Love Your Life(40)

I’m just pulling Matt close for another kiss when his phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. He clicks his tongue with annoyance and says, “Sorry. Work. Do you mind? Make yourself at home….”

    “No problem!” I say. “Take your time!”

As he answers the phone, I head out to the main living space and look around expectantly.

I’m already getting used to the black. But maybe I could suggest a few brighter accessories to cheer it up. Yes! Like a throw. He needs some throws and cushions.

Topher is now wearing a hoodie over his shorts and sitting at one of the desks, squinting at the screen.

“Hi, Topher,” I say, approaching him with a smile. “We didn’t meet properly. I’m Ava, and this is Harold. We look forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, OK.” Topher glances up briefly. “Good to meet you. But you won’t like me. Just FYI.”

“I won’t like you?” I can’t help laughing. “Why not?”

“People don’t.”

“Really?” I decide to play him at his game. “Why not?”

“I have unfashionable emotions. Melancholy. Envy. Wrath. Schadenfreude.” He types something in a sudden energetic flurry. “Plus, you know. I’m a bastard.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“I am. I’m mean-spirited. I don’t give money to beggars in the street.”

“You started a charity,” observes Nihal, walking past on the way to his desk. “Topher talks bullshit,” he adds to me. “Don’t ever listen to him.”

“I started a charity to meet girls,” says Topher without missing a beat. “Girls love charity. I bet you love charity, Ava.” He glances up at me with his deep-set eyes. “Of course you do. ‘Oh, charity. I just love charity. Let’s have sex, because you gave a fuckload of cash to charity.’?”

    “Who did you have sex with?” asks Nihal with interest.

“You know who I had sex with,” replies Topher after a slight pause. “And you know she broke my heart. So thank you for dragging it up.”

“Oh, her.” Nihal makes a face. “Sorry. That was a while ago, though,” he adds, practically whispering. “I thought maybe you meant someone else.”

Topher raises his head and glowers at him. “The snack robot needs reloading.”

“It’s your turn,” says Nihal timidly.

“Fuck.” Topher smacks his hand on his desk with a Shakespearean level of despair. “That is the worst household job. The worst.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or psychotic. Or maybe both.

“The worst household job?” I challenge him. “Loading up a robot with snacks?”

“Yes, of course,” says Topher, picking up his phone and tapping at it with a frown. “The more convenient and helpful a machine is, the more enraged I feel when I actually have to do anything about it. Like, unloading a clean dishwasher. I wash dishes by hand just to avoid unloading, don’t you?” His expression suddenly clears. “Nihal, you lying shit, it’s your turn.” He brandishes his phone at Nihal. “I have it logged. Your. Turn.”

“I don’t have a dishwasher,” I inform him.

“OK.” Topher nods. “Well, if you ever get one, you’ll love it for a week. From then on, you’ll take it for granted and complain when you have to give it the barest care and attention. Humans are ungrateful shits. My job is in human nature,” he adds. “So I know.”

    “Human nature?” I stare at him curiously. “What do you do?”

“I run polls.” Topher gestures at the three computers on his desk. “Opinion polls. I gather viewpoints, crunch numbers, and tell politicians and companies what people think. And it’s not pretty. Humans are terrible. But you probably knew that.”

“Humans aren’t terrible!” I reply indignantly. I know he’s joking. (I think he’s joking.) But I still feel the need to put in a more positive viewpoint. “You shouldn’t go around saying humans are terrible. It’s too depressing! You have to think positive!”

Topher looks highly amused. “How many humans have you questioned in your time, Ava?”

“I…I mean…” I flounder. “Obviously I talk to people….”

“I have the data.” He pats one of his computers. “Humans are weak, hypocritical, sanctimonious, inconsistent….I’m ashamed of humans. I include myself, naturally. Nihal, are you going to load up the fucking robot or what?”

“I have to send an email,” says Nihal, with mild-mannered determination. “I’ll do it in a minute.”

“What do you do?” I ask Nihal.

“Nihal runs Apple, only he’s too modest to say so,” says Topher.

“Stop saying that, Topher,” says Nihal, looking flustered. “I’m not that senior. I’m like…It’s not…”

“But you work for Apple.”

Nihal nods, then says politely, “What do you do, Ava?”

    “I write pharmaceutical copy for a company called Brakesons,” I explain. “They make drugs and medical supplies.”