. . . Maybe?
My heart jumped to my throat and a hot shock of sensation tightened my chest, heated my neck and cheeks. Could he—did he— I mean—was it possible that this guy, who eschewed romantic relationships with such fervor, was interested? In me?
And was I interested in him?
I knew I was attracted to him, but—
“Matt?”
“No. It’s fine.” He shook his head, not looking at me, and chuckled, like this was funny. “I, um, have become a student of human nature, since I began this project, and this—” he gestured between us, still not looking at me, “—is a classic friend-zone maneuver. I don’t have a more technical word for it. It’s very typical of what we’ve seen in our lab. Fascinating, really.”
He turned back to me and his smile was small but easy as he picked up his pie plate and scraped at the remnants, forking a few crumbs into his mouth.
I wasn’t convinced. Something was off.
“Matt, excuse me if I’m confused, but didn’t you say last week that you’re not interested in a long-term relationship?”
“Yes. That’s correct. I’m not,” he responded lightly, but his expression was looking increasingly brittle.
“Then what is the—”
My phone rang, effectively cutting off my sporadic thoughts. Gritting my teeth, I glanced at the screen and—seeing who it was—muttered, “Shit.”
“Who is it?”
I didn’t answer right away, instead leaning forward and sending the call to voicemail. This was the fourth time he’d called in two days, but once again, he didn’t leave a message. What can he want?
Gathering a deep breath, I admitted, “That was David. My ex-boyfriend.”
Matt hesitated and I felt his eyes on me, probing. “Are you two reconciling?”
“No,” I said, with force. “No. He’s engaged, actually. His new girlfriend—I mean, she’s not new, she’s his fiancée—just sent me an invitation to their engagement party a few weeks ago and I haven’t responded.”
Matt blew out a long, audible breath. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, finally meeting his gaze, knowing I looked confused. “Yes. At least, I thought I was.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, when I got the invite I didn’t expect to feel so much about it. It blindsided me, but I thought I’d get over it. I’m happy for him, them. I am. But it—I just—I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Do you still talk to him?” Matt’s tone was friendly enough, but also felt edged with cautious objectivity. “Have you met her?”
“No. We stopped talking when we broke up.” I gave Matt a self-deprecating shrug. “I got dumped.”
He flinched at that, just a very small movement, his pity making me roll my eyes at myself.
“It’s fine. Everyone gets dumped eventually.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a chef.”
Matt made a face. “Why would you need to date a chef? You can cook.”
That made me chuckle. “I didn’t date a chef, Matt. I dated a person.”
He lifted his chin and I got the distinct impression my response had surprised him. “Well said.”
“Thanks.”
“Maybe you’re not over him,” he suggested, his eyes wandering over my face, tinged with something I couldn’t identify.
I shook my head slowly, my attention drifting to the right and focusing on nothing but my thoughts as I debated this theory. “No. I think I am over him. In fact, I think I was over him before he dumped me. But he was safe. And kind to me. And I didn’t want to lose that.”
When I refocused on Matt, I found his gaze lowered to the ottoman, a secretive yet rueful smile tugging his lips to one side.
“Matt—”
“I need to leave.” He stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets for the first time all night, and walked the short distance to the door.
My heart jumped to my throat and started beating out a frantic staccato. What should I say?
Should I apologize?
What for?
The friend-zoned comment plagued me. I want to be friends with him, that much is true, but—
He was already at the door and the time to explain was now or never, yet I had no idea what I was going to say.
I started with, “About what I said, I didn’t mean that I wanted—”
“I consider it a compliment.” Matt turned back to me, his voice even and steady, reasonable, aloof. “I’ve never been any good at biologically motivated displays of testosterone superiority, and I wouldn’t want to waste the time of someone who requires them.” He finished with a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Or maybe it did.
I couldn’t be certain.
Anxiety clouded my vision.
I wasn’t in the most rational state of mind.
Nevertheless, I tried, “But I don’t understand how friend-zoning, in our case, given what—”
“It’s a relief you said something first. Pragmatically it saved me the conversation. You’re not at all my type.” He shrugged, like everything was perfectly fine.
His words made my breath catch. And my heart hurt. Because . . . I guess he would know? He had the data. He’d read my dating profile. He knew all about women like me.
“I’m not?” I licked my lips, they were suddenly dry.
“No.” Matt’s smile grew tight, and then he pulled me forward and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“Goodbye, friend Marie,” he whispered. “Thanks for dinner and pie.”
He turned and walked away.
12
Desktop companion robot
A proof-of-concept desktop companion robot unveiled at the 2017 Consumer Electronics Show (CES) with "human-like" movements and communication skills. The robot is able to access and use cloud data, and communicate with devices in other locations. The size of a standard kitchen countertop blender, the robot includes an embedded projector that is enclosed within the egg shell-shaped device. The robot can also move backwards and forwards and up and down, and has been designed to mimic human movements. The decision to make the robot sound child-like was deliberate to build a sense of attachment with its human owner.
Source: Panasonic
Janie had a scare during the latter part of June, giving me a (figurative) heart attack.
I received the call Sunday. Elizabeth phoned me from Janie’s room while Sandra and I were at her place, working to finish knitting Janie’s baby blanket; Sandra took one end, I took the other, and we’d set a bottle of wine on the coffee table next to us.
“Is she okay? Is the baby okay?” My hand flew to my chest and I fumbled to switch to speakerphone, bracing for the worst.