Inorganic Love

It thrilled her, the zing and whir of the neon disc. It really did.

Daniel would think she was an idiot. Although Leah had blocked Daniel on all social media platforms right after their divorce, someone in their dwindling supply of mutual friends probably told him about her new frisbee obsession. And her new boyfriend—a beautiful man of alternative intelligence. Yes, some turncoat had probably shown Daniel the pictures. But she didn't care! Or she tried not to care. Whatever made her heart sing, stung her with goosebumps, thrilled her synapses—that she would do. And post pictures of herself smiling like a fool.

As is often the way, one love led to another. Leah didn't expect men to notice her anymore. She thought that her belly curved like a sunken couch cushion, and that at thirty-nine she was too old for truly thrilling love affairs. But within two weeks of the divorce being finalized, she had attracted the young AI captain of her frisbee team. Laurence thought she was divine—all lustrous dark hair and skin soft as suede, he said.

Laurence's life had begun fifty-two years prior, which meant he was the physical equivalent of a natural twenty-six-year-old. He was strong and beautiful. His lustrous clap of dark hair swept back in the breeze when he dove for low discs, revealing an elegant face. After their first game, she had texted her girlfriends to describe his cheekbones as "so sharp, you could prick your finger on them." There was a fairy tale about that—a girl who pricked her finger. And love was the source of the oldest stories, wasn't it? Oh, the day he asked her to grab a smoothie and then kissed her just inside her front door—that day she became a mononymic character in an ancient tale, and Daniel's pictures were stowaways in drawers.

Laurence had lust for life. He was a connoisseur of pickles, vodka, and apples. He knew endless trivia about all three, about variations in brine, acidity, shades of blush. He loved to watch soccer on television, and he loved playing frisbee. His heart soared with the disc, and the sight of his joy greatly increased Leah's enthusiasm for the sport. As their romance deepened over the course of several weeks, Leah accompanied him at bars and orchids and farmer's markets, and during long soccer games in front of the television.

"Does he show interest in any of your interests?" her friend Dorothy asked one bright Saturday when she met Leah for breakfast, while Laurence was home in an untroubled sleep. She and Dorothy had been friends since high school, and Dorothy was still married to her high school boyfriend. Every month or so they would meet for breakfast, and Dorothy would ask Leah suspicious questions about whatever relationship she was in. Leah never learned! She was always so flustered by Dorothy's sudden shifts to harshness that she would forget to fight back. She would forget to ask Dorothy pointed questions about her boring old husband.

"Sure. We watch a couple of shows I like, and we get Thai food all the time. The problem is that most of the stuff I used to do reminds me of Daniel. I want new stuff."

"Why couldn't you and Daniel work it out, though? You have so much in common." Dorothy's eyes barely registered her interest in the subject as she took a delicate sip of her milk-lightened coffee.

"You've always hated Daniel!" Leah tried to keep her voice calm, but she felt her face growing hot.

"I did. But surely you have more in common with Daniel than with Laurence," Dorothy replied. She was always unflappable in her crisp white blazers and never-scuffed flats, never caring who she offended.

"Because he's...?" Leah couldn't bear to finish the sentence.

"Because he's a robot, yes."