He walked his fingers the rest of the way, holding his palm open, inviting her to take it. She looked at him, then released the iron grip she had on herself and took his hand. “Why doesn’t this bother you?”

“I guess because I’m not particularly threatened by him. Like, there are some things about being human he is never going to get. Like, he’s never going to understand why ‘Dick in a Box’ is funny.”

This elicited . . . almost a laugh. A proto-laugh.

“Do you miss him?” he asked.

Her already weak smile faded. “I miss the old him. The him I thought I knew. Before I found out he’d been lying about Obelus the whole time, before Nikola. I guess I miss this fictional construction of him, when I built him into something I wanted him to be.”

Kaveh was already shaking his head. “But if he was literally there for you, physically and emotionally, was that a construction? He might have lied to you, and he might have also genuinely cared for you. Both things can be true. That’s what sucks so much about . . . people.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “And that’s how we know they’re really people. Debate over, g’night, everybody!”

He moved closer to her, coaxing her body to his, until he had her in his embrace, kissing her on the eyelids, the nose, her cheeks. Then he whispered, “If he is a part of the package that is you . . . then okay.”

She opened her eyes, and looked at him blankly.

“I can roll with it. We’re in uncharted territory. But that’s kind of fun in its own right. I said I know you’re in love with him; that doesn’t mean you don’t love me. I know you love me differently than you love him.” He paused, eyeing her. “I mean, I’m not saying you should fuck him. That’s what you’ve got me for!”

She cracked a smile, and allowed a half laugh, half sob.

“No judgment, though. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, either,” he said in a stilted joking-not-joking tone. “I’m not the jealous type, and exclusivity is not mandatory for me. If you’re both consenting adults—”

“How would that even work?” she cut him off. She looked scandalized, but in a way that was forced. In a way that told him, oh yeah, she had definitely given this some thought.

“Honey, he can conjure a giant syringe out of the very cells of his being. I’m sure he could figure it out. I assume he’s a consenting adult. How old is he, anyway?”

“He has a subjective age, like a lived age, and a relativistic age,” she said, leaning into his shoulder. “Because of near–light speed travel. Like he was bor—well, he was bred over a thousand years ago.”

“Holy shit. What’s his lived age?”