Page 3 of Time for You
Anders started explaining—and explaining. And explaining. As far as she could tell, he was using generative AI to create prompts for podcasters, which he was hoping to sell as a sort of “idea machine” to interested hosts, who would then pay him to also host the podcast itself on the app. Daphne wasn’t particularly creative, but she wasn’t sure how necessary the artificial intelligence part was to his whole idea, since it was really just a brainstorming session. She stared down into the dregs of her coffee and tossed it back, annoyed to find it had gone ice cold in the past five minutes. Daphne hid her grimace and kept listening, waiting for a chance to ask a question.
The moment finally came. “So, it sounds like this is a podcasting app that also comes with some ideas for them to use?”
Anders sighed, almost imperceptibly. “Almost, but it’s alotmore complicated than that,” he said in a tone that could be read as eitherunderstanding or condescending, depending on how she chose to take it. She wanted to lean toward understanding, but as he launched into another round of explanations, she started leaning toward the latter instead. The more he kept talking, the more certain she was that she’d been right—he just didn’t want it to sound that simple. She kept waiting for him to ask her a question about herself, literallyanyquestion, but it obviously wasn’t going to happen.
“Did you like her?” he asked, and she realized guiltily that she’d been running through a case she’d had during her last shift, wondering if she should have asked the patient, an elderly woman with a worryingly persistent cough, a few more questions rather than just ordering tests and sending her on her way.
“Sorry, you lost me,” she said, and his indulgent smile said he wasn’t surprised she was confused, and yeah, this date was going nowhere, fast.
“My assistant.”
“Your—assistant?”
“Jenna.”
“I don’t know if I’ve met Jenna?”
“G-E-N-A,” he spelled. “My chatbot.”
“Oh, uh—”
“It’s who you’ve been chatting with,” he explained, and she immediately started rehearsing her exit strategy.Oh, I’m sorry, I’m getting a call about a patient. This might be a while.
“It wasn’t you?” she asked innocently. Now some of the odder moments of their chats were starting to make sense—moments she had written off as the stilted interactions that came from boilerplate getting-to-know-you conversations.
“Don’t worry, I reviewed it all before coming, so I know all about you. Gena is a side project, and I’m thinking I’ll try and launch her in the next fiscal year. Dating is such a hassle; it’s easier to outsource it, you know? I just put in all my personal details and a few anecdotes and she does the work of screening people out.”
“Like a program that scans résumés.”
Anders grinned. “Exactly! I’m glad you get it.”
Oh, she got it all right. Daphne flipped her phone over, careful to keep the screen pointed away from him, and pulled an exaggerated apologetic face. “Shit, sorry, this is the hospital.” She stood and walked away, pretending to answer. From her vantage point in the corner of the shop, she watched him pull out his phone and skim through something.Probably another sucker talking to a computer program instead of him.
She returned, hoping she appeared suitably apologetic. “I’m so sorry, but I have to get back to one of my patients. You understand how it is.”
“Totally,” he said, barely glancing up. “We should do this again sometime. Gena calculated our compatibility at a seven out of ten, so it’s worth a shot, right?”
“Um—things are really busy, but maybe,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Nice to meet you, Anders,” she said, and hurried out of the coffee shop like her hair was on fire.
Daphne walked into Ellie’s room and flopped down on the bed. Brittany was there too, watching videos on Ellie’s laptop while they lounged on her dark-red bedspread. They were a pair of contrasts, Ellie short with curly blond hair and Brittany tall and brunette with thick, dark-rimmed glasses, but both had generous curves compared to Daphne’s narrow frame.
“That bad, huh?” Ellie asked.
“It was a chatbot,” Daphne whined, face pressed into the mattress.
“A what?” Brittany asked.
Daphne lifted her head. “A chatbot. Who I was talking to, this whole time. It was a chatbot he’d set up.”
Ellie sat forward. “No.”
“Yes.”
Brittany looked horrified. “Is that why he repeated himself so often?”
“I’m guessing. But don’t worry, he reviewed the messages before our date.”
“Wow,” they said simultaneously.
