again, like something else is eating him that has nothing to do with the robot.
He's frustrated but I seriously need him to be here. We have less than a month to figure this out. Glancing at him, I hesitate then decide not to push.
After he and Tom discuss for a little while, he remains standing still, miles away in his mind.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, I lend him a smile.
“We'll get it. Don't let the stress eat you. You always find a way to fix it.”
“Yeah,” he replies somberly.
But Lincoln’s eyes stay fixed on the frozen Auralis, arm still raised, holding onto the wrong thing.
Just like he’s been doing for years.
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