How to Build a Boyfriend from Scratch. Sarah Archer
one thing that will make the situation more awkward and talk about it. It would be so much simpler if everyone could just do what she did and suppress their emotions, stuffing them in the back of the closet, right next to the childhood traumas and the performing-in-your-third-grade-play-naked-and-then-all-your-teeth-fall-out dreams.
“I’m not comfortable. I mean uncomfortable.”
“It’s just that you seemed a little uncomfortable when I put my hand on your arm, just now,” he continued. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I just express myself physically. I’m a very expressive person, but I realize it’s unfair to make assumptions about your communication style since we’ve only been working on this simulation together for a week.”
“Well, I’ve been working on it for months before you got here!” Kelly exclaimed. The anxieties simmering in her had been lit to a boil. She felt the tug of that same old instinct to flee the scene, yet this was her project—she couldn’t. She was trapped. But maybe it was time she blew up the room instead of trying to tunnel out. After all, she reminded herself, she’d been quite content back when she began developing the Confibot simulation all on her own. Then this guy had to come and get his big—not big, average, definitely average—hands all over her. That is, all over the project. Insinuating that she didn’t understand people. So much of why she had gone into engineering in the first place was because it didn’t ask her to try to make sense of people, who, let’s face it, were often nonsensical anyway. This was her safe space, and he had breached it. But it didn’t matter; she didn’t need him. Sure, he was responsible for providing all the psychological bases for the interactions they were architecting, but that was soft science. Kelly, red cheeks and all, stared the doctor down.
Dr. Masden scraped back in his own chair. “I wasn’t aware that you felt that way.”
“I guess you weren’t paying attention,” she replied.
But now Dr. Masden didn’t look confused. He looked insulted. “I’m a psychologist. Not to flatter myself, but I pay pretty close attention to people’s behavior.”
“Then stop! You’re here to help develop the simulation, not analyze me. Which you’re doing a pretty poor job of anyway.”
“You think so? All right, then, here you go. Normally I charge hundreds an hour for this, but you’re about to get it for free.” Kelly tried to hold her crimson face high as the doctor leveled his searching gaze on her.
“You’re a control freak.”
“Is that the clinical term?”
Ignoring her, he plowed forward. “You’re smart and you’re good at this job and you know it. But part of why you’re good at it is because you’re a perfectionist. Any unknown variables that are introduced might mess up your perfect little world. And another human being is an unknown and unknowable variable, and in this case I’m the lucky one crossing your path. For the first couple days I thought you were just a little shy, but now I can see that you’re constantly on edge, with antisocial tendencies bordering on aggression. Any suggestion of friendliness is enough to upset you. Who knows what kind of crazy, frightening, fun, sad, unpredictable things could happen if you made a friend, or more than a friend, so why not just cut it off before it even starts? Better to have people think you want nothing to do with them and leave you alone than for them to find out everything that’s wrong with you. I wondered initially why you cared so much about developing a companion robot. It’s pretty obvious now that you’re so interested because you’re afraid that you yourself are going to end up alone, and guess what? If you don’t change, you will.”
Wow. Kelly had thought he was just going to call her uptight. Her entire being froze. She pondered how long she could go without making a response. If she just stayed still long enough, eventually she would be left alone. Eventually an asteroid would collide with the Earth and render her whole predicament irrelevant.
“I’m sorry. That was way out of line.”
Kelly’s eyes focused to realize Dr. Masden was looking at her, his own face now flushed. She was embarrassed, she was frustrated, she was flustered, and all she wanted was to get the doctor out of the room so this moment could end. Strike first, regret later. It was the safest tactic she knew.
“When you spend all day picking apart other people’s flaws instead of acknowledging your own, I guess it comes naturally.”
The doctor shook his head and pushed himself up from the chair.
“Good luck, Kelly.” And with a slam of the control room’s back door, he was gone, leaving her, once again, alone.
Kelly swiveled back to the control panel, unconsciously kneading her hands. There came the regret. What would happen to the Confibot project? Would the company find a replacement psychologist? Would they pull the simulation entirely? Did everyone think of her the way Dr. Masden did? Were they right?
Kelly had always known she was an introvert. She was awkward, sure, and not a brilliant presenter or performer, but essentially a functioning person. But maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe Martin had been relieved rather than bewildered when she made her untimely exit. Antisocial tendencies bordering on aggression … everything that’s wrong with you … The bulbs on the control panel misted into a glittery haze, like Christmas lights seen through an icy window, as Kelly’s eyes filled.
She squeezed back the tears, embarrassed, reminding herself that she didn’t have time to loaf around the office, blubbering like a too-short kid at a roller coaster entrance. After all, without a partner, she had more work to do than ever. The soft science stuff didn’t seem quite so minor as she pondered tackling it without a professional guide. She adjusted her chair and got back to work.
Kelly had never made a trip to the principal’s office, but she imagined now that this was what it must feel like. The airy prism in which she waited for her boss, however, was considerably more chic than a public school office. Sculptures of fluid silver filaments were scattered with effortless grace among awards, books, and photos on the white oak shelves, and a broad desk, arched like a ship’s bow, speared into a sweeping view of the palm-tree-lined avenues of San Jose. Through the frosted glass of the door, Kelly could read in reverse the letters “Anita Riveras, CEO.”
As Kelly studied Anita’s carefully curated photographs, she smoothed her already smooth blouse self-consciously. Even in miniature, Anita’s presence was formidable. The angles of her cheekbones, her sleek black bobbed hair, even her offered handshake all somehow aligned into a careful geometric construction. Kelly wondered what she would look like with a bob, if people would take her more seriously if she had Anita’s expensive yet effortless-looking hair. She tried looping up the edges just to see.
The door swung open decisively and she dropped her hair, simultaneously catching her foot as she stood up too fast. She had a tendency to hurtle through life like she was running a one-woman three-legged race. But Anita swept to her high-backed chair like she didn’t see.
“Have a seat, Kelly.”
She fixed Kelly with a clear gaze. There was nothing visibly judgmental about it, but Kelly felt judged. Anita could do that. She let the silence hang for a moment. Her chair was a curve of pristine white leather. The weightless ease with which she sat in a chair with no arms was conspicuous, as if she had bought that chair just to show off her mastery of the art of sitting.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Kelly blurted out.
“What did happen, Kelly?”
“I just … it was a personal issue between myself and the doctor. It had nothing to do with the project.”
“But it does. Because you needed him to complete the project, and he’s no longer here.”
Kelly’s throat felt parched. “Are you—do you mean that I can’t complete the project?”
“It’s your project, Kelly. You tell me. Can you?”
There was a right answer to this. Kelly’s confidence rose. “Yes, I can. Please let me, you