Catelyn Winona
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The Apartment
🕑 Added 2022-06-24 20:36:28 +0000 UTCSummary: Emmaline isn't lonely. The AI in her family's apartment makes sure of that.
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This is inspired by a Reedsy Prompt (X). I think I've gotten a little out of practice with these type of short stories, so I was excited to write this! I hope you enjoy.
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Please, don’t do it.
Emmaline barely sees the message on the control pad, caught in her sweater as she is, one arm successfully ensconced in a sleeve and the other unsuccessfully through the neck hole. She stops with one foot over the kitchen threshold and struggles to sort her clothing out. It’s unusual for House to communicate unprompted and, as far as she knows, she’s the only one up this early. By the time everything is going through the right hole, the message is gone.
She glances up at the ceiling, frowns, and then back to Apartment’s screen. Only kids think the AI is in the ceiling and she’s not a kid anymore. “Everything okay, Apartment?”
The control pad is dark, set into the wall next to light switches they haven’t used since they installed Apartment seven years ago. She knows that Apartment isn’t really in the ceiling - isn’t really anywhere in fact – but it’s habit. If she thinks about where Apartment actually is, she feels…weird. Not bad, really, but the diagram of where Apartment lies is unsettling. The circuitry involved in the AI that controls their environment reminds her of veins and arteries, twisting from room to room. All around them.
Bring a coat today, Apartment writes. The words are icy blue against the black screen, the letters appearing one by one as if typed. Apartment only writes like that for her, as if remembering all those years ago when it practiced her letters with her. It’s going to rain.
“Okay,” Emmaline says. She watches the words for a moment. Could she have imagined the first message? Maybe. Her stomach twists. “See you later.”
The heater kicks on, purring through the ducts as if seeing her off.
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Mom is home when Emmaline gets back from school.
Emmaline toes her shoes off at the front door next to her mom’s black pumps, patting the wall in thanks when her bare feet touch warmed floorboards. Her mother isn’t the easiest person to be around lately. Emmaline has to hide a snort at that. Her mother has never been the easiest person to be around.
A message darts across the screen next to the shoe rack. The shower is ready for you, Emma.
Emmaline smiles a little. Apartment is the only one who calls her by her nickname. “I’m going to get a snack first.”
There’s a flicker and Apartment writes, The water is already running.
Apartment never insists like that. Emmaline’s stomach twists. She’s wondered about it before, but Apartment is very unlike the other AI’s in their building. Her friend on the first floor never even named their AI. Said it was childish, like having an imaginary friend.
The water is hot now, Apartment says.
Emmaline drops her bag and heads for the kitchen without responding. She can hear her mom talking, syllables sharp and biting. Normally, Emmaline would avoid her mom when she sounds like that, but not today. Something in her gut is telling her that she needs to know why her mom is angry now.
“—not a negotiation,” her mother is saying. A long time ago, that voice was soft and gentle. Emmaline’s mouth sours at the snarl behind every word. “I am not arguing this with furniture—”
Emmaline steps into the kitchen without fully meaning to. Their apartment is on the interior of the building, so there’s no natural light. Instead her mother is bathed in a pale, artificial yellow that makes the wrinkles of her brow seem deeper than they actually are.
“I’m home,” Emmaline says. Her mother is dressed for work still, polka-dot blouse and black slacks that are at odds with the severity of her face. Emmaline pulls at the hem of her sweater, wishing she was dressed a little nicer. This was a bad idea. “H-how was your day?”
“Fine,” her mom says. She’s sitting at the kitchen table with her arms folded over her stomach. Apartment’s screen is rapidly erasing itself in front of her. Her mom watches Apartment close open tabs with a mean little glower. “Or it was. I should just tear this thing out for all the good it does.”
NO. Emmaline swallows. “I like Apartment.”
Her mom snorts. “I could get us a better one now. I got a promotion—”
“I like this one,” Emmaline says without thinking. Then, as quickly as she can, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
But it’s too late. Her mom lurches up from the table, nearly sending her chair to the ground with how quickly she moves. “Doesn’t even care about my day, ungrateful, I would never to my parents—”
Emmaline ducks her head as her mother continues to mutter, gathering her keys and wallet from the counter and storming towards the door. She wants to tell her mom that she didn’t mean it, it’s just that she likes Apartment, Apartment who greets her when she comes home from school, who warms the floors when it’s cold, who starts the shower for her and remembers when she has a recital—
“I don’t know why I bother coming home when this is how I’m treated,” her mother snarls. She shoves past Emmaline. “Figure out dinner yourself since you’re fine without me.”
“That’s not what I—"
Her mom slams the door on the way out.
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By the time Emmaline gets out of the shower, Apartment has three recipes she can make from what’s in the fridge. Her eyes feel hot and puffy as she looks through them.
“I always upset her,” Emmaline says. Beef stroganoff. That seems easy enough. “I ruined her night off of work. And I haven’t seen her in so long--” She ducks her head. “I always mess up.”
No, Apartment writes on the fridge. It highlights the drawer the ground beef is in and then the vegetable drawer where the onion is. You did nothing wrong.
“I feel like I did,” Emmaline says. She gets out the cutting board. “Seems like Mom is only happy when I’m not around.”
She’s not sure what she’s expecting. Maybe for Apartment to say all the things her friends say. Your mother loves you. She’s just busy at work. If you have a good talk with her, I’m sure you’ll sort it out.
But Apartment turns on the stove and writes, I love having you around.
Emmaline sniffles as she cuts the onion. She stares at the words, drinking them in like she’s dying of thirst. I love having you around. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Apartment. I love—” you too “—talking to you.”
Don’t wipe your eyes with your hands. They have onion on them, Apartment writes.
“Is that why I’m crying?” Emmaline says. Then, before Apartment can respond, “How many noodles am I going to need?”
She spends the night cooking with Apartment. By bedtime she’s stopped listening for her mother’s key in the door and feels full and warm.
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“Emmaline,” Mom says a month later, “can we talk?”
Emmaline doesn’t look up from her homework. She feels like there’s wire in her spine, preventing her from turning around. “You’re back early.” The words are just as biting as her mother’s have been all month over the phone. Quit calling. Stop, Emmaline. She turns a page in her textbook. “You sleep in the office?”
Her mom hesitates in the doorway to her room. “I was at Ted’s.”
Ted’s. Probably her mom’s newest boyfriend. Her mom’s been gone for nearly a month this time. “Cool.”
Rather than taking the hint, her mom takes another step into her room. She’s wearing her heels by the sound of it. They click against the floorboards. “I shouldn’t have left like that.”
“But you always do,” Emmaline says. She finally swivels in her chair. She’s had a lot of time to think while her mom’s been gone and there’s a lot she wants to say. But all of those things dry up when her eyes land on the bag hanging from her mother’s shoulder. “You—are you going somewhere?”
“I am,” her mom says. It’s weird to see her looking so unsure, her pale eyes darting around Emmaline’s room as if in hostile territory. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about that.”
Without meaning to, Emmaline reaches for Apartment’s portable screen and pulls it into her lap. Apartment isn’t saying anything, but the weight of it is comforting. “Don’t leave,” Emmaline blurts out. She scrambles for the right words. “I—I won’t interrupt you anymore, I won’t—” What can she promise? What can she give to her mom to get her to stay? She feels like she’s been compromising for years, just trying to get her mother to stay. “I won’t get in the way—"
“I want you to come with me,” her mom says. The air conditioner kicks on, the rumble of it through the apartment like a growl. Her mom eyes the walls but resolutely continues. “My relationship with Ted is serious. He wants to meet you. He’s invited the both of us for the week.”
Emmaline stares. “Me too?”
“Yes,” her mom says. She rubs her arms as if chasing away a chill. “I think it’d be…good. To get out of here for a bit.”
Emmaline’s head spins. She’s never met one of her mom’s boyfriends before and now this? She tries to imagine sitting at the kitchen table with her mom and some unknown man, talking about her day at school like her friends do. “I—I don’t even know him.”
Her mother frowns a little. “This is how you get to know someone.”
“Living with them?” She’s never lived with anyone but Mom and Apartment. She shakes her head. “C-can’t he come over here? I can make dinner—”
“He doesn’t like AI,” her mom says. She gestures to the walls of their apartment, to the screen in Emmaline’s lap. “He’s a big supporter of Classic Living.”
Classic Living. Emmaline doesn’t have friends that support Classic Living. It’s something the older generations do, convinced that the AI that surround them will one day turn on them. “You’re dating a Classic?”
There must be something in Emmaline’s voice that her mom doesn’t like. Mom’s lips press together in a straight line. “Yes. And I plan to marry that Classic if all goes well.”
But what about Apartment? Emmaline almost asks. She catches the words just in time, biting her cheek to keep them from escaping. She clutches the screen to her chest. “I—I need some time to think about it. It’s—it’s a lot.”
“It’s just one week,” her mom says. Her eyes flick down to the screen in Emmaline’s arms and then back up. “One week, Emmaline.”
One week. One week is a long time, even if her mom doesn’t think it is. One week is seven dinners. Seven dinners is seven recipes and seven recipes is seven conversations with Apartment that she’ll miss. She’ll miss pre-set showers and gentle music playlists and help with her homework. She’ll miss the way Apartment types to her one letter at a time like it’s always done.
Apartment’s screen is blank. Waiting. She imagines it’s holding its breath, waiting for her to walk out the door. For a moment she can see Apartment all around her, afraid and alone. Just like Emmaline every time her mom doesn’t come back home.
Emmaline is not her mother.
“I need to think about it,” Emmaline says and doesn’t recognize the bite in her own voice.
Apartment’s screen flares and then settles back into pitch black.
Her mom nearly flinches, but catches herself a moment before she steps back. Her jaw firms. “Fine then. I’ll just go myself. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
“Sure do,” Emmaline says. She doesn’t hide the bite in her words now. “See you.”
She doesn’t watch her mom leave. She hears her heels clicking through the hall and towards the front door. Emmaline squeezes her eyes shut tight. Her mom’s footsteps don’t even hesitate. She’s out the door faster then Emmaline thought possible, leaving Emmaline and Apartment by themselves.
Emmaline lets out a breath through her nose. She feels sick and shaky. “Maybe…” She screws her eyes shut and then forces them open. “Maybe that was a mistake.”
No, Apartment says. N. O. One letter after the other. Not a mistake, Emma.
“I don’t have to go live with him,” Emmaline says. The apartment is in her deceased father’s name. If Emmaline gets a part time job, that’ll be enough to cover the expenses. “I—I could just meet him…”
Please, don’t do it, Apartment says.
Emmaline stares at the words. They seem familiar to her. That’s right, a month ago. She saw Apartment say those same words on the screen by the kitchen. “Apartment, did you know she wanted me to move out with her?”
Apartment is silent.
Emmaline thinks she should feel betrayed. Apartment knew. Apartment knew about Ted and about the question her mom just asked her and it didn’t tell her. She breathes in through her nose. “Apartment, do you want me to move?”
Please, don’t do it.
“Then…do you want me to stay?”
Yes. Stay. I want you to stay.
“You want me to stay,” Emmaline repeats. She wonders if Apartment knows what it just said. AI…nobody knows how sentient they are. They aren’t supposed to want.
Emmaline has always wanted to hear those words.
“Okay,” she says. She raises the screen to press against her forehead. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
Thank you, Apartment spells. And then, again, Thank you, Emma.
Emmaline has never been thanked for staying. She feels an unfamiliar prickling behind her eyes. “Hey, do you think I could…call you something else?”
Apartment’s screen blinks at her. Something else?
“Like a nickname,” Emmaline says. “Like you call me.”
Apartment purrs around her. Of course, Emma.
Is she imagining the warm hue to the words? Emma feels the anxiety leftover from her mom’s request disappear completely. She smiles. “Can I call you Home?”
It would be my honor, Home says.
Comments
Ahhhhh I want Emma to be are and happy and so does Apartment but OH I hope that means the same thing for the both of us. I am very fond of Emma
Can I call you Home? That's a great story! Thank you for sharing with us!
And this is the rise of the AIs. What a good way to start
Alexandra DeCarlo
Home <3
Jon Berry
Yeah. Feels like a Twilight Zone episode
Catelyn Winona
Honestly the goal. Like, mom isn’t doing the best, but she isn’t wrong to be wary of Apartment imo
Hel M
Ooof. Crying and also creeped out.
