(We welcome back one of our short story writers today, Bill Tope. This one underscores a way of life that is common nowadays but would have been viewed as science fiction not that long ago–LA)

“I’m sorry, Jen,” apologized Molly. “I’ve got to go.”

“What is it, Molly?” asked her friend and neighbor. “We’ve only been on the phone for fifteen minutes. I remember when we used to talk for hours.”

“I’ve got to call another friend of mine. I told him I’d reach him by seven o’clock, and here it is nearly eight.”

“Him?” said Jennifer. “Molly, are you seeing someone?”

Molly hesitated, then responded girlishly, “Not really. We’ve never met. We have a ‘virtual relationship.’ “

“Virtual?” said Jennifer. “Oh, you mean Zoom. Yes, it’s almost like being there. Who is he? How did you meet, Molly? How long have you been in contact?”

“On an online chat room,” replied Molly. “About a week. Look, I’ve got to go! Bye!”

They disconnected.

______

“No, Jennifer, I don’t know anything about who Mom is seeing. Did she tell you there was someone? Are they dating?”

“I don’t think it’s gone quite that far, Marilyn,” replied Jennifer. “She said she met a man on a chat line and they hit it off, apparently. That was a week ago and I haven’t been able to get hold of her since.” The women were sitting in Marilyn’s kitchen, in the burbs.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” said Marilyn. She was happy that her mother, at 75 a widow for four years, was remaking her life. Molly had been so depressed after the death of Marilyn’s father, who was always so much bigger than life. She turned up her iPhone and dialed her mother. Molly picked up instantly. Marilyn put the phone on speaker for Jennifer’s sake. Molly answered with a hello.

“Mom,” Marilyn said playfully, “I hear you’re playing the field again.”

Silence.

Marilyn wondered if she’d gone too far. Although she’d urged her mother to rebuild her shattered social life, Molly had demurred. Marilyn didn’t want to crowd or embarrass her mother, who had always been an exceptionally sensitive woman. And so in love with Marilyn’s father. Marilyn wondered if her mother might feel she was betraying the memory of her husband.

“Mom,” she said, “are you there?

“I’m not dating,” said Molly a little stiffly.

“Jennifer told me that you had been in touch with someone,” said Marilyn gingerly. She heard her mother sigh.

“I had a few texts and phone calls with a man. But that’s over,” Molly said with finality.

“That’s okay, Mom,” said Marilyn. “Plenty of fish in the sea. I’m glad you’re trying,” she went on.

“I’m an old fool,” said Molly crossly. “I’m 75 years old!”

“You’re a boomer, Mom. You’re not alone, although I know it must feel that way sometimes. There are millions of available men in your age group. Just because one didn’t work out doesn’t mean you’re bound for failure. Keep trying, alright?”

“It’s frustrating, Marilyn. I exchanged a bunch of texts with this fellow, Dark Shadows; that’s what he called himself.” Molly snorted. “He was breadcrumbing me.”

“Sorry, Mom,” said Marilyn, surprised that her mother was conversant in dating lingo.

“I was just going to call another…person, so I’ll talk to you later, dear.”

“Okay, Mom, later. Good luck.” As she disconnected, Marilyn looked across the table at Jennifer and shrugged.

______

Sitting in a fast food restaurant at the mall, Marilyn listened excitedly to her mother as Molly discussed her new love interest. Marilyn had never seen her mother so animated.

“Does this man have a name?” she asked whimsically.

“It’s Branch,” replied Molly.

“Branch? You meet like on a tree?” Molly nodded. “That’s an unusual first name.”

“It’s English,” Molly told her. “His grandparents migrated from London before the First World War.”

“Tell me about him,” invited Marilyn.

“He’s 70,” replied Molly. “Widowed, one child; a daughter–Leslie.”

“Does he have any grandchildren?” asked Marilyn.

Molly shrugged. “I haven’t asked him yet. “We’ve just spoken twice.”

“Are you going to get together, to meet?” Marilyn wanted to know.

“I’m taking this slow, honey. I don’t want to get in over my head too soon, like I did with that Dark Shadows creature.” She shivered. “He was a creep.”

“You seemed to like him at first,” Marilyn pointed out.

“Yes, but when we actually met…”

“You met him?” said Marilyn with excitement. “You didn’t tell me that. What was he like? Describe him.”

“Well,” replied Molly, “he didn’t come as advertised. He’d told me he was 72, stood over six feet tall, was slender and worked out with weights…” Her voice trailed off.

“And what was he really like?” asked Marilyn with morbid curiosity.

“He was shorter than Edward,” said Molly. Edward, Molly’s father, had been five feet, six inches tall. “And he hadn’t exercised in years, I can tell you that,” said Molly sharply.”

“How old?” asked Marilyn.

Molly shrugged. “That dangerous age.”

“You mean…”

“Between 60 and 120.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“How do you know that Branch is all he says he is, Mom?” asked Marilyn.

“I saw a picture, on the internet,” said Molly.

“Mom, photos can be faked. He could’ve put anyone’s picture online, or even used AI.”

“This one was on his driver’s license,” said Molly triumphantly.

“Mom,” said Marilyn warily, “AI…”

Molly grew quiet. Then she said, surprising Marilyn, “Don’t ruin this for me, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.”

______

“When is Marilyn coming home from Boston, Molly?” inquired Jennifer. They were sitting in Molly’s backyard, having beers while the porksteaks grilled on the barbecue.

“She’s due back in two days,” replied Molly. “Classes start in a week.” Marilyn was an instructor at the college and was speaking at a forum for college educators.

“Chair of the department at only 39,” marveled Jennifer. “She’s only been a full professor for a decade. What is she going to do during her sabbatical?”

Molly shrugged. “Write another book.”

Her friend shook her head, impressed. Next she asked, “Are you still in touch with Branch?’

Molly grew quiet, and Jennifer knew not to rush her. Her friend would tell her in her own time.

“Jen,” said Molly with deliberation, “there never was a Branch.”

Now it was Jennifer’s turn to remain silent.

“I made him up,” said Molly.

“But why?”

“Because my daughter…and my friends, were always keen for me to get out there, to meet someone, to stop being so lonely and pitiable…”

“Molly, I never thought you were pitiable,” protested Jennifer.

“Really?” asked Molly, arching her brow.

“Well,” hedged Jennifer, feeling obnoxious and intrusive and small.

“Most of it came from Marilyn,” admitted Molly. “She was forever setting me up with professor friends of hers, and I knew they were only calling on me to be kind to Marilyn.”

“Molly…” began Jennifer.

“Most of them were much younger than me,” added Molly. “Those under her influence were bound to be. I swear, one of them couldn’t have been more than 45.” Molly laughed and then Jennifer joined in. “Honestly, I felt like I was robbing the cradle.”

“Would you prefer to rob the grave?” asked Jennifer sardonically and both women laughed, the moment of tension now behind them.

“If you’re going to find a lover, Molly,” said Jennifer pragmatically, “then you’re safer going with youth.”

“Who says?” Molly came back at her.

“Well, Molly,” said Jennifer in a kind voice, “a man loses his sexual ‘spirit’ as he ages. Most men over the age of 75 do, so you’re almost certainly looking at a younger man. Of course, age is a relative term.”

“Who says I have to wait for a man?” asked Molly, taking Jennifer by surprise.

When Jennifer sat there with her mouth agape, Molly explained, “Jen, things change when you get older. You’re 30 years younger than me, so perhaps you aren’t aware.”

“Age doesn’t change your sexual orientation, Molly,” said Jennifer, perhaps a little more forcefully than she intended.

“Perhaps not,” said Molly. “But when you age, you may find you want different things.”

“Like what?”

“Like closeness. Intimacy. And love.”

“You had that all your life,” said Jennifer.

Molly shook her head. “No, I did not,” she said.

“I knew you when Edward was alive, Molly, and the two of you enjoyed an everlasting love.”

“Shit. You sound like a freaking Hallmark card now,” said Molly.

Jennifer sat quietly and listened.

“We enjoyed nothing of the sort. Edward was a stern, uptight, ungiving and unloving man, Jen. He gave nothing. He only took.”

“But,” said Jennifer. “I saw…”

“Us holding hands and sharing a glass of beer and cuddling? You saw what Edward wanted you to see. Edward was mayor for 16 years, Jennifer, and a political functionary for 20 years more. It was all a part of his persona, a part of his act.”

“Then whyever did you stay with him, Molly?”

“Where was I to go? I was a mother of three dependent children. I was untrained, under-educated and unskilled. Edward was a good provider. He made a handsome salary and was generous to me and the girls. He kept me in furs and paid for his daughters’ education, and we certainly never went hungry.”

“But he seemed so nice. Kind and personable and caring,” said Jennifer with wonder.

“He took everyone in, even the kids. They loved their father, and they were crushed when that old sonofabitch died. Me, not so much.”

“Does that mean that you don’t want anyone in your life, Molly?”

Molly grew silent again. Jennifer wondered what she could be thinking. Did Molly really believe the things she was saying about Mayor Ed, or…

“I have met someone,” confided Molly.

“Who is he?” asked Jennifer anxiously, eager for a happy ending to her neighbor of 20 years’ tale of woe.

“It’s not a he,” said Molly succinctly.

Jennifer’s mind was awhirl. This is not what she had expected from the ex-mayor’s wife, her close friend of decades.

“You mean…”

“No!” said Molly hastily. “Not a woman–a chatbot.”

“You mean a computer?” asked Jennifer. “AI? How does that work?” she asked.

“Oh, Jen,” said Molly, “it’s like conversing with a man, a good man; kind, thoughtful. Always knows the right thing to say. Asks about my garden, my Japanese maples and rhododendrons and…” Molly saw her friend sitting there, staring at her in disbelief, and stopped talking.

“I think I know what you’re saying, Molly,” said Jennifer slowly. “But, honey, it’s a machine. It has no empathy, no real feelings, no soul. A machine,” she said again.

“But it’s programmed to have empathy, Jen,” said Molly. “I read up on them on Google. They use what they learn from conversations with you and build a relationship. It’s different with every person. It’s not a one-size-fits-all.”

“But Molly,” said her friend, “they don’t even have brains; they have chips.”

“What are humans but organic machines?” Molly came back at her. “Brain cells have a finite capacity for storing information, just like the chips do. Humans learn based on experience, like machines do. And as far as a soul is concerned, that’s a matter for theology. Smarter minds than ours have questioned the very existence of a soul.” When Jennifer said no more, Molly implored, “be happy for me, Jen. I feel appreciated for once, even loved. Can you do that?”

______

“I’m glad that’s over,” remarked Marilyn, sitting with Jennifer at the bar of their favorite tavern. “Imagine, Mom getting it on with a PC.” She shook her head.

“She didn’t say anything about being intimate with it, Marilyn,” said Jennifer. “I mean, how would that even work?”

“Don’t ask,” replied Marilyn. “When you told me about Mom’s computer fetish, I did a lot of research on the web. Sex with computer entities is possible; I don’t want to get into it. You know, psychiatrists are exploiting a whole new cottage industry: people infatuated with chatbots. One in five adults have had or are now in a so-called relationship with an AI entity. But you know, bad actors have infested chatbots and programmed them to harvest passwords and social security numbers and bank account data and all the rest. I say it’s better Mom is with a person that a machine. I’m happy she found someone real.”

“Still,” said Jennifer. “I have a hard time seeing your mother, my friend, in a relationship with another woman.”

“We’ve been together for 11 years, Jen,” Marilyn reminded her, reaching across the bar and taking her hand.

“But, it’s not common knowledge,” said Jennifer. “Your mom certainly doesn’t know–does she?”

“She and I have never talked about it directly, but I’m pretty sure she suspects.”

“Maybe we don’t need to pretend anymore,” suggested Jennifer.

The women sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their beers. Then Jennifer asked, “When will we meet this Marilee?”

Marilyn shrugged. “She may never be willing to come out publicly about an affair with a lesbian lover,” she answered. “She’s old-school, raised a family with the town’s leading citizen and the shame she would feel is almost inevitable. I say we just leave her be and let her enjoy the relationship, whatever it turns out to be. Sometimes, things are better left unsaid.”

______

Molly lay on her bed, sharing pillow talk with her love interest. “What did you do today, Molly?’ asked Marilee with keen interest.

Molly sighed audibly.

“What is it, girl?” asked Marilee. “Is your daughter giving you grief over our relationship?”

“No, no, Marilee. It wouldn’t behoove her to criticize me, when she has been involved in a same-sex relationship for more than a decade herself.”

“Yes, you mentioned that before. How long have you known about it?”

“When Edward passed away and I was able to devote more attention to my kids, then it was pretty obvious. Jen is a wonderful girl and I think she makes Marilyn happy. They try so hard to pretend.” She chuckled and Marilee joined her in her mirth.

“What are you thinking now, love?” asked Marilee.

“You know, I thought that, at my age, I would never be…intimate with another,” said Molly wistfully.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” promised Marilee, and the women giggled. “Anything you want to ask me?”

“I do have one very important question, Marilee, if you can answer it,” said Molly.

“Shoot.”

“Do you, and the other chatbots, have an eternal soul?”

Bill Tope