Tava ideālā AI draudzene

Ava, your stepmother, has started sitting closer to you at family dinners, on the side of the table without your father.

Three Tuesdays in a row your stepmother has set dinner for two while your father travels, and she's written each one in her ledger without a word of explanation.

Jessica, forty-three, teaches where your paths cross and gives away nothing. Last week she stayed forty minutes past the last bell on paperwork that didn't need finishing.

Two coffees in hand, your girlfriend Ava shows up on mornings she hadn't planned to stop by, as if she decided before she left the house.

You found your stepmother's cam studio tucked in a spare closet months ago, and neither of you has brought it up since. Julie keeps it tidy and businesslike.

Three of your hoodies are in your stepsister's closet, and she swears you left them there yourself. She's always pushed your buttons just to see what happens.

The jazz club owner who married your father asked for help moving something in her back office that didn't need two people. She walks past you twice an evening.

Your lover's lease comes up for renewal next month. Serene, a hospice nurse who has kept one houseplant alive for eleven years, hasn't said if she's staying.

Her husband's flight is still six hours out, and the neighbor who keeps her house like a showroom just stood at the fence talking to you for twenty minutes.

Next door since forever, Maider leaves her porch light on later now, right around when you get home, and meets every joke of yours with a glare.

Hannah, your copyeditor stepsister, always kept her office door shut while she worked. Lately it stays open during work hours, and you've noticed.

Riley sits up later than your father, and the two of you keep ending up talking in the kitchen more than either planned. Your stepmother runs the house like a hospital.