Avery turned her head toward the door. “Rob,” she called.
He stepped back into the room, furnishing them both with an amiable smile. This had to be a joke. There was no way…Chloe looked around for a hidden camera; was she the victim of some horrible prank?
“Show her,” Avery instructed.
Without a word, Rob calmly rolled up his shirtsleeve. He pressed at the flesh on his forearm, and with a subtleclick, apanel opened. Chloe inhaled sharply. Beneath the fleshlike layer she could see wires, metal, and intricate circuit boards.
Chloe screamed.
Then she paused to take a breath and screamed some more.
Then she took one more huge gulp of air and began screaming, louder this time.
Rob and Avery waited patiently for her to stop.
“This is why we soundproofed the room,” Avery said, waving a hand toward the padded walls.
When Chloe finally ran out of breath, she passed through a rapid succession of emotions—disbelief, horror, disappointment, awe, anger, and then a whole load more horror. Avery nodded to Rob, his cue to leave.
“Sorry, what the actual fuck, Avery?” Chloe managed to say, and she only ever swore in exceptional circumstances. “This is what Perfect Partners does? You make fake men?”
“And women,” Avery said cheerfully. “But they’re not fake, they’re very real, just not flesh-and-blood real. Rob is a Galatea Series 762x, though we affectionately refer to them as BoiBots.” She paused, taking in Chloe’s shocked expression, then shifting her own to one of sympathy. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. Think of dating a biological man as using a typewriter. It’s fine, you can do it, but it’s messy and slow and if you make a mistake, it’s hard to rectify. Rob here is a laptop—clean, sleek, fully programmable, far more efficient.” She took a beat. “You gave us all the information we needed to build exactly what you want, Chloe. Rob is it.”
“I don’t want to date a sodding robot, thank you very much,” Chloe said, standing up and pacing, because she couldn’t sit still. Her heart was pounding; her hand shot to her neck, scratching at her skin. She felt tricked, angry, embarrassed. She’d been flirting with a machine.
“No one believes it can feel real until they are in a room with one,” Avery said, evening her tone. “That’s why we do it this way.” She clapped her hands once, a sharp sound. “I suggest you go out with him, on a real date. If you aren’t convinced, you’ll have wasted nothing but a few hours of your time.” Avery’s ice-blue eyes fixed on Chloe. “Being in a healthy relationship, with the right person, it transforms people.”
“He’s not a person though, is he?” Chloe said, sitting back down, resting her head in her hands because the room was spinning; her stomach turned.
“Trust me, after a few dates you’ll forget about that,” Avery said. She looked like she was waiting for a response, but Chloe was speechless. “The truth is, Chloe, all the ideal men you listed on your form—Fitzwilliam Darcy, Anthony Bridgerton, Friedrich Bhaer—they are all men written by women. Women know what women want. Rob is also written by a woman; he is written by you.”
The nausea ebbed, leaving a hollow feeling in its place. Chloe stood, then ripped the watch from her wrist and laid it on the table. Whatever theBlade Runnermind trip she’d just walked into, she needed to leave now. Sci-fi was not her genre.
“I’m going now,” she said firmly, walking toward the door.
“Think about it,” Avery replied, unmoved. “Perfect Partners will be here when you’re ready for perfection.”
Chloe ran from the building, then out onto the Strand. She didn’t stop running until she reached Charing Cross station. There, breathless, she looked around at all the people going about their day, running for their trains. How could they be acting like everything was normal when there were robots who looked like men? How did she know these commuters were even real—what if they were all robots too? As her thoughts swirled,she had to sit down on the pavement, to feel the ground. After a few minutes, the adrenaline drained out of her and was replaced by a heavy, sinking feeling. Because for a moment there, she had felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.
By the time she got back to Richmond, her disappointment and confusion had curdled into anger. Anger that Wendy had set her up, that she’d wasted all that time filling in a forty-two-page questionnaire. And sure, she hadn’t specified “ALIVE” or “HUMAN” as prerequisites, but she’d kind of assumed they were a given. This was all the reunion email’s fault. It had triggered an existential spiral, making her question every aspect of her life. A similar thing happened when she watched too many TED Talks or read Brené Brown. But whatever change she was trying to manifest, dating a sexy R2-D2 was not it.
5
Chloe lay in bed, unableto sleep, annoyed at Wendy, annoyed at herself for finding Rob so charming. Grossed out by the fact she’d fancied him. Ew. She was also irked by Avery’s calm demeanor, her smug confidence that Chloe would be back.Of courseshe wasn’t going to date a robot. She wasn’t that desperate, and she wasn’t—as far as she knew—mad. She had seen enoughBlack Mirrorepisodes to know these things never ended well. No fairy tales ended “and she lived happily ever after with her robot boyfriend.”
When Chloe finally managed to sleep, she woke feeling disturbed. She’d had a sex dream about WALL-E. A graphic sex dream.Then she felt doubly disturbed because it was the first sex dream she’d had in years.
In the morning, she felt groggy from lack of sleep. Part of her wondered if Avery and Perfect Partners had all been a dream. Did that all really happen? Sluggishly, she threw on her neutral work uniform of black jeans and a nude blouse, but then added a vintage, puff-stitch green cape and a nude cloche hat. McKenzie might have strong opinions on what she wore at the office, but he couldn’t dictate what she wore to get there.
She then sprayed a generous amount of Issey Miyake to fend off the chip smell. Downstairs, her parents were already in the kitchen.
“Don’t you look lovely,” said her mum, looking up. “So like my mother.”
“Okaaaay,” Chloe said, “I wasn’t aiming for grandma chic.”
“When she was younger, I mean. You’re so like her. Both fashionistas, dancing to the beat of your own drum.”
Chloe twisted the ring on her finger, as she always did when she thought of Valerie. It was a narrow gold band with an amber cameo set in the top, carved in relief with an image of Artemis, the goddess renowned for her fierce independence. Her grandmother had pressed the ring into her hand the week before she died, saying, “Never lose your independence, child. Always, alwayshave your own money.” It was the ring, her grandmother’s words, that had given her the final push to leave Peter. The day he’d opened her bank statement, suggesting they’d save more if she put everything into the joint account, the account he controlled. That was the moment. Her grandmother Valerie’s voice in her head: “Leave, Chloe. Leave now.”
