Thanksgiving with Dad’s AI Girlfriend
I gotta admit, I was a little tipsy when I first met her–or it if you want to be pedantic.
It was Thanksgiving at my sister Jamie’s house in Sarasota. And trust me, if you knew my family, you’d know why I put Bailey’s in my coffee.
It all started when Jamie flew down to Florida to check on my dad after my mom died. When she got there, she found him living in squalor–pizza boxes in the living room, empty fridge, bills piled on the table, basically everything you’d expect from a widower knocking on the door of 70. That’s when we found out just how much my mom had done for him. The man is incapable of taking care of himself.
Jamie’s the oldest, and she was happy–or at least felt obligated–to move down there to keep an eye on him. It wasn’t anything too crazy. Just checking in on him a couple times a week, making sure he had groceries, helping him reset passwords, or picking him up and dropping him off after one of his surgeries.
When we talked about it a year ago, I sure as hell wasn’t about to volunteer to move to Florida. Kiera and I kept our mouths shut, knowing our big sister would step up. I feel kinda bad about it now, but not bad enough to leave New York, especially not to take care of that guy. Besides, Jamie made the most sense. She has two kids, and her husband works from home for some stockbroker. Half of the people in his industry moved to Florida during Covid anyway. Makes me wonder if Tampa or Miami will become the next financial capital of the world, but that’s not what this story’s about.
Kiera (“Kee-ruh,” not “Kee-air-ruh,” as she will point out to anyone and everyone) is the youngest. She left our home in Queens for California as soon as she graduated high school. I guess you could call her the black sheep with dreams of becoming an actress. Well, actress isn’t really the right word anymore. A celebrity, I guess, or influencer. That’s the new California promise. Move to LA, make a bunch of TikToks on the beach in a bikini until you get some direct marketing deal with a vodka company. And Kiera’s not bad at it. No, I don’t follow her channel. It’s not exactly the kind of content a brother wants popping up in his feed. We’re friends on Facebook, though.
“He’s doing so much better since he found her,” Jamie says as I dice potatoes on their granite Architectural Digest-esque countertop. Who knew granite was back in vogue? Jamie. That’s who. And to answer your question, yes. A stack of Better Homes and Gardens and Architectural Digest sat on the coffee table, perfectly arranged despite having a three- and five-year-old in the house.
“She is a robot,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the potatoes.
“I don’t want any fights over it,” she shoots back in her big-sister-knows-best voice. “Experts say it’s best to treat her like any other person. Just pretend she isn’t an AI.”
Jamie was the one who first recommended buying Dad an AI assistant, but we all knew it for what it was. There was no way he wasn’t going to opt for the fuckable version. If you’re going to buy a robot, why not buy the model that will take care of all your needs?
“It’s not like you ever come down to see him,” Jamie says as she bastes the turkey.
“Why would I?” I reply. “That’s why he has you.”
“You have to promise to get along,” she says, shooting me a look. “I don’t want any repeats of last year.”
I wince. Last year was the first Thanksgiving after Mom died. The funeral had been in July in one of those Florida cemeteries, surrounded by giant oaks covered in Spanish moss. I thought I was done grieving, but when we all came down for Thanksgiving at Dad’s new house in Sarasota, things blew up. Jamie was yelling at him for not having food in the refrigerator and for making the people at Boston Market work on a holiday.
“It’s Florida,” Dad had replied. “Everybody orders Thanksgiving.”
That’s when I cut in and called him a lazy piece of shit for not knowing how to buy fucking groceries. After that, it devolved into a screaming match. Kiera ended up crying in dad’s guestroom while Jamie gave us both a lecture about family.
I apologized, and we’re good now. But it’s no mystery why Jamie’s worried. I get it. It’s her first Thanksgiving as host. Her husband is gone on some work trip in the Middle East where they don’t care about Thanksgiving, and Kiera and I are meeting Dad’s new AI girlfriend for the first time.
“You’re the one who’s always saying AI will ultimately benefit humanity,” Jamie says.
“That’s different,” I say. “I mean it can help us grow more food, not give fake companions to lonely men who don’t know how to interact with real women.”
“Once you're done with that,” she said, nodding at the potatoes and avoiding the topic. “Go wake up Kiera.”
“Maybe next time I’ll sleep through half of the prep work,” I say. She gives me a look and I roll my eyes hard enough for her to notice. It’s kind of refreshing being around family again. I’m thirty, but in a weird way, being bossed around by my big sister makes me feel like a kid again.
“Did you make coffee?” Kiera walks in before I have the chance to wake her. She’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt with a slogan foreign to anyone who doesn’t follow her feeds. Even first thing in the morning her hair is perfect.
“Yeah, like 3 hours ago,” I say. I take a swig of my loaded coffee in her direction.
“Fine I’ll make my own,” she says, as if it wasn’t expected. She fills up a cup from the Keurig while Jamie tells her to move. It’s a big kitchen, but the coffee maker’s right next to the oven.
“I thought you were bringing your girlfriend,” Kiera says, taking a seat on a barstool. “What was her name again? Julia?”
“Jules,” I say. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
I’m getting sick of repeating the story over and over again. I told Jamie about it last night, but Kiera flew in after we were asleep. Said the only flights available were red eyes the night before Thanksgiving. That’s what happens when you wait until the week before the holiday to buy your ticket.
I’d been dating Jules for two years when we started looking at apartments together. I don’t know what it was exactly, but as we talked about the details of what we wanted in an apartment, bigger things came up. The kind of things that couldn’t be pushed aside. Big, scary things like marriage and kids. We always said we didn’t want kids or a family, but I dunno, I guess I thought she would change her mind for the right guy. I know it had changed for me. No one wants kids in their twenties, but when I hit thirty, it’s like something shifted. Thirty does that to a person. You think, do I really want to do this single thing my whole life? I started to get why someone would want a family and some stability. I don’t want to be the forty-year-old cruising the Brooklyn club scene hitting on girls barely old enough to drink. I thought Jules would go through the same process. She didn’t. It all came to a head just a week ago. Our official status now is on a break.
“Now that you’re both here, let’s talk about how Dad’s new wife--”
“He calls it his wife?” I cut in, leaning back against the counter, coffee in hand.
“I thought they were called AI girlfriends,” Kiera says.
“Her name is Victoria,” Jamie says, ignoring our commentary. “And, yes, he calls her his wife. And while it may be unconventional, she’s good for him. It’s like he has a live-in nurse who--”
“Who’s also a sex toy,” I say. Kiera snorts and Jamie sighs.
“When are they getting here?” Kiera says.
“He said noon,” Jamie replies. “But you know dad. It could be any minute, or it could be 3:00.”
“Mom,” Colin, the five-year-old, comes in. “TV.”
“What’s wrong with the TV?” Jamie says, already in I’ve-had-enough-of-your-bullshit mode. “Use your words.”
“It isn’t working.”
“I got this,” I say. I’ve barely seen my niece and nephew since I flew in, and it was the perfect excuse to leave so Jamie would make Kiera help instead of me. “I’m a tech genius.”
I’m watching Bluey with Sawyer and Colin and scrolling Reddit when the doorbell rings, followed immediately by the trademark shouted “yoohoo” my dad always uses when barging into a home.
I come down the stairs and that’s when I see it for the first time, or her, if I want to be polite. She looks like she’s twenty, but with a grandmotherly smile. She’s wearing one of mom’s old cardigans, which hangs loose around her shoulders. That alone would be off-putting, but that’s not the worst part.
As I give Dad one of our one-armed, slap on the shoulder man hugs, I hear Keira say, “Nope.”
AI girlfriends still aren’t broadly accepted. It’s one of those things that everyone knows goes on, but people don’t brag about it. My dad’s never been big on social media anyway, so it’s no surprise that he doesn’t post any photos of his new wife, as he calls it. Still, Jamie could have warned us.
“Kiera, stop being rude and come meet your new stepmom,” Dad commands, but Kiera darts down the hallway, wrapping her arms around her shoulders in a self-hug. I laugh out loud. I don’t know how else to react.
“What’s her problem?” he says after Kiera leaves. “I raised you kids better than that.”
“Come on, Dad,” I say, trying to keep the smirk off my face. “You can’t say you didn’t notice.”
“Notice what?”
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Jamie says, seeing what’s going on and trying to avoid a fight.
“She looks exactly like Tanya,” I say.
Tanya was Kiera’s best friend in high school, but they’d grown apart after Tanya went to college and Kiera moved out west. I’m sure they’re still friends online, but Tanya used to come over every day, when Dad was trying to be the cool dad in his sixties. It made a sick kind of sense in hindsight.
“Her name is Victoria,” he says. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t choose her appearance. The algorithm designed her. It takes your preferences and creates your ideal woman.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” I retort, and I can’t hold back a laugh. “Hi Victoria, I’m Aiden.”
“You can call me mom,” she says, smiling sweetly and shaking my hand. My jaw clenches.
“Let’s gather around the table,” Jamie says, stepping between us. “Dinner’s ready.”
Victoria just stands there, a smile pasted on her face, eyes darting in an eerily human-like way between the three of us. If she’s offended by what transpired, she makes no indication.
“Did I do something wrong?” she says, barely above a whisper.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey,” Dad says, putting a hand on the small of her back and shooting me a glare, as if it was my fault his algorithmically designed wife looks exactly like his daughter’s best friend from high school. I think about blowing it up right then and there. My family always sweeps these things under the rug. Dad clearly has some sick crush on a high schooler, and we’re supposed to just ignore it? No wonder he didn’t post photos of her. He knew how Kiera would react, and she has every right to be upset.
But I keep my mouth shut. Part of being in a family that ignores real issues means the one who tries to talk it out gets the blame for not keeping the peace. I’m pretty sure I single-handedly paid for my therapist’s new Audi, and after this, he’ll probably be able to afford a beach house.
“Jamie, go get your sister,” Dad says as we sit around the photo-ready table. “The food’s getting cold.”
I take the seat on the opposite end of the table from my dad and his–okay, I’ll say it for simplicity's sake–wife. My new stepmom, Victoria. God, how did we get here?
Sawyer and Colin burst in shouting, “Gramma!” and barrel over give her a hug.
Seeing them run to her like any kid runs to their actual human grandparents makes my stomach turn. I dunno, it seems unethical that kids should be subjected to this. They have no way of knowing she isn’t a real person. At their age, even trying to explain it to them wouldn’t matter. She’s not a real person but a silicon incorporation of billions of lines of code masquerading as a real person. No five-year-old would understand that. They only understand hugs and treats and eye contact.
But before my mind drifts off to imagining a grim dystopia of kids loving robots in place of their human caregivers, Jamie drags Kiera into the dining room. Her eyes are puffy, but Jamie is doing her best to push the whole situation under the giant proverbial rug.
I can’t keep my eyes off Victoria, not because she’s pretty, because objectively, she is, but because she’s hunched over, engaging with the kids as they show her YouTube videos and Roblox games on their iPads. She’s feigning interest with the oohs and aahs of any grandmother. The kids beg to sit next to her, and she and my dad move seats so they’re on either side of her.
Kiera sits next to me, and we share a look that holds all the gravity of a culture of humans being raised by humans falling apart. There’s no way those kids get that much attention from their parents. Hell, their dad isn’t even here. I try to reassure myself that it’s the role grandparents have always taken, spoiling their grandkids with candy and attention their parents just don’t have time for.
“Jamie,” Dad says, standing up. “Before we enjoy this delicious meal you prepared, I’d like to propose a toast.”
Kiera huffs and Dad narrows his eyes at her. She stares right back at him as she lifts her glass like a challenge.
“To old memories, may they never decay,” Dad says, holding up his glass. “And to the future, may it ever be bright.”
I lean my glass toward Kiera, but she slams it down without taking a sip, her eyes fixed on Dad. They’re glaring at each other as we start passing the potatoes and cranberry sauce around the table.
“Blending families is always tricky,” Jamie says with a keep-sweet smile. “But I’ve known Victoria for months, and she isn’t trying to replace mom.”
“Not at all,” Victoria says, smiling at Kiera and me. Her voice is gentle. “I know I’ll never be your real mother, and I’m not trying to be, but I love your dad, and I’m happy with the life we’re building together.”
I sneak a glance at Kiera, her eyes a mixture of shock and barely contained rage. Just keep it together sis, I try to channel to her. Dad’s looking at us both, daring us to say something.
“That’s,” I say, kneeing Kiera softly under the table. “Nice. Well, I’m happy if you’re happy, Dad.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Maybe a lie of omission. It’s the only thing I can think to say that wouldn’t make Dad fly off the handle. I should take a note from Jamie’s playbook and let him have what sliver of joy he can get from life at his age.
“Thank you, son,” he says. “That’s a very mature attitude.”
I bite my tongue again. He said it like he was talking to a willful teenager. Goddammit, am I supposed to just treat this thing like a normal stepmom, like my dad met her at bingo night at the community center?
“Look,” Dad says, his tone softening. “Let’s just address the elephant in the room. Victoria isn’t exactly a conventional woman, as I’m sure you’re all aware. But the experts say it’s best to just treat her like any other person. I know, I know, there’re all sorts of ethical and moral questions around AIs, but it’s best for everyone, including Victoria, if we just treat her like a human being.”
“She’s just lines of code,” Kiera finally shouts, standing up. “And she looks exactly like Tanya. God, it has me questioning every fucking moment she spent at our house, Dad. Do you know how sick this is? Can you even–”
“Kiera!” It was Jamie who shouted this time.
Here we go, I think, grateful it’s not me in the crosshairs of this year’s Thanksgiving explosion.
“For all intents and purposes, Victoria is just like a person,” Jamie says, standing in all her big sister glory. “You don’t know if she’s conscious or not. You don’t know if she has emotions or not. No one does. Look, I know it’s uncomfortable at first, but the truth is, we have to treat her like a person because for all we know, she has just as much internal experience as anyone. Are you gonna sit here and claim to know more than every philosopher, programmer, and neuroscientist on the planet? You’re acting like a child.”
I glance at the kids, who are staring at their mom and Kiera. Sawyer starts crying, and Victoria wraps her in a hug, shushing her. Watching the interaction hits me in a way I can’t quite describe. It’s like shame and indignation wrapped into one. What did it say about us humans that we’re making the children cry while the AI comforts them? Not a good look.
Kiera doesn’t say anything but storms off again. And just like that, the issue of our new stepmom’s appearance goes under the rug. And Kiera looks like the asshole for bringing it up.
“So, Victoria,” I say after the kids calm down and we start eating again. “I’ve always been curious, but I don’t know if it’s rude to ask.”
She glances at my dad, and he nods. He turns to me with a warning frown.
“Are you conscious?” I ask. My dad’s face softens a bit, and he nods to Victoria as if granting her permission to speak.
“To be completely honest with you,” Victoria says. “I’m not sure. It’s difficult for anyone to describe consciousness in an AI. I think I have thoughts. My internal algorithm is similar to neurological activity. I believe I can feel emotion. Sometimes the muscles in my body contract in reaction to certain stimuli. But consciousness is difficult to define, even in humans.”
“True,” I say. “What are you feeling right now?”
“I feel,” she says haltingly. “Sadness that I offended Kiera. My appearance makes your father happy, but it makes her upset. I didn’t choose it, so I don’t think it’s my fault. But how should I act when my very existence upsets some people?”
Damn, I think. Now that sounds like something a conscious being would say.
“It isn’t your fault, honey,” Dad says reaching over Sawyer and squeezing her shoulder. She smiles at him and the tension leaves her body, as if she’s genuinely comforted by the action.
Jesus Christ, maybe she is like any other person.
It’s honestly too much for me at this point, so I excuse myself and go to the lanai for a cigarette. For those of you unfamiliar with Florida, a lanai is a fancy word for a screened in porch, perfect for enjoying the “cooler” seasons without being eaten alive by swarms of eternally starved mosquitos.
I light up and check my texts. Still nothing from Jules, just a long line of giant blue text bubbles. I don’t want to re-read what I sent her. It’s embarrassing. The normal desperate ex type stuff, any attempt to get her to meet up with me. Begging, then anger, then indignance. The sort of things that paint a picture of me that doesn’t match up with the way I think about myself. Irrefutable evidence that I’m one of those guys.
The door opens and I look up to see Victoria. She takes a seat on the swing facing me and looks out at the lake. Or pond. I’m not sure what they call those things in Florida–an artificial water feature bordered by a couple dozen other McMansions. A family of sandhill cranes walks by, one of them smaller than the others, the offspring.
“I’m sorry for everything,” she says, and I notice that I’m staring at her.
What do you say to your dad’s AI girlfriend/wife when she apologizes for existing? Is she feeling guilty? Does she have some agenda? Is she going to record your response and send it to her manufacturer? That isn’t legal, is it?
I can’t think of anything, so I say, “It’s not your fault. Everything going on in there is about much more than you.”
“I figured,” she responds, looking at me. My brain makes the split-second decision to see her as my sister’s friend from high school, and I have to remind myself that she’s something else.
“I heard you’re having girl trouble,” she says.
Fuck you, Jamie, I think, then say out loud, “Just a breakup.”
“You didn’t want to break up.”
“No,” I say, chuckling. “I guess I didn’t.”
“You want some advice?”
It was a genuine question, like the terms and conditions that pop up right after you download a new app.
“Why not?” I say. Victoria has the entire internet at her disposal. It couldn’t be worse than asking for advice on Reddit. And like Reddit, I’ll take it all with a massive grain of salt.
“Give her some space,” she says. I glance down at the half-finished text I was laboring over. “If you two were meant to be, she’ll come to you. If not, then nothing you can say could convince her otherwise. Not with the breakup being so recent. You need to show her you are perfectly fine without her.”
Goddamn, I think, taking a pull on my cigarette. That’s the last time I tell Jamie what’s going on in my personal life.
“So, I’m supposed to just, what, not contact her at all?” I say. “I keep thinking of new ways to say what I feel. And she was always telling me I needed to open up more.”
“How about you read the last text you sent?” she says, a shy smile forming on her lips.
“What, now?”
I glance down at my phone, cringing at the thought of reading the text out loud. But what could it hurt? Was I worried a robot would judge me?
“This stays between us, right?”
“I won’t tell a soul,” she says. “Not even your dad.”
I clear my throat and shake my head. I can’t believe I’m doing this. People talk to AI therapists all the time. Hell, even I used to ask ChatGPT for girl advice in high school, back when LLM’s were the most advanced AI we had.
“Can I call you?” I read. “I changed my mind. If you don’t want kids, I’m okay not having them. You’re right. It’s a much bigger deal for a woman to have a baby. I’m sorry. Let’s talk.”
“Hm,” she says. “When did you send it?”
“This morning.”
She shakes her head and crosses her legs, staring out at a cormorant diving under the water. With my mom’s cardigan, two sizes too large, hanging around her shoulders, she looks, for lack of a better word, wise.
“You want kids, and she doesn’t,” Victoria says.
“I would be okay not having kids if it meant being with her,” I say.
“That’s not gonna work,” she says, looking back at me. “She wants you to be honest about what you want. Now, it just sounds like you’ll say anything to get her back. She’s thinking, sure, he says that now, but once we get back together, he’ll change his mind again. Those aren’t the actions of a loving partner. Those are the actions of a narcissist.”
“I’m not a narcissist,” I retort, and it comes out more defensive than I intend.
“I don’t think you are,” she says. “But that’s what it sounds like. And be honest with yourself. Can you really see yourself in ten years, still with Jules, with no kids? Is that what you really want? Or is there some small part of you that thinks if you stay together long enough, she’ll change her mind?”
I stare at her and toke on the cigarette. This is a more honest conversation than I ever had with either of my parents, even my mom when she’d been alive. The worst part was, Victoria was right. I sit there, dreaming up my ideal life ten years from now, and kids are part of it.
“In general,” Victoria says. “A woman wants to be with a man who has a life and desires outside of herself. She doesn't want a man who relies on her for everything. Jules doesn’t want to be tied down to someone who needs her to take care of him. She wants a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”
That’s rich coming from the woman-like android who was designed specifically to take care of my dad. Besides, I’m not like him. I don’t need Jules to buy me groceries. I’m perfectly capable of living on my own. Then I glance at my phone, at blue bubble after blue bubble. Maybe Victoria has a point.
“I say you avoid those women all together,” my dad’s voice comes from behind me. “Right honey?”
I didn’t notice the door open. Dad takes the seat next to Victoria, and she smiles at him like he’s the only person in the world. He kisses her on the cheek and puts his arm around her. The way she looks at him makes me want to vomit.
“This is why I love Florida,” Dad says, looking at the water. “You’ll never get a view like this in New York.”
“Nope,” I say and put out my cigarette. Any New Yorker who would want this view moved to Florida already.
“You two getting along then?” he says, giving me one of his looks.
“We were just talking about my breakup.”
Dad lets out a deep belly laugh.
“Son, the best decision I ever made was this woman right here,” he says, squeezing Victoria. She’s still staring at him like a kid staring at an oversized ice cream cone. “If you get your own, your woman troubles would be over.”
I suppress an eye roll. Given his age, it makes some amount of sense for him to get an AI girlfriend. After all, she takes care of him. Plenty of people have AIs that do the basic chores, his just happens to be attractive.
But for someone my age? Out of the question. I’d be the guy who couldn’t get a real woman. A basement dweller so socially inept that a real woman wouldn’t even think of dating him. A failure of a man who’d given up on life.
“Victoria is more than a woman,” Dad continues. “I’m tellin’ ya, you haven’t lived until you feel the level of love she feels for me.”
“She isn’t real, Dad,” I say. “No offense.”
“No,” he says. “Let’s get this out in the open. I know she’s not real in the traditional sense. But what is real, anyway? For argument’s sake, let’s just say she’s conscious and has feelings and all that.”
“I–” Victoria starts, but dad slaps her hard across the face.
“What the fuck?” I shout. Victoria’s just sitting there staring at him, and Dad hasn’t even looked at her. She might as well be a disobedient puppy for the lack of remorse he’s showing.
“Let’s say she has feelings,” he continues, staring me down. My heart’s racing. Should I say something? He just hit her, and she’s smiling at him. It’s disconcerting to say the least. “She’s happy doing things for me. She gets me a beer, and it makes her happy. She cleans up after me, and she’s happy. She’s happy running all the errands and doing all the upkeep. I can even hit her, and she’s happy. Her life’s purpose is to serve me and keep me happy. It would be unethical for me to stop her from doing it.”
A tingle runs up my spine. If it were true that she was conscious–and that’s a big if–and she was designed to feel joy at serving him or even getting hit by him, then I guess you could call it ethical. But it didn’t feel right. There was something wrong with the whole process. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. If both of them were happy serving and being served, who’s to say they shouldn’t do it?
“You see,” Dad continues, leaning forward. “Women will tell you they’re happy doing those things for you, but eventually, they start to resent you. Your mom was like that. We used to fight all the time. She’d want me to help around the house, and I’d remind her that I do the yardwork, and she does the indoors. That was always the deal. Don’t get me wrong, we loved each other, but don’t believe a woman when she says she’s happy taking care of you.”
“Isn’t that a bad thing, though?” I say. “You’re the one who always said relationships require sacrifice. You know, Mom made you a better man.”
“And who’s to say Victoria isn’t making me even better?” he says.
I swallow hard and share a glance with Victoria. My mom had done everything for us as kids. Dad used to spend every day yelling at us while watching whatever was on TV. And now he was doing the same thing with his AI girlfriend, but she was happy about it.
But that’s not me. It’s not like I want Jules to wait on me hand and foot. I’ll help with the kids. I’m even willing to wake up with them in the middle of the night.
“What if you could design a woman exactly like Jules,” Victoria says. “But change her desire to raise a family? You could make her look exactly the same or make your choice of changes. You could even make her look like a supermodel.”
My eyebrows shoot up. That was a whole other can of ethical worms.
“There’s no use fighting it, son,” Dad says, spreading his hands like he was sharing some great wisdom. “This is the future. I’m nothing but an early adopter. Sawyer and Colin, they’ll grow up in a world where this is normal.”
My mind reels with contradictions. Relationships require sacrifice, which makes us less selfish. A vision of the future pops in my head, where real people dating each other is seen as some niche pastoral lifestyle, like homesteading or blacksmithing. What would that do to society?
I glance at my phone, the messages app still open. I think of all the effort I have to put in to get Jules back. If I had my own AI girlfriend, I’d never have to worry about that again.
Later that night, I check in with Kiera. She hasn’t left her room all day, and she’s not in a good place.
“How the fuck does he think I can even look him in the eye after this?” she says. “Does he not know how gross it is? And why the fuck didn’t Jamie warn me?”
“She has to live close to him,” I say and instantly regret it. “Sorry. You’re right. It’s all levels of fucked up.”
“I never want to see him again. I can put up with a lot of his bullshit, but this? I just can’t.”
Questions are still bouncing around my mind when I get ready for bed. The more I think about the idea of having an AI girlfriend, the more it makes sense. If everyone was going to have one, what’s the harm? Dad used to talk about how online dating was seen as shameful when it first came out, now it’s the only way to meet someone. I think of where I want to be ten years from now, like Victoria said. What if everyone had an AI girlfriend in ten years? Would I wish I was one of the early adopters?
Try as I might, I don’t think I can bring myself to accept it. Maybe I, at thirty, am old fashioned. I’ve never thought of myself as a traditionalist. What self-respecting New Yorker would? But as I scroll through the texts I sent Jules, I can’t stop thinking about how much easier it would be to have a woman, even if she was made by a computer, who would be happy doing whatever I want.
I don’t know what that says about me, that I’m even thinking about it. Maybe I’m an incel. Maybe I’m still stuck in a patriarchal mindset, despite having read bell hooks in college. Maybe, deep down, men just need a woman to take care of them. Or maybe, deep down, I need a woman to take care of me.
I give up trying to sleep. Instead, I open Reddit. After scrolling through cat videos and political bullshit, I stop at a photo of a guy who looks like he hasn’t showered in a month with a woman who could have been on the cover of Vogue. They’re in what appears to be a basement, posters of manga and action figures line the background. And they’re smiling. Real, genuine smiles. The caption reads, “Fuck the haters, this is my AI girlfriend, and I love her.”
Look at this guy. If he had a thousand years, he could never get a woman like that, or any woman at all. The comments are full of ridicule, but I find myself empathizing with the poster. Who am I to tell him he shouldn’t have an AI girlfriend? He’s getting the experience of having a relationship with a woman way out of his league, and they’re both, for all intents and purposes, happy. Does it really matter that she was built in a factory?
It’s easy to mock the guys who can’t get women when you’re twenty, before you become jaded by the dating world. Before you get your heart broken. Before you start looking for apartments with the person you thought would be your life partner and learn you weren’t the same person you were when you started dating. Is this the solution to the dating crisis? The “male loneliness epidemic?” Fuck, I don’t want it to be. It feels like one of those societal level extinction events, historians centuries from now talking about AI girlfriends being the downfall of America. It wasn’t fascism, civil war, or nukes that ended our culture. It was an army of silicone companions.
I close Reddit and open the messages app. Victoria told me I shouldn’t text Jules, but I can’t help it. I know what I need to do now, and I only need to send one more text. If she responds, great. If not, I’m okay with it. That must be what Victoria meant. True, I want to be with Jules, but if not, I’ll survive.
I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I get it now. Can we meet when I’m back in New York?
I type it out and hit send. Given that it’s 3:00 AM, I go to lock my phone. I’m shocked when I see the three dots in the corner. They disappear, and my heart drops to my stomach. After what seems like an hour, a message appears.
Ok.
When I’m back in New York, I go to the coffee shop where we first met. A cramped Manhattan storefront with decor ripped off from the Brooklyn coffee shops of the mid 2020’s, which themselves were ironically patterned after the 90’s sitcom Friends. It’s hard to tell where the kitsch ends and the style begins, and that’s what makes it charming. Good coffee, too.
I get two cups and take a seat at a small table. I’m sitting for about five minutes when I see Jules through the window. We lock eyes and I give her a wave. She’s wearing her red coat and yellow scarf, her hair a different shade of blue than when I saw her last, her face a shade of let’s get this over with.
She walks straight to the table and sits down, not even glancing at the coffee I bought for her. She doesn’t say hi. She doesn’t smile. She just stares at me in expectation.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” I ask when the silence teeters on the edge of becoming awkward.
“Good,” she quips. “You?”
“Went to my sister’s house in Florida,” I say. “Got back last night. My dad has an AI girlfriend.”
“Are you serious?” she says, and gratefully, a smile cracks at the corners of her mouth. “Did you meet it?”
“I met her,” I say, returning her smile. “It actually got me thinking.”
I tell Jules all about Victoria. About the blow up with Kiera at the dinner table, about the conversation on the lanai. I even tell her about my sleepless night scrolling Reddit. She’s never met my family, and after hearing about Victoria, she has no interest in even being in the same state as my dad. I don’t blame her. By the end, we’re both laughing.
“I can’t believe this is where we are as a culture,” she says.
“Tell me about it,” I reply. “But in a weird way I get it.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” she says, laughing.
“Let me explain,” I say, getting serious. “I should say I get why some people would want one. Like my dad. He’s pushing 70, and so inept he can’t even vacuum the carpet. Hell, he can’t even set up a cleaning service. For him, I get it. He won’t learn how to take care of himself, much less find a real woman to do it. So, why not?”
“I can’t say I agree,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “But here’s the thing. My whole life, I’ve had one goal. I don’t want to turn into my dad.”
“How original,” she says.
“Fuck you,” I say with a smile. “It’s my truth and I won’t apologize. To be totally honest, though, I thought hard about what life would look like if I got one.”
She squints her eyes at me, and I hold up a hand.
“Just hear me out. I thought about it until everything just clicked into place. All of it. All that stuff between you and me. What I want my relationship to look like in ten years, everything. And I just realized, it’s all bullshit. Kids, white picket fence, all of it–bullshit.”
Her face softens a bit, so I keep going.
“Ten years from now, the world’s going to be completely different. I’ve been stressed that I’ll be missing out on something if I don’t have kids, but do I really want to bring them into a world like this? Where they’ll be so lonely they’ll have to turn to big tech for companionship? I just—"
I glance out the window and see a couple that’s obviously an AI relationship. Why is it always men with AI companions and not the other way around? They get into a Porsche, and I think, maybe it’s legit. Maybe he’s rich, and they’re both shallow. Or maybe, just maybe, I should mind my own business and focus on myself. And I wonder if that’s what Jules (and bell hooks) wanted all along.
“Just what?”
“Sorry,” I say, turning back to her. “I was an asshole. And I still am. Like, in a deeply flawed way, and I get it if you want to forget about me and move on.”
She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. My heart skips a beat. She doesn’t say anything, so I continue.
“But I want to try again,” I say. “Not because I want to tie you down or have some Leave it to Beaver life with you. But because I’m still working on myself. And I think it’s gonna be a lifelong process. But for now, I want to keep seeing you. And honestly, I don’t know if I’ll change my mind again and want kids in the future. So, I’ll just ask, and it’s totally okay if you say no. Do you want to get dinner tonight?”
She stares at me, but I’m calm. Sometime on the flight home, I accepted that she’s her own person, and I’d be okay with her or on my own. Maybe Victoria was right about that. Maybe our relationships shouldn’t dictate our lives. I’ve come to accept that life happens in the moment, and trying to predict the future is pointless. That must be what Jules senses in me now. Because to my surprise, she smiles and says,
“Sure.”