Like Fire and Powder

08. Pay Attention to Me

When we let go and stop dragging the pain and past, we free ourselves of dead weight and allow our hearts to heft the good stuff . . . the stuff that makes our journey lighter, easier, and more meaningful.

-- Toni Sorenson

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"(Y/n)?"

You started in surprise, looking up from your phone. You'd been trying to multitask -- cook an omelet before work and scroll through Twitter -- but you'd just ended up spacing out.

You and Connor had just finished putting groceries away a few minutes ago, and, ever since then, he'd taken up shop on the other side of your counter. He'd been quiet, and, when you looked at him, you realized he'd just been staring at you. It would've unnerved you, but you had to remind yourself that he was an android. They could download all the Social updates in the world, but a minuscule amount of knowledge would always somehow elude them, especially when it came to social cues and taboos.

"Uh, what?" You put your phone down, making sure your omelet wasn't burning.

"Nothing," Connor said. You glanced back to see him straightening, fixing his tie absentmindedly. "You were just spacing out. I was concerned but also interested if you care to share."

"Oh . . ." You trailed off, wracking your brain. "Oh. Yeah. I was thinking about Thanksgiving." You pursed your lips, checking on your omelet again even though you didn't need to.

For a moment, you wanted to tell Connor what you'd been thinking about. That with the inevitable, rapidly approaching holiday, you were reminded of all the family holiday parties you'd been dragged to as a teen, how the majority of them had ended in nasty arguments or physical fights. You came from a proud family, and nothing said "pride" like hushed, backstabbing conversations and two-faced aunts and uncles.

You shook your head, and Connor cleared his throat. You looked back at him again, unamused.

"It's personal," was all you said. You were trying to keep the edge out of your voice, a survival tactic anyone would've picked up in your family. Starting an argument meant you'd have to win it. If you didn't win it, you'd be isolated, made fun of, and shamed. Such a nurturing environment, you thought bitterly.

You finished up your omelet a few minutes later and flipped it onto a plate, immediately cutting it up and eating it. You glanced around the kitchen, purposefully avoiding Connor's curious stare.

"Is this about me having my own place now?" Connor asked, cocking his head to the side.

You shook your head before you said, "No. It's not, Connor. I promise. I'm just . . ." You trailed off and shrugged. "I don't have a lot of good memories associated with holidays. It's not that deep, really."

You stuffed your face with a big bite, hoping Connor wouldn't make you answer another question with your mouth full.

"Oh," Connor said, and you glanced up to see his LED swirling yellow for a few seconds. "That's unfortunate, detective." You wanted to ask why he was switching between your name and "detective," but you figured it was just his way of keeping a conversation casual.

After you were done chewing, you said, "Like I said, it's not that deep." You waved your fork around, thinking. "Besides, I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving at your place. Ironically, it might be the first holiday to go right for me."

You chuckled to yourself, glancing up at Connor again, and you almost choked on your new mouthful of omelet -- his LED had gone red.

"Oh, Connor, please," you rushed to say. You put a hand over your mouth, embarrassed that you were talking with food in your mouth. "Don't take what I said seriously. Really, it's not that deep. You don't have to worry about Thanksgiving at your place."