Dan stood too. “I’ll help.”
“No.” I stood, walked to Kat and looped our arms together as I pulled her out of the room. “I’ll help.”
She gave me a startled look, but didn’t argue or ask why she needed help buying another soda. As soon as the door shut behind us, I spun on her.
“Kat.”
“Yes?” Her eyes were wide, bracing, even though she was smiling.
“Why are you wearing a wedding ring?”
She stiffened, her smile growing similarly hard, less natural. Sighing, her smile completely dissolved, leaving her eyes anxious and the corners of her mouth pinched.
“I had to,” she whispered.
“You had to?”
She nodded, swallowing. “I had to.”
I attempted to parse through what I had to might mean. “Did your family make you marry someone?”
She shook her head, but said, “Yes. But it’s not like you think.”
Giving her a hard stare, I stepped closer, holding her shoulders, and tried to keep the worry out of my voice. “What’s it like, then? And why didn’t you come to me for help? Or if not me, then Fiona? Or Sandra and Alex? Or—”
“I went to Dan for help,” she admitted on a rushed whisper, closing her eyes and releasing a shaky breath. “Dan helped me.”
“Dan?” I searched her face, looking for a clue as to what she could possibly mean. “Helped you how?”
Kat opened her eyes, ripe with tension and guilt, and said, “He married me.”
Kat filled me in on her predicament. The story had been . . . concerning. I was concerned for her and Dan. I’d also pledged to help however I could. What she needed was my support, and that’s what I would give her.
Selfishly, I appreciated the distraction from my own worries, which felt small and silly in comparison.
I left the hospital around 3:00 PM, feeling worn out. Matt left with me, giving me the impression he’d been waiting until I was ready to depart. We found one of Quinn’s SUVs ready to take us home, our luggage in the back.
Matt said nothing until we were in the car and on our way. Then he pressed the button for the privacy window, closing the barrier between the driver and us, and drawing my attention to him.
“Why do women give men blowjobs?” he asked, staring forward, his tone curious and conversational.
I blinked at him, my lips parting in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Hear me out.” He glanced at me. “Answer the question. I have a point.”
“Uh, I guess . . . maybe some women like it.”
“Do you like it?”
A rush of feeling masked as heat flared over my cheeks, making my neck hot. “Matt.”
“Humor me.” He turned more completely in his seat. “Do you like it?”
“I mean, I guess. It’s not my favorite thing, but I guess I like doing it.” I crossed my arms, realizing that this was the kind of conversation we used to have all the time. And I never felt uncomfortable about it until I’d seen him kissing someone else.
“I like going down on women.”
I huffed, closing my eyes. “Good for you?” And good for the women you deem fuckable.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, my internal thought process was bitter and snide. So sue me.
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because you’re hungry all the time?” My voice was carefully deadpan. I couldn’t do this with him. Not anymore.
“Be serious.”
“Fine.” I clenched my teeth. “Because you like that it’s sexual.”
“Yes, that’s part of it. But it’s not the main reason. I think women like giving head and men like cunnilingus because of the giving part.”
“That’s an interesting theory.” My heart was beating erratically, and I was unsure how I was feeling. I was leaning toward mad, but that wasn’t quite right.
“You know, Elon Musk thinks life is a simulation. That humanity is really just a computer simulation controlled by an advanced society.”
“Elon Musk thinks too much.”
“What is life?” Matt asked quietly.
“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question.”
“Life is a struggle for relevancy.” Emotion poured from his words—emotion that had been absent up until now—and had me opening my eyes to peek at him. His stare was on me, trapping mine, making it impossible for me to look away as he continued. “And you can’t be relevant, you absolutely cannot be relevant, if you contribute nothing. If you take without giving. What is a relationship if not a microcosm of life?”
“You think being relevant is an essential part of a relationship?” I didn’t like how that sounded.
“Yes. But I can tell from how you asked the question you’re misunderstanding my meaning.” He moved like he was going to reach for my hand, but then pulled back, setting his teeth. “Theoretically, for the sake of this discussion, let’s say—as an example—you and I were in a relationship. I would be concerned about my relevancy to you. But rarely, if ever, would I be concerned about your relevancy to me. I wouldn’t be thinking, what has Marie done for me lately? I think good people struggle more with their own relevancy—am I contributing, am I important, am I needed—than they do with the world, or with their partner.”
“So how do you make a person relevant to a robot?” Most of my earlier anger had dissipated, replaced with sincere interest in the topic of discussion. This was a gift of his, distracting me by being fascinating.
“Unless the robot is sentient,” his attention moved over my shoulder, growing hazy, “capable of making its own decisions and possessing free will, I don’t think you can. No human will ever look at a robot and think, It needs me, it wants me because of who I am. And even if it did, so what?” His gaze moved back to mine. “What is the value of being needed by an artificial intelligence?”
I swallowed, caught by the animated intelligence in his gaze. “What is the value of being needed by another person?” I asked quietly.
“Pride.”
“Pride?”
“Yes.” His breathing changed, taking larger and larger breaths. “Admitting that you need another person is relinquishing pride. What if that person rejects you? What if they don’t need you? It’s a big risk for a person, but for an AI? Where’s the risk? With no risk, no true sacrifice or vulnerability, there is no value.”
“What are you saying? You’re giving up on your Compassion AI?”
“No . . .” He bit his lip, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “No. I’m not giving up. I’m changing my aims, though.”
“Because you think people need to be needed?”
“I know it.” He swallowed, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, his eyes darting over my face, and then he blurted, “Have I ruined our friendship?”