While they waited for drinks, Laurence tried telling Patricia all about Serafina’s emotional robots—then realized halfway through that talking about Serafina in the third person didn’t make her seem cool, but just made it seem like Laurence thought she couldn’t speak for herself.

“Patricia seemed cool,” Serafina said afterward, as she and Laurence sat in Humphry Slocombe and shared some Secret Breakfast, that weird ice cream with the cornflakes and whiskey in it.

“You didn’t really get to see what’s cool about her.” Laurence scooped some ice cream.

“Obviously I did, since I already said I thought she was cool.”

“It’s weird to see someone you haven’t seen in ten years, and it brings back all sorts of stuff. I was such a loser, you wouldn’t believe.” (When talking about middle school, Laurence had long since learned it was best not even to mention that he believed he’d created artificial intelligence in his bedroom closet, even as a funny story. It just made him sound like an asshat.)

They finished their ice cream. Which, ice cream with whiskey in it might not have been the best idea after three beers at the Latin American. Laurence was seeing a lot of floaters and his head was only getting fuzzier, plus he felt a deep unrest in the pit of his stomach.

“So what’s going on?” Serafina said. “I feel like there was some subtext to this evening that I missed.”

Laurence thought of saying that he didn’t know whether subtext was an emotional state or a mental state or even what the exact difference between the two things might be. But he bit his tongue and said, “I feel as though I’m on probation. I mean, in this relationship.”

“Huh. News to me.” Serafina shrugged. Her eyes widened and her lower lip curled inward as she looked at her boyfriend. Her red highlights glistened under the fluorescent hipster-ice-cream-store lights. She looked so beautiful and so filled with curiosity, Laurence felt a brand-new pang of love for her. He was ready to open himself up to her, something that did not come naturally to him. Her callused and manicured fingers toyed with the unladen ice-cream spoon.

“Have I said or done anything to give you the idea that you’re on probation?” she asked.

Laurence searched his memory for a moment, then shook his head. “I guess I just decided I was. I don’t know why.”

“This is weirding me out. I mean, I feel like our communication has sucked for, I don’t know, a month or so. But maybe it was worse than I knew.” Serafina massaged her own temples, pinching the skin on either side of her eyebrows.

“So … I’m not on probation then?”

“Well…” Serafina stopped mortar-and-pestling her forehead and looked him in the eye. “I guess you are now.”

“Oh.” Well played, Armstead.

Chapter 18

18