Made
Stop pretending you’re a robot, Troy, she said. You’re my fucking boyfriend.
I am programmed to be better than any man, Troy said. I am designed to prepare your food, provide helpful information, clean for you, listen to your concerns and pleasure you sexually.
Yes, she said, stroking her foot on his shin, but you’re not listening to this concern, Troy: stop pretending you’re a robot.
Troy looked at her. Would you like to take a bath tonight? he asked.
For fuck’s sake, Troy, how long have we been living together? Three years? She finished her wine and began to pour another glass. I just want this to mean something. I want you to stop this charade. Stop pretending.
I have been with you eleven hundred sixty three days, Emily.
Her eyes welled up. Just say you’re my boyfriend, Troy. Just say it.
Troy looked at her silently, calculating the best possible response.
