Brigid liked a lot of bubbles in her bath. She also liked not to be disturbed. “I let Abigail stay at a friend’s house tonight.” She stretched backward against Javier. “I wish Junior had friends he could stay with.”
Javier raised his eyebrows. “You plan on getting loud?”
She laughed a little. He felt the reverberation all through him. “I think that depends on you.”
“Then I hope you have plenty of lozenges,” he said. “Your throat’s gonna hurt, tomorrow.”
“I thought you couldn’t hurt me.” She grabbed his arms and folded them around herself like the sleeves of an oversized sweater.
“I can’t. Not in the moment. But I’m not responsible for any lingering side-effects.”
“Hmm. So no spanking, then?”
“Tragically, no. Why? You been bad?”
She stilled. Slowly, she turned around. She had lit candles, and they illuminated only her silhouette. Her face remained shadowed, unreadable. “In the past,” she said. “Sometimes I think I’m a really bad person, Javier.”
“Why?”
“Just … I’m selfish. And I know it. But I can’t stop.”
“Selfish how?”
“Well …” She walked two fingers down his chest. “I’m terrible at sharing.”
He looked down. “Seems there’s plenty to go around …”
The candles fizzed out when she splashed bubbles in his face.
Later that night, she burrowed up into his chest and said: “You’re staying for a while, right?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You spoil me.”
She flipped over and faced away from him. “You do this a lot, don’t you? Hooking up with humans, I mean.”
He hated having this conversation. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, it always popped up sometime. It was like they were programmed to ask the question. “I’ve had my share of relationships with humans.”
“How many others have there been like me?”
“You’re unique.”
“Bullshit.” She turned over to her back. “Tell me. I want to know. How many others?”
He rolled over, too. In the dark, he had a hard time telling where the ceiling was. It was a shadowy void far above him that made his voice echo strangely. He hated the largeness of this house, he realized. It was huge and empty and wasteful. He wanted something small. He wanted the treehouse back.
“I never counted.”
“Of course you did. You’re a computer. You’re telling me you don’t index the humans you sleep with? You don’t categorize us somewhere? You don’t chart us by height and weight and income?”
Javier frowned. “No. I don’t.”
Brigid sighed. “What happened with the others? Did you leave them or did they leave you?”
“Both.”
“Why? Why would they leave you?”
He slapped his belly. It produced a flat sound in the quiet room. “I get fat. Then they stop wanting me.”
Brigid snorted. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But at least make up a better lie, okay?”
“No, really! I get very fat. Obese, even.”
“You do
“I do. And then they die below the waist.” He folded his hands behind his head. “You humans, you’re very shallow.”
“Oh, and I suppose you don’t give a damn what we look like, right?”
“Of course. I love all humans equally. It’s priority programmed.”
She scrambled up and sat on him. “So I’m just like the others, huh?”
Her hipbones stuck out just enough to provide good grips for his thumbs. “I said I love you all equally, not that I love you all for the same reasons.”
She grabbed his hands and pinned them over his head. “So why’d you hook up with me, huh? Why me, out of all the other meatsacks out there?”
“That’s easy.” He grinned. “My kid has a crush on yours.”
The next day were Junior’s jumping lessons. They started in the backyard. It was a nice backyard, mostly slate with very little lawn, the sort of low-maintenance thing that suited Brigid perfectly. He worried a little about damaging the surface, though, so he insisted that Junior jump from the lawn to the roof. It was a forty-five degree jump, and it required confident legs, firm feet, and a sharp eye. Luckily, the sun beating down on them gave them plenty of energy for the task.
“Don’t worry,” he shouted. “Your body knows how!”
“But, Dad—”
“No buts! Jump!”
“I don’t want to hit the windows!”
“Then don’t!”
His son gave him the finger. He laughed. Then he watched as the boy took two steps backward, ran, and launched himself skyward. His slender body sailed up, arms and legs flailing uselessly, and he landed clumsily against the eaves. Red ceramic tiles fell down to the patio, disturbed by his questing fingers.
“Dad, I’m slipping!”
“Use your arms. Haul yourself up.” The boy had to learn this. It was crucial.
“Dad—”
“Javier? Junior?”
Abigail was home from school. He heard the patio door close. He watched another group of tiles slide free of the roof. Something in him switched over. He jumped down and saw Abigail’s frightened face before ushering her backward, out of the way of falling tiles. Behind him, he heard a mighty crash. He turned, and his son was lying on his side surrounded by broken tiles. His left leg had bent completely backward.
“Junior!”
